An opportunity.The exact opportunity I couldn't have manufactured better if I tried. But I force myself to seem only mildly interested. "Do any of you plan to attend?"
"Eclipse nights are our busiest," River says, eyes bright at the prospect. "Everyone wants to forget themselves when the blood moon rises."
"I'll make enough to cover three months of rent." Petal grins. I smile along with her and think about the invitation and how quickly I could lift it from an inside pocket if I had to.
A weight settles on me.
I look up. Across the room, a girl stands very still. She is tall, elegant, and draped in silver. Her silver hair falls in smooth waves down her back.
She looks like me.
Or rather, like the polished myth of me.
The girl has longer legs, sharper posture, and no hesitation in her stance. Her gaze drags over my face, assessing.
She curls her lips in distaste.
"That's Helena," Petal says quietly at my shoulder. "Ignore her."
Helena rolls her eyes and turns away, dismissing me with the ease of someone who has already decided I am beneath her notice.
"She's been doing the Silver Queen longer than any of us, even before Mockery Night," Petal continues. "Thinks she owns the role."
Blaire would have laughed at the irony.
They guide me toward the main floor. The sight steals my breath.
Crystal chandeliers hang in cascading tiers, scattering fractured rainbows across silk-draped alcoves. The vaultedceiling is painted with scenes of ancient courts and long-forgotten revels, all rendered in luminous gold and midnight blue. Music weaves through the air as dozens of workers move through the crowd. They're all wearing variations of the mockery costume.
Petal shoves a tray into my hands. "Water for the Rose Room, whiskey for the Lily Suite. Try not to stare. Lord Elmsworth tips well but hates gawkers."
I'm given simple tasks on account of my apparent inexperience. I quietly refill goblets and deliver trays. The mask works perfectly. No one looks twice at another silver-wigged server. I'm invisible, a ghost in my own mockery. I keep delivering drinks and absorbing every whispered conversation.
"—the attack will come from the east, through Thornwood Pass—"
"—Eirik's keeping his real strategy close. Even the commanders don't know—"
"—during the eclipse, when the old magic peaks—"
I edge closer to a cluster of fae officers discussing troop movements, angling my tray as if I've simply misjudged my path.
And then I see them. Elven nobles. My nobles.
Lady Eidith holds court in a corner alcove, laughing too loudly at something a masked fae whispers in her ear. Lord Kharlis sprawls across a divan, wine staining his lips while dancers coil before him. Duvall, who just yesterday spoke passionately in council about maintaining moral superiority over the fae, has his hand on a worker's thigh.
My own people are here, participating in my mockery.
The betrayal cuts deeper than I expected.
I tell myself it means nothing. Perhaps they are only seeking distraction. An evening's escape before the storm breaks. People come to places like this to forget themselves and my nobles are no different. It doesn't have to mean anything. I know that.
It still stings.
"Drinks?"
I turn to find Kharlis holding out his empty glass.
I refill it carefully, willing the tremor in my hands into stillness before it can betray me.
