With a sigh, I head back into the fray. By the time I leave the dancefloor again, my feet and lower back are aching from the ceaseless dancing. The masked faces of my partners eventually blurred together, time passing slowly.
I still have received no signal from Raven. Worry is eating away at my mind, nausea swirling in my gut. I glance around for Nyssa, but the crowd is too thick. An impossible number of bodies are crammed into the immense hall. I bite the inside of my cheek, my shoulders rigid beneath the weight of the mask that suddenly feels stifling. Too close. Too much.
The ballroom is alive, glittering, and I’m drowning.
I can’t stop moving, though every practiced smile, every measured step, is like dragging myself through a mire no one else seems to see. I glance around, searching for Nyssa, for her face, for anything to pull me above the surface.
Then the burn starts.
A slow, searing heat spreads beneath my skin, right over my heart. I glance down, pulse stuttering. Faint but unmistakable, the outline of Sphinx’s mark is surfacing.
Panic blooms.
I press my hand to my chest as if I can smother it, hide it, will it away. But the warmth pulses stronger beneath my palm.
Air. I need air.
I need tobreathe.
I push my way through the gathered tycheroi, almost gasping with relief as I step through the glass door and out into the cold embrace of the night. The balcony is deserted, all the revelers choosing to stay in the warmth of the ballroom. The wind wraps itself around me, a soothing lullaby whispered in its current.
Despite the slight relief, anxiety claws at me from the inside, sharp talons making my breath ragged. It’s almost midnight and there still has been no signal.
Worry poisons my mind, conjuring visions of the Flight being captured by the Royal Guard and thrown into cells.
Or worse.
That thought bites, sharp enough to hurt. But the mark on my chestflares again, more violent this time. It sears through my chest like wildfire, blooming beneath my ribs. I stumble, pressing my hand more firmly into my skin. Pure golden light flares under my palm, bleeding through my fingers like the sun breaking through storm clouds.
No—not now.
My breath hitches. My back hits the cold stone railing as I try to hold it in, to contain it, but it pulses like a heartbeat out of rhythm.
And then—
Snap.
It vanishes.
The light, the heat, the pressure—gone in an instant. Like a cord has been cut. My knees nearly buckle with the sudden absence. I stare down at my hand, trembling, the phantom memory of the mark still etched into my skin.
Is it over? Is my bargain with Sphinx fulfilled?
I pace, torn between the need to go in search of the Flight, to make sure they’re okay, and the orders that bind me to this ridiculous charade.
“Some might think you have very little faith in me.”
I spin, my gown fanning out in a cascade of glittering fabric, and find Raven leaning against the marble railing, his dark mask hiding everything except the faint curve of his smirk and the intensity of his eyes.
I find myself conflicted once again. Only this time between the desire to either rip his clothes off or rip into him.
I choose the latter.
“What took you so gods-damned long?” I hiss. My voice trembles as I march toward him, each step as much about grounding myself as it is anger.
“Why, Starling…” he says with a slow curl of his lips. “Were you worried about me?”
I slap him in the chest with the back of my hand. “Can you be serious?”
