“Why don’t you go see if any of the boys want a pickup game of knockball?” I suggested.
Daziel dropped to the floor, twisting in the air to land on his feet like a cat. The resemblance intensified when he hissed at me. “I am not achildto be appeased bygames.”
I raised my hands, suppressing my laughter to keep from disrupting Leah’s work. “Just a suggestion.”
He flopped onto the sofa, pouting. “What if there are suitors you need to deter?”
“If they’ve been invited to my aunt’s, I doubt they’ll need me for an introduction to her.”
“Plus,” Leah said, “maybe there’ll be some hot guys there whodon’twant you for your aunt.”
“Are you joking?” Daziel snapped.
“Are you jealous?” I retorted. He had no business being sharp with me about other guys. We weren’t together. He had no right to act possessive like a child unwilling to share his toys.
“Oops,” Leah said, grinning at me. “This sounds like a conversation for you to have when I’m not here. I’m done! You look amazing, I did great.”
I checked out her work in the mirror. She’d made my eyes look dark and intriguing, my lips ruby, my skin poreless; she’d coaxed my hair into a six-strand crown with silver studs embedded against my dark braids. I hugged her. “You really did. Thanks.”
After she left, I went into my bedroom to change. The top, with its high neckline and sleeveless cut, exposed my shoulders, arms, and half my midriff. The pants laced high on my waist, though, leaving only a thin strip of skin. The legs were wide and comfortable, yards of rippling navy silk. The silver embroidery on the ankle cuffs and waist shimmered like stars against the night. I looked like a different version of me, an elegant, more confident one.
When I came back out, I sent a sidelong glance at Daziel. It was silly to want him to say anything—what did it matter if he liked my outfit or appearance?
Daziel had never indicated any interest in me; he focused on knockball and training me in languages and had never given me a single compliment on my appearance or the smallest hint of a smoldering eye.
Which was fine. It wasn’t like I wanted his romantic interest. God, no, the attention of a demon was a recipe for disaster. It was only that we lived together and spent all our time together. We were—friends, I supposed, and it was natural to care about your friends’ opinions.
“What do you think?” I asked.
He ran his gaze over me, his own rather haughty and ruffled. “You’ll do, I suppose.”
His uncaring tone struck at my heart. “Fine,” I said, hating how snippy I sounded but unable to help myself, not sure how else to bandage over the wound he’d inflicted. Would it have been so difficult to say I looked pretty?Ididn’t have any problemacknowledging Daziel was exquisitely beautiful. I mean, I hadn’t told him so to his face, but his ego was big enough, wasn’t it? I slung my blazer on, keeping my chin lifted and trying not to let it wobble. “I’m off, then.”
I headed out. A slow, dull drizzle had begun. Thankfully, my aunt had sent a carriage. The driver, a balding man in his sixties wearing a diamond amulet of the Zebulun tribe, introduced himself as Samuel.
This was a neshem-powered carriage, which meant it needed no horses; the inner machinery had been carved with charaktêres and wrapped in piping. An ingenious technology pumped neshem oil through the pipes so the spell kept working. The driver had to continuously turn a wheel to add neshem throughout the drive, plus manage other knobs for turns and speed.
I peered hungrily out the window as we left Issachar Quarter. The city’s thirteen arrondissements were named after the twelve tribes that had come together to form Ena-Cinnai—except for Roynes Quarter, colloquially known as Society Hill, site of the Politicians’ Quarter and the seat of the Great Sanhedrin. I’d only been here once before, my very first day in Talum, when my aunt greeted me. Neither of us had known what to do with the other.
We climbed high up the hill, the view over the rest of the city likely stunning on clearer days, and wound along a wide avenue to my aunt’s house. Like all the buildings in Talum, it faced south to protect against the northern winds. It was built from the yellow-orange sandstone popular to the river region. The roof, like all roofs here, sloped shallowly to keep the winds from stealing tiles.
There, the similarities with the local architecture ended.
Because Aunt Tirtzah’s house was owned by the Judahite tribefor their representatives, it’d been built to display the power and wealth of the tribe. The windows weren’t small, but large and spelled against breaking. The structure surrounded an interior courtyard with a spelled glass dome that closed on blustery nights. Cypresses lined the property, hearty trees often used as windbreaks—but inside, delicate plants signaled wealth and power.
The door flew open, and Chava, my aunt’s assistant, scowled at me. She was a round-faced woman in her midtwenties wearing a neat black sheath and a bold-shouldered jacket. “Thereyou are.”
“Hi?” I blinked at her.
“The councilwoman wants you in the garden immediately,” Chava said, voice dire. She took my arm and steered me inside. Confused, and a little alarmed, I allowed her to tow me to the courtyard. Was I late? Had I messed up already? But I was wearing the outfit my aunt had sent, and I’d arrived in her carriage. What was going on?
Winding flowers twined over the rose arbor at the entrance to the garden courtyard, writhing like a mass of snakes. The glass dome above the space had been closed. I could see rain bursting upon it, but the spell on the glass transformed the pelting drops to muted genteel music.
Almond and apricot trees lined the garden’s pathways, and rosemary shrubs grew along the border. There were extravagant flowers in bloom: great swaths of lavender and colorful lilies. I’d heard some spellcasters specialized in succinct spells and impossibly small writing so they could carve strength and life into seeds to make them bloom out of season.
The guests were equally colorful, in wispy fabrics spelled towithstand the winds—yet another display of wealth. The women had high, teetering hairstyles. The men twisted silk cravats around their necks and wore long coats with exquisite embroidery. I felt small and self-conscious. I didn’t belong here. I didn’t know how to interact with the wealthy and beautiful, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to, either.
At the center of the courtyard clustered a thick clump of people, their attention turned inward. The other guests darted glances their way. In fact, the whole party seemed aimed at the center, as was often the case when someone far more important than everyone else attended a gathering. Unease raised the hairs on the back of my neck. A member of the grand duke’s family, perhaps. A famed writer or singer, the likes of which these politicians rarely encountered?
