Jezebel grabbed a dark purple liner and held it up for her. “Use this on your eyes and a natural color on your lips.”
“So, Esmond?” I asked as she drew a flawless line out from her lid that gave her round eyes even more lift than usual.
“Yes, Esmond.” Rina didn’t look at me as she matched the second eye to the first.
“He seems nice.”
“He’s broody,” Jezebel laughed.
“He’s…mysterious,” I corrected.
Rina sighed. “He’s still a bit wary of us.” She dabbed a light, shimmering powder over the liner, making her dark eyes pop. She tried to dump the cosmetics in front of me and turn away, but I snatched her wrist. Jezebel snickered, continuing to style my hair.
“You’re with himeverynight,” I whispered, brows raised.
“Oh please, Ophelia, I simply enjoy his company. He’s smart and kind.” She wrenched her wrist from my grasp and turned toward her dress, hanging on a rack in the corner. She slid it up her body, hands arranging the sheer lilac skirts that parted to her thigh.
She twirled before the mirror. Smart and kind were important traits—ones I’d select for any partners for my friends. But for Santorina, it wasn’t enough. She needed someone who truly saw her strength and wit. Who understood how she felt out of place at times but didn’t judge her for it.
I’d seen her through various breakups over the years, most recently with a female warrior weeks before the war who’d always thought herself better than Santorina due to her blood status.
“Never again,” we’d sworn as she’d dried her tears. She’d never again be with someone who saw her as less, who did not appreciate the power she held on her own.
Perhaps we’d find someone for her today. It was Renaiss, after all. A day staked on freedoms and new light.
“Okay, Santorina, your turn,” Jezebel instructed, dragging me from my reverie and pushing me off the stool so Rina could take my place.
The dress my sister designed for me was light and crisp white, perfect for the long sunlit day. I slipped it over my body and fastened a trail of three tiny buttons from my hip to my ribs, delicate and made of glass. The thin layer of tulle skirts floated around me, cascading with my every move like my own personal waterfall. The bodice was nothing more than two swaths that connected to the skirt, crossed around my breasts, and reattached at the base of my spine, leaving my torso mostly open.
“You are in charge of dresses from now on, Jezzie,” I gasped, watching the gold accents in the skirt catch the light and complement the necklace I wore.
With the white and gold petals—yes, gold, though I didn’t know where Jezebel found those—woven into my hair, I looked ethereal. Like an image of myth. Complete with the shimmering dust at the tops of my cheekbones and gold lining my eyes, I was a legend born unto myself.
Renaiss was a day of reveling and taking chances, of unbound freedoms and unspoken promises. Spinning before the mirror, I was the Angel ready to write them.
The main gardenof the palace was flooded with warriors young and old, games being played, drinks being passed. Jezebel and Santorina were down there already, but I’d told them I wanted a moment to admire it all from my balcony.
We’d opened the gates at sunrise to anyone who’d wanted to enter. The archway marking the entrance was draped with vines coated in tiny white flowers that sparkled in the sun. Each time a guest passed beneath them, lifting the floral curtain, my heart thumped painfully.
Even with the city stretching beyond, streets packed with revelers, it reminded me of my favorite clearing.
Or my former favorite clearing, given that I’d sworn to never return after finding the spear there.
As I made my way to the front steps of the palace to join the revelry, I put the thought from my head.
I hadn’t planned a grand entrance—I didn’t want to be presumptuous as Revered—but attention fell like a wave of silence across the crowd. It caught my breath in my throat, but I lifted my chin and threw my shoulders back, descending the stairs with as much of an Angel’s grace as I could muster.
Sunlight reflected off my dress, the material shimmering as a breeze gently lifted my hair behind my shoulders. My thin heels echoed on each step in perfect time with bells tolling over the city.
And the smile that split across my face was one of genuine shock.
All of the eyes on me spoke of one thing: hope. I thought of what Jezebel had said the other night. To them, I was guidance through the dark, here to dig our people out of the destitution we’d been plunged into. I was the image of light. A bounty of hope wrapped up in a white gown trailing with promises. The symbol of freedoms only dreamed about.
The realization wound itself through my bones, tangling with my destined blood, until it knotted itself in my soul.
When I reached the last stair, Malakai handed me a glass of champagne, fresh berries floating in it. I could smell them from here, as sweet and decadent as the adoration pulsing around me.
I raised the glass, liquid catching the light. My voice rang out over the crowd, “May the season bring light and promises.”
