I turned and stalked toward the double doors.
“Wait,” Baz said. “Zi, why did you stop her?”
“It’s okay. She’s good to go now. Just wanted to double check her veil.”
With my hand already reaching for the door, I faced her. “Wait, a veil? You didn’t say anything about a veil.”
“We told you I was doing stuff to temporarily disguise your appearance.”
“Did you really, though? None of you will tell me a damn thing straight-up. I don’t even understand what Baz did with the phantom, and I was standing right next to him.”
“Do you actually wonder why? Because if that confuses you, you’re less intelligent than I thought.”
“Ah, well, at least you thought I was intelligent. That speaks to your own intelligence. Now, tell me about this veil. I thought you were just doing basic magic.”
“Do I look like a basic kinda woman?”
“That depends.”
“On what?” Aziza asked sharply.
“On what kind of veil you put on me.”
“You called me ‘basic,’ which anyone with working senses can tell I’m far from.” She sauntered past me, yanked open the door, and tossed back, “So you can fucking figure it out on your own.”
Ed walked in after her as Aziza’s voice rose above the din.
“Calm down, everyone. Calm down! Your prince is here to help. We’re all here to help.”
Something crashed against the wall near her and Ed.
“Fiery flames,” Ed grumbled.
“Knock it off,” yelled Aziza.
Baz and I jogged into the sitting room, with Night and Félix immediately following.
All thirteen of Terencia’s nobles, including her lady’s maids, who should probably have been attending to their empress, huddled back-to-back in the center of the room. Some knelt on chaises, others crouched behind them. Most of them clutched some sort of ornamental statuary or goblet; a couple wielded bottles full of blood—human, from the smell which escaped from the still-corked vessel. The man I’d last seen in a pompous, sky-blue wig now wore a sunshine-yellow one, styled long and then pulled back from his face with scattered plaits—much like Baz wore his hair. Only where Baz ornamented his with copper and silver rings, leather cord, and the occasional bead—currently carved from onyx—the nobleman had his woven through with sky-blue ribbons. Was sky-blue his theme color? I shuddered to find out.
Sky-Blue alone held a dagger. Its blade gleamed as if freshly polished, and the gemstones that adorned its grip were too numerous for practicality. Nevertheless, he gripped it with familiarity and steadiness.
“By the Ethers,” Baz exclaimed. “What is going on here?”
“It’s blats,” Sky-Blue said. “They’re fast little diabscures. You can’t see them right now. They dive down at us, then zip back up to hide in the shadows where we can’t get them.” Pointing it at the ceiling, he waved his dagger menacingly. Lumoonlight danced across several of its gemstones, making them sparkle violet and blue. “They’re scared of us. They know if they come within range, I’ll lop off their wings, gut them, and then claim their ugly little heads as my trophies.”
“What’s a blat?” I asked. “And what’s a diabscure?”
Despite the imminent threat of these blats, every noble abandoned their defense to peer at me. I should have held on to my questions. But if something was about to attack, it was important that I knew what, especially unarmed and otherwise limited as I was. Thanks to the mysterious veil Aziza had presumably illusioned onto me, it would already be blatantly clear I was an outlander.
“A diabscure is a terrifying, hideous monster that feeds on fear and darkness,” said a lady’s maid. Her status as attendant to the empress was marked by a pin of the Rubor Dynasty crest attached to her corset. The pair of dragons, rearing back-to-back, were fashioned from glittering rubies, and the flames they breathed were carved from a fire opal to look as if they actually burned.
That sole trinket would have kept my siblings and I fed for years when we’d lived on the streets of Montressón.
“Though diabscures do have remarkably fine taste in shoes,” she continued. “I won’t deny them that, especially as they might kill me for saying otherwise. If you know not what one is, consider yourself fortunate.”
I considered myself many things; fortunate had never been one of them.
“And a blat is a creature that looks and behaves somewhat like a black bat.”
