I eyed her for a moment, attempting to gauge just how deep her denial was. Her expression was simply one of disgruntled determination.
“Yes,” I decided, advancing on the wardrobe and opening its doors to reveal Pretoria’s and Perry’s array of garments.
I selected a sleek, heavily beaded copper and teal evening gown. “I know just where to begin.”
A NOTEUPON: SEAU, THEKESSAN, AND THECONTINENTPROPER
The authors of this guide recognize that the Proper, as one may call the continent south of Arrent, is very likely the destination of The Vigilant Lady Traveller, and will therefore spend the body of this work extolling its wonders and unveiling its dangers. It is storied, diverse, and cultured.
However, notable areas of concern include, beyond the most sensible vigilance over one’s person and possessions, that of the station of Entwined. Various Guilds exist across the continent to contain the Entwined, but despite official stances and laws, the extent of their control is inconsistent.
The Vigilant Lady Traveller must be attentive to these variations as she crosses the borders of the Proper.
FROMTHEVIGILANTLADYTRAVELLER:
A GENTLEWOMAN’SGUIDE TO THEWORLD
The Opera House stewards paid Pretoria and I no mind as we merged with the crowd at intermission. We passed through wafts of pipe and cigarette smoke, snagged tall glasses of a vaguely green sparkling wine, and faced one another.
Pretoria clinked her glass against mine, the rich, deep blue of her gown shimmering beneath a layer of gossamer and a fur wrap—twin to my own—which, conveniently, concealed her throat. She looked lovely, as always, but thanks to the tactful application of cosmetics, not quite herself.
The same was true of me. The differences were subtle, but persuasive. I doubted Lord Stillwell would recognize either of us in passing, given the passage of time and the bustle of the crowd.
“To the hunt,” she murmured, and I felt a quiet thrill. I might disagree with much of my sister’s choices in life, but there was an addictive quality to moments like these—when we were united, resolute, competent.
Together, I felt, there was little we could not do.
“The hunt,” I agreed, raising my glass and sipping. The wine was sweet, tasting distantly of fennel and anise and ginger. I immediately glanced back to the refreshment table, wishing I had taken two for myself. Coffee may have been the better choice, given my fatigue, but my nerves were taut.
Pretoria sipped at her glass, raised her brows in approval, and sashayed away.
I went in the opposite direction, meandering through the laughter and chatter. Bedecked though I was, I still drew little attention in such a crowd. There were gowns finer, faces lovelier, but drawing attention was not my purpose.
I surreptitiously studied the older men in the room, searching for Lord Stillwell or, at least, another council lord. I was discreet, but several returned my gaze, some with curiosity, others disregard, and one with invitation. None of them were my quarry.
I left the reception hall and passed through two grand, square-columned doors into the opera hall proper. Ladies and gentlemen intermingled among the rows of red velvet chairs under the gaslights, and I tugged my wrap a little higher.
A burst of male laughter drew my eyes upwards. I turned, looking towards the central gallery.
Once, Empress Alessandra had occupied that gilded box, encircled by her sons and daughters and consorts. Now, General Baffin lounged in her throne-like chair, surrounded by drifts of cigar-smoke and a dozen officials.
My glance was brief, but it was long enough. His gaze snagged on me, casual and assessing, and my stomach dropped. Would he, somehow, recognize what I was?
Relief and unease made my blood light as he looked away. I moved out of the balcony’s line of sight, debating whether to check in with Pretoria, when the occupants of another box caught my eye.
Madge and several other Guild Adepts, all familiar to some degree, sat in a box nearly as fine as the Grand General’s. Several Guild soldiers, uniformed and armed with sabers and pistols, stood to attention at the gallery’s curtained door.
Evidently my escape had not impacted Madge’s social calendar. My icy sister was here, and I was one glance away from being seen.
Fortuitously, I felt a presence at my back. I turned, one hand already reaching out to drag Pretoria to safety.
Mr. Wake’s arm slipped around my waist. He leaned down to murmur in my ear in a façade of intimacy, “Come with me quietly.”
“I would rather not.”
“You missed our meeting.”
“I am following a lead.”
