She centered herself. She’d enjoy every single moment of this—being beautiful and young and full of promise. Selene would be the centerpiece of the event—gleaming like the chandelier over the auditorium. She’d make sure the world knew she was ready to win, that the king knew.
Or the prince.
Selene suppressed a shiver. Could he guarantee her spot in the competition? She forced the thought from her mind. She wouldn’t need him. She had the magic of blood and shadows, the power of her voice, and the legacy of her name.
Above the dance floor, the illusion of a clockface counted down the minutes. A little more than an hour before the unmasking. Selene took a deep breath. Until then, she’d make the most of the next ten minutes. And then she’d find her song that sang itself. If she was lucky, she’d find something more than that, something to give her answers on how to free the ghost. No matter how tonight ended, she needed to see him again.
The moment she stepped onto the dance floor, someone took her hand. A man in a spiderweb mask spun her around, taking her through the complicated motions of the dance. He was finely dressed but a little careless with his dance steps. Selene dazzled him with a smile.
“Sing for me, darling. Just a little, so I can guess who you are.” There was elderberry wine on his breath.
“You’ll know soon enough.”
“It will be our little secret.”
Selene showed her teeth. She had enough secrets. He spun her out, and she used the momentum to break away from him.
Another man caught her hand and took her through the next motion of the dance. He was old enough to be her father.
Giuseppe Dreshé should be here. He should be dancing with her on this floor. He should be up on the dais with the retired King’s Mages, enjoying the splendor, looking handsome and happy and proud. The ache of it would be enough for her to spin this whole room into darkness, letting the power of the magie du sang bring them all into the black.
“What will it take for you to be the jewel of my home?” the man whispered in her ear.
Selene repressed a shudder, keeping the hint of a smile on her face. “I am here to win, sir.”
“I’ll be your consolation prize.”
Selene didn’t wait for a spin to break out of his arms. But the moment she was free of him, she was caught up with another stranger. And another, and another. She could not take a step without finding herself in the arms of some would-be patron, offering her whatever she wished, if she would sing for them. The wealthy loved to ornament their halls with the best of the best, as if the excess of talented mages proved their status in society. For her competitors, a patronage like that would offer security and prestige and a place for their art for years to come. There was an allure to Selene that belied all the others: she was the Mad Mage’s daughter. She was wanted for her talent, yes. But also for the potential for a most sensational tragedy.
The darkness of her mask showed her true self; her smile was the part of her that played pretend. She would belong to none of these people. She would be the King’s Mage or she would be nothing. Someone pressed a glass of champagne to her lips and Selene drank, hoping the bubbling burn would fill her emptiness. She moved from one dancer to the next, spinning and spinning and spinning. Selene closed her eyes and imagined herself alone—almost alone—in the mirror. Just her and the ghost. A dangerous place that somehow felt safe to her. Selene could already feel the magic building in her skin. Something to stop the endless turning and touching. Something to keep her still.
And then it happened.
Selene gasped and opened her eyes.
A man held her firmly in place. He snapped his fingers and the music slowed. The whirl of dancers stilled around them, some of them vacating the dance floor, no doubt exhausted and parched from the bacchanal.
Selene took a deep breath and let him guide her through the steps of the dance. The vertiginous nature of the last song ebbed, allowing her to settle into the movements. She’d been trained as a dancer, as they all had, and following the steps was easy enough. The man led her with a gentle strength, with none of the false flirtations or press of ownership of the others. Selene relished the respite, listening to the orchestra weave through themelody.
Her dance partner turned her again and dipped her. Above them, the hired magicians set off little bursts of light that scattered and skipped in the air. They made it look effortless, despite the intense concentration it took to create a tableau like this. To her left, one of the displays broke and dissipated. The magician responsible sank to his knees with exhaustion. Another magician stepped forward to take his place. The lights went up as if they’d never been lost. As if someone hadn’t just collapsed under their weight.
Her partner brought her back up, closer this time. Curious, Selene met his eyes.
She would know those tea-dark eyes anywhere, brimming with mischief and satisfaction.
“Hello, Selene.”
Chapter 22
Victor’s hair was swept back and free of its wildness. He was dressed in a military suit of white and gold, with intricate navy embroidery on the collar and sleeves. His mask was a rippled deep blue, reminiscent of the sea in the dead of night. It offset the copper in his hair and the sunned warmth of his skin perfectly. It took all her power not to reach up and trace the scar on his cheek. To see if he was real, to be sure this wasn’t a dream. She stumbled in the next step of the dance, accidentally striking his foot with her heel. He winced.
Real, after all.
“Did you get the rose?”
She could say yes and let that be done. There was a way for her to come out of this with minimal pain and engagement. A glottal stop for their relationship. An end and a beginning. She could let this go.
And maybe it was the dizziness of the previous dance. Maybe it was easier to speak with a mask covering up who she was. Maybe the weight of the years had built up in her like champagne bubbles and the pressure of Victor’s hands on her skin was like a cork popping free.
