“Faithful steward! Mine eyes see true now.” Avrix twirled one of the swords, advancing. “Hold! Thou shalt get thy requital.”
Llir had stilled with his face tilted toward me.
His mask was silver, the eyes edged in black, the nose slightly pointed: an owl’s snub beak. I could see every strand of golden-brown hair, slicked back for the role but curled around his ears. I stared at the stubble dusting his jaw, the pale skin peering from beneath his high collar.
Though he didn’t move a muscle, his eyes slid to mine. He could probably feel my warm breath on his ear. I held it in, gnawing my lip reflexively, and his gaze flickered downward to my mouth. He blinked.
“Woe! Oh, torment!”
Emment had “stabbed” Avrix, who lay groaning and twitching on the ground. Rexim chuckled. Morgen hovered on the sidelines.
The scene broke up. The tableau was over.
The four of us at the banquet jumped into motion, and as I moved away, my leg brushed Llir’s knee. I stole off the stage with my heart banging wildly, the skin on my thigh tingling, my damp gown clinging to me.
As the final act of the play unfolded, I donned a cloak and hid backstage. Morgen had taken the floor for the finale; her rich voice rang out like an orator’s under the rafters.
My thoughts were whirling. What washappeningto me?
I didn’t seem able to be anywhere near Llir Shearwater without a zinging in my skin, a stutter in my pulse, a burning need for him to look at me, to notice me.
It had worsened since I’d discovered he was Orha. He waslike me. I wanted to speak to him again. To know about his childhood, his relationship with Rexim. I wanted to know his fears, his desires…
His desires.
At that thought, and with trembling fingers, I decanted a measure of wine into a tumbler. It was impossible. Foolish. Llir was Hundred. I was Orha.
And the possibility remained—stark and bone cold—that tomorrow, absolutely none of this would matter.
31
Afterthe play came the dancing and cavorting.
The stage and screens were cleared away, but we stayed in our costumes, masks still in place. Rhianne shrank the fire down low and lit the torches. The servants brought in platters of food.
By the time Catua began to play at the spinet, a pleasant tingling sensation simmered in my stomach and I was already starting to forget about the Cage.
Although the rational part of me knew I should try to get some rest before the approaching storm, the foolish, reckless part—normally suppressed—was winning, and I poured myself a drop more wine. I liked the way it was blunting my edges, making me fonder of everything and everyone.
The notes of the spinet were spiralling, melding, and soon a wine-fuelled galliard began. Images lurched out at me: Morgen and Emment twirling; Llir, mask glinting, goblet in hand, dancing with Vercha, lips stretched in a smile.
“Top up?” came a voice. I looked up to see Avrix. His gold masksparkled as he filled my glass, and behind it, his eyes were flashing knowingly. But before I could sip from it, Vercha was before me, pulling me from my chair, saying something that didn’t register. I was tugged into the dance, my white skirts swishing, the music sounding exquisite to my ear.
As we stepped and spun, circled and clapped, I couldn’t help turning my gaze to Llir. It was hard to tell through the silvery mask, but I thought I caught him watching me, too. A strange anticipation fizzled in me, as if something was on the cusp of happening between us.
Morgen took Catua’s place at the spinet, the pretty trills of country jigs giving way to a slower, more sedate pavane. We stepped near and around and away from each other like courting birds putting on a display.
Outside the windows the sky was ebony. Time had seemed to flash by in an instant. Distantly I heard the clock chime two—Rexim was gone, as were most of the servants. I looked around for the other Orha, but only a few of House Cormorant’s were left, lurking in shadow, silently watching. Avrix and Catua were playing a duet, Morgen and the other Shearwaters still dancing.
My legs were burning, the bones of my feet aching, and I was tired—so tired—after my snatched hours of sleep. I would fall down in a slumber where I stood if I stayed here, if I didn’t head up and get some rest soon. Reluctantly I slipped out of the ballroom, a small smile touching my lips as I went. The notes of the songs ran in loops through my head, my mind pleasantly buzzy, all thoughts of the Cage banished.
As I climbed the spiral steps, I was so preoccupied that I barely registered the padding of footsteps behind me. It wasn’t until a hand caught my arm, spun me gently around, that I realized Llir had followed me.
“Corith,” he repeated. He’d been calling my name.
His mask flashed silver in the glow from the lamps: an owl swooping up at me out of the darkness.
I stumbled on the lip of the stair, put my hands out to steady myself. He caught me by the upper arms, gripping them lightly.
