Marcella shakes her head, her long earrings jingling at the movement. “I don’t know. Your guess would be as good as mine.”
“Have you spoken to him recently? You haven’t mentioned him much since last week.”
She rests her fork on her plate, not looking my way. “No, I haven't spoken to him recently. We’ve both been…quite busy.”
When she pats a cloth napkin to the corners of her mouth, I narrow my eyes. Sure, she’s spent a lot of time with me recently. Especially at night, helping me hone my Seer abilities. She told me she’d meet with him after we were dismissed to our rooms, but has been coming early to dedicate as much time as she can to our trainings.
She was supposed to investigate whether Cyrus was drawn to any of the other women. If I was the only one he kissed. What if shehadasked—and he had an answer she was too afraid to tell me? That maybe Cyrus didn’t fancy me as much as I thought he did.
The conversations around us snap into silence as everyone swings their faces up to the staircase. Several guards spill in through the doors, then fan out to the side. Slipping between them is Aelia with a glowing smile, her arm linked in Cyrus’s. She gives him a look of adoration.
All of us push out of our chairs and bow.
As they descend the stairs together, Aelia’s gown flowing behind her gracefully, she looks to be everything a Queen should. Especially next to Cyrus dressed in all black. It accentuates Aelia’s blue gown.
Blue.
I drop my gaze from them and slowly scan the women at the rest of the table. All dressed in varying shades of red, orange, yellow, green, and purple. Then down to my own.
Also blue.
When I glance back up, Cyrus dips his head to Aelia and presses a kiss to the back of her hand before motioning for us to take our seats. Then he walks away from our dining table toward the corner of the room, to a grand piano surrounded by lit candelabras.
The room falls quiet with anticipation as Cyrus flicks his coat back and takes a seat at the tufted bench. From this angle, his profile is sharp againstthe glow of candlelight behind him. The straight slope of his nose, down to the soft set of his lips. A proud chin that dips to his throat as he swallows.
His eyes close. Lifting his gloved fingers to the keys, he’s frozen there for a moment. And then his fingers move. Deft and delicate. Playing the keys like it’s as simple as breathing. He carries off into a melody that slowly relaxes my jaw until it finally drops open.
I know that tune. It’s the same song that I’ve been humming foryearsto quiet my panic and glimmers. Had it all been a vision? All leading me to this moment? That here, now, is where I’m supposed to be?
Covering my mouth with my fingers, I rest an elbow on the table, leaning forward as if I might be able to ingrain the soft music into my mind. There to replay it over as many times as I’d like.
A chair screeches, and Marcella rises to her feet. “Excuse me,” she mutters, and scurries away.
I reach for her hand, wondering what’s gotten into her, but she moves too quickly. Lady Bethany rises from the end of the table, attempting to stop her, but she brushes past. Lady Bethany signals for the guards to follow her.
As Marcella gathers her skirts and makes her way up the stairs and slips out of the room, two guards shadow her.
Cyrus’ music stops. His fingers are still on the keys, head lowered with his eyes closed. We all break out into scattered applause, until eventually we all rise out of our seats and clap louder. Cyrus opens his eyes slowly, staring at the piano before him. Dropping his hands from the keys, he rises with a hesitant grin before taking a bow. Once he straightens, he gestures to a quartet lying in wait in the opposite corner of the room. On cue, they all slip into a new melody.
Willow taps a finger on the table toward me. “Would you like to dance?”
“Oh.” I blink. “Sure, yes.”
I haven’t spoken with her often these last few weeks. Don’t know much about her, other than she almost touched the opium poppies, and was the first person to tell me of the coin we’re sent home with if we’re excused.
And she wants to dance with me?
I toss one last glance at the double doors that lead out of the dining room, figuring I’ll go check on Marcella if she isn’t back by the time we conclude our dance.Maybe she ran to the restroom?
Willow and I, along with several other ladies, take a place out on the dance floor.
“Did you want to be the lead, or shall I?” Willow asks.
“If you can lead, I’d prefer it. Dancing is not my forte.”
“That’s too bad,” she says with a grin. “Though, I suppose fair for the rest of us. You can’t be the best at everything, you know.”
We assume our positions and step into a swaying dance with the rest of the pairs around us as I prompt, “What do you meanby that?”
