Kasira gritted her teeth, becoming aware of the eyes and ears around them, the quiet whispers. To anyone watching, it would look as though something were amiss between the Librarian and his Assistant, and they wouldn’t be wrong. She ought to twist it to her advantage, to paint a picture of strife and weakness, but in that moment, all she could think about was the way he was looking at her, as if begging her to give him a reason to trust her.
She wanted to. Oh, she wanted to. But more than that, she did not want to lie to him again.
A reckless impulse surged within her, and she held out her hand. “Dance with me.”
Allaster clutched his wineglass closer. “I think not.”
Kasira set her drink on a nearby table before seizing his hand. Allaster stared at the point of contact unblinkingly. “Let me rephrase that,” she said. “This party consists of two types of people: those who support the Prince’s union and those who don’t, which can effectively be translated to allies and enemies. And they’re all trying to gauge the same thing: the strength of the Library. From their perspective, you got a worthless liar in place of a trained Assistant, Ambassador Vera wants both our heads, and the King has yet to listen to a word you have to say about beasts and the balance of magic.”
Allaster was still staring at his hand in hers. “And us dancing helps us how?”
“It presents a united front. It quashes any rumors that the Library is divided or disrupted by my arrival. It makes us an ally worth having instead of the prey Vera wants us to be.” And it let her forget, if only for a moment, what was to come.
A complex web of thoughts worked its way across Allaster’s face, ending with a sigh of deep resignation. “I truly despise these games of perception.”
“Good thing I love them then,” she said and dragged him to the dance floor. He finished his wine and set the glass on the tray of apassing server, then allowed her to position him for the dance, despite looking as though he would prefer to be anywhere else.
He stared at her hand on his hip and his hand on her shoulder and said, “You have this backward …” But the music was already starting, and she tugged him along through the first few steps before he wrested control, flicking her hand free and dropping his own on her hip. She half considered letting it stay there. She was far too aware of his touch, the heat of his fingers burning through her dress as if nothing separated their skin.
Allaster was a good dancer—so was she—but with the two of them struggling over who would lead, their dance grew to resemble more of a battle. He threw her so roughly into a spin that she dove into the magic for support, using it to pull herself back toward him with strength enough to drive her elbow into his ribs. He wheezed, hand tightening about hers with magic-enhanced force, and then she was pushing him backward with every step, the lead reclaimed.
“You didn’t answer my question,” he grunted as they passed through a turn.
“You didn’t ask one,” she returned, but he only stared at her. “Fine. Yes, I worked for Thane, but that was a long time ago. And if Vera visited my battalion, that’s news to me. I was already gone.” She drove her shoulder toward him, forcing him back a step. “The Paratal was doing a circuit of Malik camps, you know, and the two are never far apart.”
Allaster used her momentum to pull her through, spinning so she was the one going in reverse. He moved her so easily, and she finally let her body flow at his direction, finding a rhythm with surprising ease. The dexterity of his hands combined with the way each movement rode the edge of control brought a flush to her cheeks she prayed he dismissed as exertion.
“Why isn’t anything ever simple with you?” he grumbled.
She looked up at him from beneath her lashes. “Perhaps because you insist on looking for knives where there are only outstretched hands.”
“Poetic.”
People were staring at them now. Their strength, agility, control—they were beyond anything those watching them could imagine, and the crowd gaped in open wonder. Kasira’s face was caught halfway between a grin and a grimace, the same determination reflected in Allaster’s. By the time the music swelled to an end, Allaster pinning her against his chest with one arm, they were both panting heavily.
“What message, precisely, did that send?” he growled in her ear.
It sent a shiver down her spine, and she spun out from his arm before she could make another poor decision, clapping with the rest of the bemused crowd around them to cover her sudden fluster. “You wanted to be seen.” She nodded to the dance floor as they walked away. “There wasn’t another couple within five feet of us.”
There was a flush to his olive skin, his hair twice as disheveled as usual. Her fingers itched to sort it back into place. “And?” he pressed.
“And to most of these people, the Library is a faraway place of faraway magic capable of turning people into toads—”
“I told you—”
“I know,” she said, and the tenderness in her voice softened him in turn. “But they don’t. Let them see exactly what fucking with the Library will get them: us.”
Allaster gave her a bewildered look bordering on admiration. But whatever words hovered on his lips were swallowed back when a woman appeared at their side, executing a swift bow with a fist to her chest. When she rose, Kasira recognized her from Ayador as Queen Sarren’s aide, Ryn.
“Librarian,” she said. “My Queen requests a moment of your time.”
Allaster ran a hand through his hair, brushing the tousled curls back into place. “We should go when I return,” he told Kasira, before following Ryn.
Kasira snatched up another glass of wine and made her way through the crowd, seeking space to think. That dance had not been part of the con. It had been selfish and reckless, and though she didn’t think it would have any bearing on the final outcome of the Conclave, it had imprinted itself on her in a way that left her breathless.
She emerged at the edge of the crowd, where an older woman held court among a group of laughing nobles clearly hanging on her every word. The woman’s crimson gown clung to a curvaceous figure, layers of sheer fabric making up the bodice in the Riviairen style. The delicate gold needlework brought out the bronze tones in her brown skin, her dark eyes traced in golden paint and a matching circlet set in her gray-speckled hair.
The woman spotted Kasira and disentangled herself from the courtiers with a quick word, approaching quickly. Kasira put the dance from her mind and settled back into her persona, her curiosity budding.
