“Don’t make me say it twice,veyre.”
Haskel chuckled and muffled it with a cough. His words floated back:Never upset those who dress you and those who feed you.
While Eury recovered, Mirek did a blind fitting of my costume. He wouldn’t let me look at myself in the mirror until the outfit was complete. After that, I couldn’t—wouldn’t—leave until I knew she would be all right. Another night of half-sleep.
I didn’t see her again until the next morning, when she emerged from her chambers with that sharp, observant gaze. As though she hadn’t been almost poisoned, as though the mycelial knot hadn’t made her want to die.
Mirek leapt up from where he sat at the table popping dates and wiped his hands. “I’ve been waiting ages for you. We mustprepare, my little bramble.”
Eury barely met my eyes before she was swept up in ball preparations. All twelve handmaidens were brought in, and the whole place felt more like a busy set of hallways than guest chambers.
I ended up sitting with Haskel and Finch. Haskel instructed Finch on the proper way to pour wine; he drank every glass my squire set before him.
When Mirek pointed at me and gestured me into his chamber with one finger, I took a long swig of the wine set before me and went.
Half an hour of pulling, prodding, and poking later, Mirek stepped back. “It’s miraculous. Better than the original.” Beside him, Eleyrie clasped her hands beneath her chin.
I turned toward Mirek’s mirror for the first time since he’d dressed me. A cape hung from my shoulder in a clean line, black velvet that drank the light, the obsidian clasp gleaming like a single watchful eye. The jacket was fitted close, black brocade stitched with a thorn pattern that shifted when I moved. My boots shone, my gloves were tight, every edge tailored into restraint. And then the mask—matte black, severe, cutting across half my face, its etched scar running down the jaw.
I had asked, and Mirek had delivered.
“Don’t puff up his ego.” A red-cheeked Haskel appeared in the doorway of Mirek’s chamber. “Off you go, boy, and let your elders have a turn.”
I stepped back from the mirror. “Is Eurydice ready?”
Mirek scoffed and thrust me toward the main door. “The queen must make a late entrance, and you must go ahead.”
“Have your squire scout the ballroom for widows,” Haskel called out through the doorway, “and find me the spiciest one.”
I turned as Faun stepped out from Eurydice’s chamber. She hadn’t dressed up one iota.
She closed the door behind her as though she was trying to keep me from seeing inside and eyed me up and down as she approached. “Dashing. Very unlike you.”
“Says the fae in her traveling leathers.”
She reached behind her back and lifted a black lace mask. She fitted it onto her head and flicked me off.
I couldn’t help smiling. “And what are you meant to be?”
She hooked her arm with mine. “A Sylvanwild fae at a Highmark ball.”
My smile grew. Faun reminded me of the sister I’d once had.
“Finch!” she called out.
The boy appeared from our shared chamber in a hurry, smoothing out his dark-velvet doublet.
“Don’t you look handsome,” Faun said, and his gaze dropped sofast, his cheeks reddened so brightly, I wondered if he’d faint there beside the fountain.
The three of us passed out into the hallway, where one of Liora’s handmaidens stood. A new one, probably so Theia could sleep. She turned toward us, her wide blue eyes taking us in. “May I escort you to the ballroom?”
“No,” Faun said, and walked us past the fae. When we were around the corner, she said, “It’s only been a few days and I’m ready to cut every one of their blond tresses off.”
Behind us, Finch either gasped or snickered.
I gestured ahead of us. “Do you even know the way to the ballroom?”
“More or less.” That meant no. Fortunately, I did. Beside me, her eyes lingered on my mask. “I see you’re not just planning to drink and dance.”