Still, I’m grateful to her. Displays like this, laced with humiliation though they may be, are rare from her. Maybethey’re a sign that she has affection for me deep down. That she still has a heart, and that heart might be changed.
I receive further proof that evening as we’re getting ready. I’m dressing with Quinn in her chambers after a long day of plucking and preening when a knock comes at the door.
“Come in,” says Quinn. Her servant is drawing sharp lines of eyeliner over her eyelids as Quinn holds up the fox mask to preview the effect in the mirror.
“Lady Adria of House Verran to see Miss Sylvara,” says Quinn’s servant.
“Sylvie,” Quinn and I both correct automatically.
I catch Quinn’s eye in the mirror. She’s as surprised as I am that Adria has come here. And then I catch something pass between them as we turn to face Adria that’s apparent in spite of the masks. Something…charged.
I really can’t tell if they want to kill each other or fuck each other.Gods, please tell me Quinn isn’t fucking my sister.
“I brought you something,” says Adria. She hands me a little box covered in a fraying blue fabric. “It was Mother’s.”
I open it to find a golden necklace set with a large piece of amber. “It’s beautiful,” I say. “I didn’t know you had this.”
“There’s never much occasion to wear it. I thought it would go better with your outfit than mine.”
Adria’s gown is one of our mother’s as well, a silver and black dress made from a heavy, structured fabric that creates curves where she has few. Her mask itself is black—a wolf.
She’s right that the necklace goes better with my outfit. My dress has been made from a shiny silk in a deep golden brown, with a low-slung belt of golden medallions. “It looks like Ronan’s hair,” Quinn said when she pulled it from her wardrobe for me to try, and I knew immediately that I had to wear it.
“Here, let me put it on you,” says Adria. She takes the necklace from the box and unclasps it. Then she drapes it aroundmy neck, admiring it in the mirror. “You look so much like her, you know. More than I do.”
“Thank you,” I say, my voice wavering.
There’s more she wants to say, but she looks at Quinn and changes her posture and tone. “You’d better hurry up before they finish the good wine,” she says to me sharply. “They had to bring out the Selaran trash at the last ball.”
“Selaran trash for Nithyrian trash. Truly the peaceful future Ronan hoped for,” says Quinn. Her hand, which had been gently resting on the dressing table, tightens around it.
“Enough,” I say to them both. “Thank you, Adria. We’ll see you there.”
Despite Adria’s warning, Quinn and I arrive at the ballroom quite late. I can see quickly why Ronan enjoys masked balls so much. The court has really gone all out on their costumes, with some people going as far as having their entire outfits made to match the mask. The most impressive by far is a peacock gown worn by a cousin of House Nauta decorated with real feathers that shimmer and shake as she moves.
This party is far larger than the last one. It extends from the ballroom onto a balcony—the larger balcony, not the small one where Ronan kissed me the first time—and then out into the courtyard beyond, where the palace gates have been opened to allow the commoners to join the festivities.
It takes me a long time to find Ronan. Not just because many of the masks effectively conceal the wearer’s identity, but also because Ronan isn’t with the court at all. He's out in the courtyard among the people.
The costumes of the commoners make up for a lack of quality materials with extraordinary creativity. A young boy sports a unicorn mask crafted from a spiraled seashell, which glitters in the lantern light as he darts through the crowd. Nearby, a slim man dances in armor transformed into an impressive imitation of snakeskin. Then a woman glides past, butterfly wings fashioned from a gauzy material stretched delicately across a frame made of picture wire trailing behind.
At the center of it all is Ronan. The people don’t recognize him; his golden lion mask covers most of his face, but I can feel him, even from a bit of distance now.Thisis why he loves masked balls, I realize. He doesn’t have to be the God-King here. Out in this courtyard, he’s just Ronan.
I dance my way into the crowd to join him. I don’t know the dance they’re doing, but it’s easy enough to pick up. And it’s far more fun than the courtly dances with their complicated patterns and rules that keep you at a distance from each other.
“I see we had the same idea,” he says as I finally make it to him.
“We did,” I say, touching his mask and then mine. Eagle and lion. The two halves of the griffin. “I’m the head, and you’re the ass.”
“And what a fine ass I am.” He laughs and kisses me right on the lips in front of everyone.
“What are you doing?”
“No one knows who we are! It’s the best night of the year. Come on, enjoy yourself. I insist.”
Ronan takes me by the arm and leads me into the crowd to join the dance. We dance for hours in a dizzying whirl of costumes and color, the heat of our bodies keeping away the growing cold, until finally, wordlessly, he leads me up the stairs and back into the ballroom.
“I have a surprise for you,” he says.
