Through the haze of need, remembrance of Frella’s laughter came back to me. I drew back. But this woman’s eyes held adifferent kind of teasing. Narrowing my own, I withdrew her hand, even as it went against all my desires to do so.
“Tease,” I lectured.
“Are you so sure?”
“Are you implying you aren’t?”
She shrugged.
On the bar top, my last drink lay untouched. I took it and gestured, using the moment to calm my racing heart. The woman made me weak, shaken, and desperate in ways I didn’t know were possible.
Playing along, the woman retrieved her half-finished shot and held it up, mirroring me.
“To witches and monsters,” I toasted, and she tipped her glass to mine. The clink resonated through me, a realization of the words I’d spoken. They’d come to me without thought. Peering over the rim of her cup, she took the remainder of the liquor in stride. I mimicked her, yet the weight of my toast left me conflicted, unsure.
“Are you a monster?”
The question took me off guard, sobered me. I gritted my teeth to still the tremble of my hands and pushed down the memory of Thatch’s eyes, wide, as he’d backed away from me all those years ago.I shut out the memory of the hate in his eyes as he retrieved his wooden sword from his feet.
My response came in a breath. “Yes.”
The woman set her glass down, and I followed her movements, surprised when her expression softened. I’d laid the most vulnerable part of myself before her, yet she didn’t falter. Even if she couldn’t possibly understand the extent of my words. The pounding of my heart fumbled and leapt.
“Aren’t you going to ask if it matters?” she asked.
If being a monster mattered? If it scared her? If she hated me as much as I hated myself? “I—”
“It doesn’t.” Her words were resolute. With them, something locked into place. It terrified me, but there was no way to deny it.
My soul became hers.
“We all have monsters,” she said. “I’m not afraid of yours.”
Heart pounding, I offered her my hand. “Dance with me.” The words came out stilted, but if she had noticed, she did not say so. Nervous excitement heated my veins. Would she turn down the invitation again?
For a brief moment, she rocked in her seat as if considering. Then she hopped down from the barstool, almost childish in her carefree mannerisms, so unlike those of the ladies of the court. Even the girls in Nyana’s kitchen held themselves with more decorum; it was expected of them, working in the castle as they did.
A strange lightness fluttered in my chest. Tucking her hand in the crook of my arm, I led her to a space close to the front of the stage, though off to the side enough that we weren’t crowded in by others. The harpist’s tune was rich, slow, and held a note of melancholy.
“What is your name?” I asked as she turned to me, and I took her waist in my hands. My heart thundered.
“Tonight, I am no one.” She hooked her arms over my shoulders.
Sighing, I pulled her body close against mine, and we swayed together to the emotive tune. “So, you are anelusivetease.”
Resting her head against my chest, she laughed faintly. The sound made my heart flip. “Are you complaining?”
“No. Though”—I rested my chin atop her head—“I would like something to call you. You have my name. It seems only fair.”
“Cordelia.”
“A fake name?”
“No,” she said, tilting her head up. The sparkle of her eyes caught the light, and again I found myself struck with the desireto raise her mask and gaze upon her unveiled face. “My mother’s name.”
I grunted, and a smile tugged at my lips. Leaning down, I spoke against her ear. “Do you truly wish for me to call you by your mother’s name tonight?” My question held clear implications, and a flare of heat rose in my chest at my own boldness.
Brushing her cheek against mine, she rose to her toes, and I tightened my hold at her waist. The faintest touch of her lips brushed my neck. The remembrance of the scent of rose hips returned to me in an instant, churning my stomach and subduing my confidence.
