Page 84 of The Scarlet Ball

There wasn’t much left of me, just this terrible cold that had sunk under my skin like it was going to stay. It was better than being burned to a cinder, it was probably better than a lot of things, but still, I didn’t want it. I never wanted it, not even when times were at their darkest, and if I could have screamed, I would have. I couldn’t make a sound, and if we were done—

Except we weren’t.

The warmth came back slowly at first, and then fast, and then he might as well have been a fire for the way the heat overcame me. It gave back everything I had lost in this one horrifying night and then some, and it raced through me like electricity seeking the ground, like rain falling into the sea.

Sebastian had his face buried in my throat, which had somehow knit itself back together. I would never forget that it had been torn, but who cared? No one went from cradle to grave in one piece, and I started laughing because now I had a demon lord beside me to smooth the rest of the way.

“Stay,” he said as if he was afraid I wouldn’t. “Stay, please stay. I want to know what happens after this, I need to see what you do next. I love you, and I love you alive best of all.”

I staggered when the floor rose up beneath my feet, solid ground suddenly unfamiliar to me. I might have fallen over entirely, but then Sebastian was there, human to look at except that his eyes were fogged over with clouds and just once, they flashed with green.

“You called, and I have come,” he said, his voice ringing throughout the hall.

And then, more softly, “How well you feed me, my love.”

Sebastian lifted my hand, now whole and unbloodied, to his lips. He kissed it gently, and I stared in wonder for there was no sharp starved edge to him. He was a monster sated. There was no telling how long he might stay that way or what might happen when he grew hungry again. In this place, in this time, there was only one thing I could absolutely count on.

“I am yours,” Sebastian said. “Let me stay with you, and I will give you the whole world.”

“I don’t need the world right this moment,” I said. “What I want is a ring.”

Eagerly he turned his hand up, and resting in his palm was a platinum band, a row of square-cut white diamonds circling it. I smiled at how ordinary it was when I knew he would give me white lightning to wear if I asked for it, and someday I would. This ring was for the world to see, a promise of everything we were going to have, the things we were going to break, the things we were going to fix, and I nodded at Sebastian, permission granted.

“Will you marry me?” he asked, and I dipped low in a curtsy that was the farthest thing from submissive.

“My lord, I will.”

He raised me up and placed the ring on my finger, and I couldn’t help it. I started to laugh again, throwing my arms around him. I must have looked like a madwoman, but what else were we when we invited such things into our beds?

We were going to have so much fun.

Epilogue

The ballroom at Mareshead in Newport was decorated in red oak and copper, warm and ever-so-slightly bloody. When the windows were thrown open to let in the breeze from Easton Bay, the cotton drapes, dyed bronze, danced, giving the space an otherworldly beauty.

From the top of the sweeping staircase, I examined the floor of Pentelic marble below and the crystal chandeliers wired for electric light above. In the balcony opposite, the musicians were warming up, and if I thought I saw a familiar face among them, I ignored it: Mareshead was too new for ghosts. It had been Sebastian’s wedding present to me, constructed from brute sorcery all in a night as I worked with our architect on our new house on Fifth Avenue.

In a short while, the footmen would swarm the floor like ants, carrying cut-glass bowls of candied fruit and sugared almonds, setting out velvet chairs for the perimeter along with chairs at the head of the hall reserved for Sebastian and me should we decide we needed to sit during the course of the evening, though I didn’t plan on it.

Almost as if the thought had summoned him, he appeared, circling his arms around me from behind, planting a soft kiss behind the point of my jaw, just at the edge of my new mask. We’d had it made on our brief honeymoon to Venice, as perfectly realistic as any face skinned off a bastard girl and without the need for stitches on top of it.

“Are you worried about tonight?” he asked. “Mother said that women often are before they host their first society event. She said that I should be kind to you.”

“You should always be kind to me, but no, not at all. I’ve dealt with worse things than a ball.”

“Mm. You’ve dealt with me.”

I turned to kiss him, but when it grew more heated, I reluctantly disengaged. There would be time for it in the early morning, when the dancing was done or even before, but right now, that was years away.

“Better not. Mielle will be furious if you ruin my hair.”

“I will indeed,” Mielle said from behind us. “And the pleats at the back of your dress are fragile and must not be disturbed.”

Obediently, I stood and allowed her to circle me, ensuring that hair, face, dress, shoes, and jewelry were all in place. I was married now, with no need for softer colors or too many flounces and furbelows. That night she’d chosen a gown of carmine silk, pleated a hundred times on the bias to form the bodice, the fall of the skirts as heavy as a drugged sleep.

We’d found Mrs. Howard’s anniversary diamonds in the wreckage of the house, perfectly intact with the lares crouched protectively over them. Seeing my delight, on the morning after our wedding Sebastian had presented me with an even more extravagant matching parure of white diamonds he’d taken from a shipwreck. Tonight I wore the parure, tiara and necklace and bracelets, and to them, I added Mrs. Howard’s diamond earrings. If you take trophies, you should wear them.

Dressed in severe black like a fashion mannequin from another century, Mielle took up residence wherever I was. She wore an embellished gold band on the ring finger of her left hand, weighed down with so many wards and protections it was a wonder she could lift it. We’d spared no expense to ensure that no one would ever catch her as Mrs. Howard had again. That she wore it like a married woman seemed to be a private joke. I hoped that someday she would let me in on it.