“Okay, pity party is officially over.” Astrid wipes her eyes.
“Good. Now we better sort your face out. It’s a mess.”
Astrid smiles, closes her eyes, and tilts her chin up. “Go on, then. Make me pretty.”
“I can’t work miracles, I’m afraid.”
“Oh, hilarious. Have you heard from Mum, by the way?” Gwen wrote to Astrid a couple of days ago, but she told Jessa things that she didn’t share with Astrid. Even now.
“This morning, saying sorry she can’t make it tonight and asking for an update on how everything’s going. Asked about the little dragon’s growth rate, too.” Jessa had written to Gwen about the dragon, though it’s not the dragon they should be worrying about. Her mother will have a fit when she finds out about Skylar’s power. “There’s drought affecting Esloe, would you fucking believe? It’s like a cruel joke. Your mum is sending the Ulvene to help the councillors relocate their people to the Lofojen Basin, as there’s just no way of getting enough water to them where they are.” Jessa exhales slowly. “She ended the letter saying how much she misses you.”
Astrid nods at that. “She doesn’t have to be sorry. I get it.”
Jessa strokes Astrid’s cheek. “I know you do, miracle girl. Now, sponge, please—let’s sort this mug out.”
An hour later, Astrid’s face painted and hair styled, she picks up the silver-and-white lace mask she’s wearing this evening. The mask is a panther with intricately woven lace wings that extend back behind the ears and rest flush against her hair; she felt only a mask of their sigil, Artemia, would suffice this evening, and had made it before she’d left Isfjell. Jessa’s mask, much to Quincy’s disgust, is a snow wolverine, a fabled Arturean mountain predator. It’s the same color as Astrid’s mask, and with Jessa’s dyed navy hair and the similar silver jeweled skirt and crop top, they could almost pass for twins.
“Bastet, I had something made for you, too.” Astrid opens the top drawer of her desk, sweeping aside empty vials, and pulls out a miniature pair of blue-black wings attached to a harness.
IWOULD RATHER PARTAKE IN THE DUEL RIGHT NOW THAN WEAR THE MONSTROSITY IN YOUR HAND.
Quincy yips a laugh and Bastet glares at him. In response, Quincy finishes the food in Bastet’s bowl.
“I don’t want to hear your ridiculous hyperbole. You’re going to wear the wings and get in the party spirit because, if I have to, I’m dragging you down with me.”
I. WILL. NOT. WEAR. THEM.
Astrid approaches him and plonks down on the bed. “Please?” she says, in her most pathetic voice. “Just for a little bit? You’ll look so adorable.”
He hisses at her yet to her surprise, sags and then nods stiffly.
IAM ONLY DOING THIS BECAUSE WE WILL BE DEAD SOON ENOUGH ANYWAY.
“Stars, Bastet, you’re as morbid as Astrid,” Jessa scolds, adjusting her whip around her skirt. “Are we ready?”
Astrid grins but is ushered out of the room while she’s still attaching her claws. No Brewer’s Belt tonight—it won’t match the outfit—but she does have a couple of vials tucked away in a garter. She links her arm in Jessa’s and leans in. “Do you think the baroness of Brithan will be at the ball?”
Jessa lowers her voice. “I already asked around. Our favorite baroness is notably absent from the castle.”
Damn. Astrid was hoping to ask her about the note—the first actual proof that the Blight was linked to the Heart and, what’s more, that the Vatran king knows there’s something wrong with it. Not that this brings Astrid any comfort. If the Vatrans are trying to fix the Heart and can’t, what does this mean for Arturea? For both continents? That the Blight will rage on until there’s nothing and no one left? No. Astrid can’t allow that to happen.
“What about the other baronies? If Brithan is aware, perhaps they all are. I can try to speak with one of them instead.”
“Way ahead of you, sister.” Jessa pauses as a servant runs past with a tray of glasses. “But, again, I asked around. The barons and baronesses have all gone home, not due to return until the duel. Which is highly unusual.”
Astrid frowns, swallowing the disappointment. “Guessing the king had something to do with that. Didn’t want anyone else questioning him, maybe.”
“What a surprise,” Jessa says.
Outside the castle, the clamor of the party hits them, masked guestswalking and dancing through the grounds toward the area on the east side toward the ball. There’s the twang of a lyre welcoming them as they approach the entrance—an archway of sprawling white moonflowers, the petals of which will open at sunset—where guards are stationed, checking invitations.
“Surely they already checked invites at the gates?” Astrid says.
“They have, but they’re double- and triple-checking everyone, especially after one of their prisoners escaped.”
Astrid stops short. “What?”
“A rebel, a Shifter, apparently. Don’t worry.” Jessa misreads the stunned look on Astrid’s face. “I’ve been assured he had no intentions of regicide, and even if he did, soldiers have been drafted in tonight for extra security.”
