“He’s onto me,” I say and stride over to the wardrobe. “This might be my last chance with him. It has to happen tonight.”
“You think you can do it?”
“Yes.” I throw open the doors of my wardrobe. “With some help, of course. I never thought I’d say it, but it’s time to unleash the dress.”
“Unleash the dress? What dress?”
“Thedress,” I say and extract the sparkly confection Nadia insisted I take.
“You’re wearing that to the Blessing Ceremony?” he asks with a grimace.
“Of course not. I’m wearing it to the boxing match. If it’s as enticing as Nadia says, he won’t know whether to look at me or the fighting ring.”
Podaxis taps his pincers, shrinking back a little. “You look like you’re about to go to war.”
“I am,” I say. Because tonight isn’t just a battle between Emmet and Hastings.
It’s between me and Dorian.
Life and death.
Right and wrong.
My head and my heart.
And this dress just might be the best weapon at my disposal.
30
Just before midnight, I make my way to the Emerald Comet Arena. I pull my coat tight around me—the long plum one with the sable trim—and try not to think about the scandalously flimsy dress I’m wearing underneath. I nearly tore it off several times when I looked at myself in the mirror and saw how the shimmery silk clung to my every curve. There’s a good chance Dorian will be mortified when he sees me in it, which is the opposite of what I intend. But I have more pressing matters to concern myself with. Primarily, whether Dorian will show up at all. There’s no sign of him as I walk from Cygnus to Halley, and even though I checked out my window time and time again before I left, I didn’t catch sight of him leaving the church before me. He could have departed much earlier, or he could be following just behind. Still, I can’t shake the dread that he isn’t coming. That he bluffed when he said he’d meet me here.
But why bluff? If he was going to stand me up, he could have just sent me home during the Blessing Ceremony a few hours ago.
Which he didn’t.
I’m still here.
The memory of tonight’s ceremony has my shoulders tensing, just like they’d been then. Not only was I worried I was a breath away from being eliminated from the competition, but as Father Viktor addressed the audience with a review of what had occurred outside the public eye since the last ceremony—mostly mundane summaries of Dorian’s dates—I was terrified Glint McCreedy or some other reporter would interrupt with shocking allegations that Dorian and I were spotted at Club Scorpius.
Thankfully, nothing like that happened, and when Viktor reviewed my interactions with Dorian, he simply stated, “They enjoyed a very brief chat about athletic sport.”
I scoff as I recall the mild smirk I caught on Dorian’s face after Viktor said that.A very brief chat about athletic sport. That was by far the most boring account Viktor gave of all the dates had today. He and Briony discussed their strangest dreams, he and Greta debated over the best stage plays, and Josie played piano for him. Then again, his date with Vanessa included an hour of the girl reading scripture. The way Viktor said it, though, made it sound like it was the most charming thing in the world. I suppose the church’s father would think that.
But what does Dorian think?
Is she his favorite as much as she is the church’s?
I shake the question from my head. Why should it matter what he thinks? What matters is that I’m still here and able to complete my mission. What matters is that Josie was sent home tonight, not me. Apparently, she and her pretty piano-playing were nobody’s favorite, for it was she who received the white flower—a daisy—while the rest of us were given yellow ones. She didn’t go home empty-handed, though, according to Podaxis. Rumor has it she received a proposal from Brother Christopher before she went home. One she accepted.
Good for her, I suppose. I recall how she said shejust wanted to marry anyonethat first night when all the contestants ended up in my room. Turns out, Christopher is anyone. And he didn’t seem too bad when I sat next to him at dinner.
As I draw near the arena, the sidewalk grows crowded with patrons lined up beneath the marquee. There are all sorts of people gathered here, from humans in top hats and evening wear to fae with pointed ears and flamboyant costumes. Not all patrons are dressed in their finest. I spot numerous others outfitted hardly better than street urchins. Upon further inspection of the crowd, I realize there are even some unseelie fae here, including a cluster of blue wisps, four purple pixies, and a puca. The latter stomps its hooves impatiently whenever the line ceases to move. I’m surprised to see any fae here at all. While I don’t know much about boxing, I always thought it was a primarily human sport. Apparently, my kind enjoy watching humans beat each other up as much as humans do.
I glance around the sidewalk, looking for Dorian amongst those not yet lined up to enter the arena, but don’t see him anywhere. My stomach drops. Did he truly allow me to pass another round of the competition just to stand me up?
I feel a hand on my shoulder and startle. Whirling around, I find Dorian behind me. My heart flips upside down at the sight of him. Not that he looks much different than he did last night. Once again, he’s dressed in only trousers and shirtsleeves, no waistcoat, no jacket, no cravat. The only addition to his ensemble is a hat, a brown tweed cap that reminds me of the one I like to wear when I’m disguised as a boy. With the sides of his hair trimmed so short, the only sign of his dark tresses is a cluster of messy waves just under the bill.
“Hi,” he says, tone flat. His expression is empty, bordering on irritated. If he’s excited about the match, he’s doing a great job hiding it.
