I shivered as my handmaiden Elodie laced it, forcing away my creeping doubts.
You will never be their Sun Heir. So why not become their Duskland Dauphine?
Oleander swept into my room without knocking, elaborately gowned in crimson and vermilion. Her costume was magnificent—a tapered red bodice climbed into translucent flames blazing against her throat. The skirt hugged her hips, then fell away in sheer ruched panels that showed off all eighteen miles of her slender legs.
“Scion!” I gasped. “What are you supposed to be?”
“Sunder and I weresupposedto go asfire and ice,” Oleander spat. “Butsomeonethinks it’schildishto play atfancy dress.So now I’m justfire, which doesn’t make any sense. It’s an absolute disaster!”
“I think you look magnificent,” I said honestly. “Besides, with your pale skin and hair,youcould be the ice, and the dress could be the fire.”
“Hmph.” Oleander pursed her lips, but looked slightly mollified. “I suppose that’s not the worst idea.”
“And the apartment looks amazing. Is everything ready?”
“You mean the little twist we decided on?” Oleander favored me with a blood-freezing smile. “Everything’s set.”
“Thank you.”
“Oh—I almost forgot.” Oleander reached into her reticule and drew out a flat box the length of my hand. “This came for you.”
I reached for it, curious. “Really?”
Oleander turned to the mirror, smoothing her already-perfect hair. “One of the servants thought it was for me and left it in my room. But the note has your name on it.”
“Has it ever occurred to you to learn their names?” I fiddled with the clasp on the box.
“The servants?” Oleander snorted. “I pay them extremely well to do a fairly simple job. Their names are irrelevant.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but the box snapped open in my palm, flinging prisms against my face. It was a necklace—an ornate dristic choker studded with beryls, emeralds, and chips of diamond. It wasn’t hard to guess why the servant had thought it was meant for Oleander—the palette of silver and green was much more suited to her than me. But she was right—the small note nestled in the box had my name on one side and a brief, curious note on the other:With light.
A tingle of foreboding glided along my spine. I turned, holding the box out for Oleander to see.
“Who is this from?”
“How should I know? Imagine you with a secret admirer.” She inspected the jewelry with an expert eye. “This is expensive—the emeralds especially are exceptional. But I’m not familiar with the craftsmanship. I doubt this was purchased in the Amber City.”
“It’s not from—” I choked on the name, remembering our awful fight, and stared mute at the green gems.
“Sunder?” Oleander’s eyes sharpened on my face. “I think you’ll find my brother has better taste. And usually has the good manners to present a gift of expensive jewelry in person.”
A whisper of memory sailed across my mind—a winter jardin and a cabochon of ambric; enchanted frost and red dye like blood on snow. I remembered Sunder’s last gift of jewelry all too well.
“Well, I’m not wearing it.” I set it on my vanity. “It doesn’t go with my costume.”
“Nothing much does,” Oleander said obliquely. “Come on. The party’s starting.”
Oleander had transformed Belsyre Wing into a world bright to look at, yet dark to behold. Had she somehow caught a glimpse of my own heart and made it manifest in silks and sensation? Shimmering drapes hung from columns of quartz, sparking widening gyres of light across the suite of rooms. Yet when I moved between the curtains I saw their reverses gleamed dark, spangled with glittering diamonds bright as mythical stars. Giant tabak pipes with sinuous necks smoldered between layers of diaphanous gauze, sending sylphs of fragrant smoke to blur the senses and tease the eyes. A troop of ethereal dancers flitted between the pillars, their steps whisper-soft and light as air. When I looked closely, their bodies seemed to blur into the gossamer shrouds. They had no faces.
I forced my gaze away from the gilded splendor. For once, this illusion hadn’t been created by me, and I couldn’t afford to get lost inside it. Not this Nocturne.
Fifty or so courtiers mingled between the gauzy drapes, clutching goblets of shimmering Belsyre ice wine and darting glances at me. Most of them were Sinister, but invitations had been sent to remaining courtiers in both dynasties—I glimpsed a few Dexter faces as well. Everyone watched as I approached with Oleander, and I saw doubt harden into malice when their eyes fell on my gown, so similar to the one I wore the Nocturne I fought Severine. A niggle of worry clenched at my brow.
Scion, let this evening of illusion warm them to me instead of making them hate me more.
“Lords and ladies, I welcome you!” I called, spreading my arms. “We have been divided too long. Let us put aside our differences and partake in a Nocturne of fantasy and delight.”
I saw a few scornful smiles hidden behind fans, and I knew I should have practiced a better speech.
