Which meant she saw a clear way to plunge the two factions into a civil dispute that would fracture any ruler’s ability to summon a military large enough to challenge the Icrurian Central Forces.
Her father had been a brilliant politician, keeping both friends and enemies close to unite Asterya, and in another life, that would have been Vaasa’s strength, too. But in this life, she would be the thing that broke it.
When the opportunity arose and the room plunged into celebratory dancing and cheer, Vaasa joined in. She embodied her roles as heiress and future bride, while Lord Karev was already on display as the regal, good-natured emperor-to-be. For hours they danced and smiled and accepted congratulations, but as any good noble knew, the first party was never the last one. Most of the people with real influence had already filtered out and gone somewhere else.
Roman lingered in the corner—no words exchanged between them, but no opportunity to slip away from him, either. If she wanted to make it to The Lady Fortune, she would need another way. She trailed Lord Karev to the back of the room, wine goblet in hand, and said, “Are you bored yet?”
He raised a brow at her, likely noticing the same things about the room that she did. Lord Karev handed his goblet to one of the servants who skittered by and took Vaasa’s hand. He watched Roman, gauging just the right moment, and when Roman turned, Lord Karev pounced. “Now,” he whispered, and pulled her out of the room like two newly engaged lovers. Lord Karev was the perfect excuse, the perfect alibi for her absence. Suddenly, her cavorting was appropriate—expected, even.
No longer a whore, just someone’s future bride.
They fled through the Sanctum and out into the city square, Lord Karev waving down his carriage. He guided her in just as Roman burst through the front doors, anger marring his features. He ran toward them, face contorted in fury.
“Go!” Vaasa laughed as if she found the idea of cutting Roman this way to be funny.
She didn’t. The hurt on his face was a knife to her chest.
“To the city,” Lord Karev told his own hired mercenaries, who quickly signaled the horses forward. “Do not stop for the sentinel.”
The carriage lurched, and they rode off before Roman had the chance to stop them.
CHAPTER
25
Reid waited with Sachia and Koen, hoping, praying, that his wife would make it here. He knew no one better at formulating a plan—surely she would find a way.
Masked women and men moved around the first floor, which had transformed entirely since the last time Reid had come here. Instead of an art gallery, it was set as a sweet-smelling garden, based off some Asteryan folktale about a demon and the bride he stole. Silver and gold chains hung from the ceiling with oil lanterns attached to each, washing the room in warm light. Winter jasmine threaded through those chains, creating curtains of falling flowers that resulted in pockets of privacy within the space. Pomegranates and bloodred roses decorated the tables,and all the women were dressed as if they were the bride themselves. Paint covered the exposed parts of their bodies, swirling to appear like vines.
Women hung over the seats near Koen and Reid, though just as Reid always knew his closest friend to do, Koen shied away from their touch or attention. Conversely, Sachia continued making friends with the workers, seeming entirely in cahoots. Reid knew this was a strategy to gain access to one of the third floor’s private meeting rooms, which Sachia would happily pay for.
Reid could hardly focus on any of what they said, though. He kept picking up on little Asteryan words he was starting to memorize.Heiress. Marriage. Lord Karev. Husband. Wife.Hatred burned in Reid, low and simmering, but he kept his composure, or at least tried to. Koen had reluctantly told him of the outcome of their meeting; Vaasa had accepted an engagement to Lord Karev.
Reid had known it was coming, and yet it felt as though all that black powder had been stuffed into his chest and detonated.
Reid turned as a couple entered the room. Her face was covered by a mask built of crimson roses and pomegranate seeds, but he would know those indigo eyes anywhere. The costume she wore held similar imagery, the gauzy material of her dress thin and draping over her body, only acceptable in the warmth of a room. It reminded him of the detailed statues decorating the grander architecture of Mekës, particularly the ones on the Asteryan Citadel. While the bodice hugged her waist tightly, the bloodred fabric of the skirts fell as if carved from granite. A slit in the dress revealed the length of her leg, and Reid’s jaw tightened at the sight. At knowing Karev had seen Vaasa in this dress first.
The bastard didn’t even seem to appreciate the woman on his arm. Karev’s eyes roved the room, seemingly counting the number of people he wanted to leave an impression upon.
“This ends in his death,” Reid whispered to Koen, careful not to speak Icrurian too loudly. Though Koen assured him the new rumor was that pirates had killed Lord Vlacik, Reid knew well enough that story would change if their group became too suspicious.
Vaasa’s eyes locked on Reid, then lifted to a woman who stepped behind his chair and ran her hands over his chest. Despite the way Reid wanted to recoil, he didn’t. He couldn’t. To plant even a seed of doubt in Lord Karev’s mind would be dangerous for Vaasa. Reid had to pretend to be anything but interested in her.
But there was a heat in his wife’s eyes that made him feel like the devil—the very one who’d stolen a bride and inspired the night’s decorations. Vaasa watched where the woman touched him, and despite everything he knew about her, her lips turned down.
A break in her composure, even if only for a moment.
Reid stayed the course, taking measured sips of his wine. Koen looked away from them, and Reid followed suit. Sachia sat beside them, her eyes traveling over Vaasa and Lord Karev, then turned to him for confirmation. When Reid subtly nodded, she uncrossed her legs. “Third floor.”
Sachia approached Lord Karev and Vaasa, her face obscured by a full-length mask. Given Sachia’s breeches and tucked-in blouse, she blended in with the rest of the revelers quite perfectly. Someone handed Reid another drink, and he pretended to sip from it, focusing instead on Koen, who spoke with another man there. Koen was brilliant at small talk, and even though Reid couldn’t fully follow the conversation, he knew enough about tone and body language to know the man Koenspoke to was enthralled in the conversation. Sachia walked back to their table, and two of the women pulled out chairs for Lord Karev and Vaasa, who were pretending to be anyone but who they were.
Lord Karev took the seat nearest them. “Good evening,” he said in Asteryan.
Koen turned to the lord. The two exchanged words that Reid couldn’t understand, and his lack of Asteryan infuriated him. Just like it had at the table when he’d listened to his wife without knowing what she said.
Powerlessness dragged claws down his limbs.
Lord Karev laughed at something Koen said, and as a woman approached and draped her arms over Karev’s shoulders, handing him a goblet of wine, he said something with a confident tone, and Reid was able to make out the word.Share.
