“You look wonderful,” I said. “Befitting a magnificent talking raven.”
You look shiny, he said.
That was inarguable. The green velvet caught the light, and the metallic thread I had used to embroider it glinted at the neckline and cuffs. The Hair shone amber and gold, echoing the jewel at my collarbone. I made a face at myself. I still felt like I was wearing a costume, but at least the embroidery and the addition of Baldbeak with his fine new collar made me feel a little more like myself.
“My lady,” said the maid softly, poking her head around the door after a light knock. “Are you ready?”
I followed her down the corridor, glad to have someone to guide me through this vast place. I paused by a window. The courtyard outside the palace was bustling. Carriages stopped outside one by one, and footmen stepped down to open thedoors for marvelously dressed people who tottered on heeled shoes to the front door.
I steeled myself. I had to smile and make small talk with the “gentry,” as Mieka called them, for just one evening—for just long enough to charm the Pontiff and glean what information I could about the catacombs.
We came to the wide staircase, and I descended, rather self-consciously holding up a fold of my gown in one hand so I wouldn’t trip over it. Baldbeak slid down the banister beside me, flapping his wings with great enjoyment and rather spoiling the effect. To combat the awkwardness I felt, I kept my chin tilted up and my eyes cast down until I reached the bottom of the stair where Patrick was waiting.
When I looked up, I saw he had a rather strange expression on his face. He was dressed in black, as usual, with the dark green embroidery on the lapels and the jeweled pin at his throat providing his only points of color.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” I put my hand up to the Hair, making sure it hadn’t unraveled itself.
“You look beautiful,” he said. I waited for a smirk or a joke, but he seemed quite serious. He took my hand and bowed low over it, brushing my knuckles with a kiss. My cheeks flamed, and I snatched my hand back.
“Can we go back to behaving normally now, please?” I said. “Or I will never get through tonight.”
“I am behaving normally,” he said with a slight smile. “Shall we?”
He held out his arm. I took it, but Baldbeak appeared to think it was for him and alighted on his shoulder between us.
“You look very fine, too,” Patrick said to him gravely, and Baldbeak rattled his feathers with a look of great satisfaction.
The ballroom was vast and high-ceilinged, but already warm from the press of the finely dressed throng, their voices minglingto form a muted roar. Candles, mirrors, and vases of white flowers glittered from every available surface. I clutched at Patrick’s arm instinctively as we walked in and eyes turned to us—men staring openly, woman glancing coquettishly over their fans. Baldbeak fluttered behind us, then flew up to land on one of the chandeliers, setting the delicate glass droplets to trembling.
“It’s all right,” Patrick whispered.
I loosened my grip. “I know,” I said, turning my face away. I didn’t want to confess just how nervous I felt. I had thought I was used to crowds by now, but this was a different sort of crowd altogether—glittering and sharp-eyed, regarding me with interest and private judgement.
Dwale was already inside, munching on a little pastry and sucking at his fingers. He wore blue velvet, stretched taut over his barrel of a chest, and looked quite out of place among the perfumed crowd. It was a relief to see him.
“You clean up nice,” he said to me.
“Er, thank you. So do you.”
“Stay by the door,” Patrick told him, “and inform me of anything untoward.”
Patrick led me deeper into the room. Despite his slight figure, he seemed able to part the crowd by force of sheer presence. We came up to a bevy of gowned and beribboned young women who stood fanning themselves by a white chaise longue. He smiled at them as we passed, so I followed suit, but received only flat-eyed stares or outright dirty looks in return as their smiles dropped off their faces.
“What’s wrong with them?” I whispered.
“Ah.” He chuckled. “Well, you are on my arm tonight …”
“I’d noticed.”
“And I’m what some might consider an, er, eligible bachelor.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“So the assumption is that you have won my heart, and I might very soon be taken off the market,” he explained.
“Ibegyour pardon?”
He raised his hands in mock surrender. “You asked! Look, it doesn’t matter. It’s … just one night, after all.”
