Without waiting for her answer, Eva reached out to her throat, freezing fingers slipping under Laila’s necklace. Laila gasped from the cold, but it turned to a wince in her mouth as something sharp grazed her skin.
“There, all better now,” said Eva. “Enjoy the party.”
Eva turned, disappearing into the crowd of wings and haloes. Only then did Laila feel a slight trickle of blood at her neck.
Eva’s ring had left a tiny cut. Laila touched it, confusion giving way to scorn. She had no time for Eva’s small acts of spite.
Around her, the members of the Order of Babel had begun to dance. Dozens of participants wore Forged masks of ice—elaborate, glittering feathers, or cruel things with hooked beaks. Some of them had smeared gold paint across their mouths, as if they were gods recklessly bleeding out their own rich blood.
Laila stumbled back, only for a man wearing a crown of the sun’s rays to catch her up in his arms. She hesitated an instant before surrendering to the dance. Her very pulse became an intoxicating cadence.More, she begged of her heartbeats. Laila danced for nearly an hour, switching from partner to partner, pausing only to sip the sweet ice wine in crystal glasses. She danced until her feet slipped out from beneath her, and she lurched forward, flinging out her arms before someone yanked her back at the last second.
“Are you all right, my dear?” asked a familiar voice.
Laila turned to see Ruslan, his uninjured hand still outstretched from breaking her fall.
Her heartbeat thundered loudly in her ears. “Yes, thanks to you.”
“I was rather hoping I would see you,” he said shyly. “May I convince you to take one more turn around the room?”
“I never need much convincing to dance,” said Laila, smiling.
Ruslan beamed. As they danced, he held his injured arm close to his chest, though he was no less graceful because of it. His Babel Ring caught the light, and for the first time, Laila noticed a bluish tinge to the skin. His hand looked far too stiff.
“Does it hurt?”
His eyes softened. “Do you know… you’re the only person who has asked me that. I wish there could be more people like you, Mademoiselle.”
He spun her in a small circle, only to be interrupted by a server wearing a white rabbit mask and holding a bloodred platter piled with onyx glasses.
“May I interest you in some refreshment?” asked the server, holding out a bitter-smelling drink. “Specially made blood Forged drinks in honor of the Winter Conclave.” The server grinned, and Laila noticed his teeth had a scarlet tinge to them. “To consume a drop of one’s own blood allows you to submit to your innermost desires… a drop of another’s blood and you could even wear their face for an hour.”
Laila recoiled. “No, thank you.”
Ruslan also declined, but he stared almost longingly after the drinks. “Too eerie for my taste, although it would be nice to look different for a change…”
He sighed, patting the top of his head.
“I quite like my own face,” said Laila wryly.
“I am sure Monsieur Montagnet-Alarie would agree,” said Ruslan, winking. “Might I ask where Mademoiselle Boguska and Monsieur Mercado-Lopez are for the evening?”
“Preoccupied, I believe,” said Laila, staring after the platter ofblood Forged drinks. “Poring over the recent treasures excavated from the metal leviathan before the Midnight Auction.”
“Midnightis a flexible hour it seems,” said Ruslan. “But it gives time for others to follow your lead, perhaps even change their attire.”
Laila frowned. “How do you mean?”
“Well, not thirty minutes ago, I saw you dressed in a lovely green gown,” said Ruslan. “You and Monsieur Montagnet-Alarie were heading to your suite—to change, I imagine, and, ah, well…”
Ruslan turned red, fumbling to finish his sentence, but Laila had stopped listening.
A green dress. An image of Eva’s kitten-teeth smile flashed through her mind. She remembered the sensation of cold fingers on her neck, and the hot slick of her own blood on her fingers.Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to be you.
“I have to go,” said Laila abruptly, turning on her heel.
Ruslan called out after her, but Laila ignored him. She ran back through the crowd, up the stairs. Her skin felt tight and burning, and as she raced up the stairs, she wondered whether they might just melt out from beneath her.
At the top of the stairs and down the hall leading to their suite, she saw their door had been left ajar. Laila pushed it open. The smell of spiced wine hit her nose, and the first thing she saw were two black goblets. Two pairs of shoes. Neither of them her own. Acid rushed through Laila’s gut as she lifted her gaze from the floor and heard a soft groan coming from the bed. The curtains of the ice canopy shifted, and the sight froze her to the spot. Séverin’s head was bent into the crook of a girl’s neck, his hands digging into her waist… the girl looked up at the sound of the door scraping against the floor.
