“Or the Cathedral of Bones, as some of you so cheekily refer to it.” Otto dipped his head, emitting a laugh that sounded more like a hiss. Several of the braver guests chuckled along with him. “We are sure you are all wondering why you’ve been invited here.”
Ronin circled his thumb against Mireille’s back, a casually intimate gesture. It was making it hard for her to focus on their host. She darted her eyes to Ronin, but his were glued to Otto.
“We assure you that all will be revealed in due time. And if you make it to the end of the week, your minds will be opened, your hearts will be changed, and your souls will be invigorated. It will be an empowering journey, to be sure!”
Ronin tensed beside her, hid it with a sip of his Delirium.
“Here, here!” A Beastrunner male with a shaggy black mane saluted with a glass of the same sparkling pink wine Mireille was drinking. Otto bowed in recognition of the toast.
The crowd murmured excitedly, but a pit of dread formed in Mireille’s stomach. Clearly, they’d all missed the linemake it to the end of the week.
Otto clasped his hands in front of his stomach. “The theme of this week is stories. The stories we’ve been told, the stories we tell each other. Even the stories we tell ourselves.”
His eyes flicked to Mireille, and she fought the urge to flinch.
“Throughout the course of our week together, we will endeavor to turn those stories upside down and inside out, an attempt to decipher that which is real and that which is illusion. Delusion, even. The first story begins at sunrise. Until then, please enjoy yourselves.” Otto lifted his hands and his gaze toward the ceiling. “Praise the High Gods!”
Mireille thought she caught a hint of sarcasm in Otto’s final proclamation, but the crowd echoed him, raising their glasses, then turned back to each other to continue their revelry.
“Odd welcome,” Ronin whispered as Otto descended the stairs.
“Yes,” Mireille responded, twirling the stem of her wineglass. “We’ll focus on mingling and listening tonight. Converse with a few of the guests. We can’t approach Otto himself yet and too obviously press our intentions. Let’s start with?—”
She nearly dropped her glass as Ronin dragged her toward their host.
“Otto!”
So much for subterfuge and subtlety. And was Ronin seriously disobeying her already?
Otto swiveled toward Ronin, his black hair gleaming beneath ribbons of bioluminescent moss strung between the trees. His lavender lips turned down ever so slightly before spreading into an amused smile as he slithered toward them, Julius Kosera a hulking shadow at his back.
“The Butcher of Aethalia,” Otto said, his voice fizzy and sibilant. “So pleased that you were able to join us.”
Ronin towered over the Deathstalker—he towered over pretty much everyone at the party save Kosera—and extended a tattooed hand towards him. Otto shook it with a limp wrist.
“Where my female goes, I go.” Ronin nudged Mireille’s elbow, encouraging her to shake Otto’s hand as well. Something bloomed in her chest—something she refused to acknowledge—when Ronin called her hisfemale.
Otto’s hands were cold, his knuckles bulbous and flaky. As if he were molting.
“We are, of course, even more pleased thatyouwere able to join us, dear.” Otto’s forked tongue poked out, catching Mireille’s scent. He dragged his eyes down her dress and she shocked herself by instinctually pressing further into Ronin.
The foursome remained silent for an awkwardly long time, Kosera grimacing at Ronin while Otto regarded Mireille with heated curiosity.
She nearly jumped out of her skin when Ronin ran a hand down her hair, tangling his fingers through the strands. “She is lovely, isn’t she? I don’t know what she sees in a brute like me.”
“Indeed,” Otto mused. Kosera grunted in agreement as his boss turned to Mireille. “Well, if you find yourself needing a break from yourbrute, come find us. We’d be happy to show you around the galleries.”
“Bet you’ve got some very interesting pieces in there,” Ronin piped up, and Mireille had to stop herself from elbowing him in the ribs. High Gods, he was the worst spyever. She silently cursed Skanisse for shackling her to him.
“Our collection rivals even that of Emperor Leonin Erabis himself. You let us know when you’re ready for a tour, Mistress Valette.” Otto inclined his head, then sauntered over to another group of guests.
Kosera didn’t immediately follow. Instead, he sidled up to Ronin, crushing a fist in his hand and cracking his knuckles. “Well, if it isn’t thegrand champion.”
Ronin huffed a laugh, smirking as he took a sip of his Delirium. “Don’t tell me you’re still bitter about our last fight, Greyhorn. That was what, three decades ago? I thought elephants were the ones who never forget, not rhinoceroses.”
Kosera’s beetle-black eyes glinted with barely restrained fury. “If I’d been able to shift?—”
“But you weren’t.” Ronin squared off against Kosera, shoulders taut. Nearby partygoers cast curious glances in their direction, and Mireille placed a hand on Ronin’s arm. A warning. “You lost fair and square. Go whine about it to someone who gives a shit.”
