Seville glanced between us. “Ready for tonight?”
Rorik’s disdain was palpable, but I nodded as we passed through the double-door entry to the manor. A handful of attendants were stationed there, including the woman assigned as our retainer, and she smiled at us as we approached. Seville requested tea be brought up later for refreshments, and the woman bent low into a bow that had her hair spilling over her cheeks. Again, when she brushed them aside, I got the strange sensation that she was wiping away the features of her face, if that was even possible. Her round cheek smudged into a sharper angle for a beat, but when she righted herself, her expression was perfectly smooth, smile placid.
Worry gnawed at my gut. If this was a new brand of hallucinations starting to plague my mind, then I really didn’t have much time left at all.
AFTER THE ATTENDANTS DELIVERED OURtea, Seville settled into the armchair with a long sigh. She cradled her cup between her hands and gently blew steam away from the surface.
“Everything’s ready to go.” She nodded toward the table where a slender vial of perfume no larger than my pinkie rested next to an assortment of jewelry. After waiting for the irysdrop to steep back at Fernglove, she’d made the decision to bottle the opalescent liquid in something suited for the night’s activities.
“And just how are you going to get Zeverin to drink that?” Rorik asked softly as he folded his arms across his chest. The attendants had left long ago, but I doubted he’d risk anything more than a whisper at this point.
Seville took a sip of her tea. “I’ll slip it in a glass of Douselle Kiss. He’ll jump at the opportunity if I’m the one offering it. Then later, when he’s dreaming of all the things we didn’t do, I’ll use his hand to open the vault. Easy.”
“Even if this works,” Rorik drawled, “who’s to stop him from checking it first thing in the morning after you’ve entertained him?”
Seville let out a haughty laugh. “You misunderstand the power of male dissonance. If I weave a tale of him as this dominant sex god that left me breathless and limp—and I have no problem lying in his bed until he wakes just to sell that picture—the only thing he’ll be doing is strutting out the door with me on his arm like a proud little peacock.”
I snorted. “I can’t wait to see that.”
“It’ll be great fun.” Her eyes lit up, and she set her cup down. “Now, it’s time to get ready.”
Rorik pinched the bridge of his nose. “Thank the gods we’re leaving tomorrow.”
“Go to your room,” Seville said as she batted him on the arm. “Get yourself together. Remember, we’re to be seen. That is vital for tonight. No slipping away early, no hiding in corners. Until I leave with Zeverin, everyone needs to think we’re willing guests—not plotting thieves.”
Rorik pinned her with an annoyed look. “I’m neither a willing guest nor a thief.”
“And you’re certainly no help,” I ground out. “Now, leave us alone for fuck’s sake.”
“Yes,” Seville said with a coy smile. “Because tonight is all about fuck’s sake.”
My stomach tightened at her insinuation, but her tinkling laugh drowned out Rorik’s litany of curses, and she gently steered me toward our room to prepare for the night. Once she closed the door behind us, she rolled her eyes.
“He’s such a bother.” She moved past the bed I’d yet to sleep in—though I hadn’t even asked if she’d really have shared it with me—and led the way to the attached bathroom. Even though I’d already bathed once today, Seville said that my time wandering through the gardens deemed another quick wash. I didn’t dare argue.
Once I was done, Seville bathed, too. “For solidarity,” she’d said with a chuckle. I found myself smiling and shaking my head, happy to have her by my side. While she reclined in the tub and I sat on a nearby stool in my towel, I stared at her through the reflection of an ornate, freestanding mirror.
“This brings back memories,” I mused.
Seville leaned her cheek on the rim of the tub. “Of your almost wedding?”
“Thank fuck that fell through,” I said with a brittle laugh. “But the night before, with you and Amalyss and Tasia... I enjoyed that.”
She studied me for a long moment, then looked at the ceiling. “I’ve never had a sister, and yet, you’ve somehow made me care about your existence. What rare plant did you put into my drinks to make that happen?”
An expansive feeling spread through my chest, and my shoulders slackened. I’d never had a sister, either. And while at first Seville intimidated me and, quite frankly, terrified me at times, I’d grown to love her. Deeply.
“Well, it wasn’t justoneplant.” I smirked. “It was a series of carefully crafted tinctures.”
“I would expect nothing less,” she said with a laugh. Then, more softly: “I hope you know what you’re doing, Edira. I don’t want you to die.” Her words were barely more than a whisper, but they blanketed over me with such warmth that I couldn’t help but sigh. After a beat, she stood up and reached for her towel. “But enough of that. We have a gala to dress for.”
After we were both dry, we slipped into satin robes, and she set me before a mahogany vanity in the bedroom. She cursed the lighting and tried in vain to throw the curtains open wider, as if that would somehow chase away the clouds in the sky, but eventually settled with just the weak light of the filtered afternoon sun and the chandelier above our heads. She spent the next hour perfecting my makeup and styling my stark-white hair in a waterfall braid. Once she deemed me “perfect,” she swept her own hair up into a quick but artful updo and then began to rummage through her luggage.
“Here it is!” With a triumphant smile, she held up an unmarked jar with a cork lid. “A little goes a long way. Lather up.”
Bringing the jar to my nose, I inhaled and was immediately rewarded with a heavenly burst of bergamot, honeysuckle, and vanilla. I greedily scooped out a heavy portion of the lotion with two fingers. As I rubbed it into my skin, it left behind a resplendent shimmer.
Seville did the same and then returned it to her luggage. “And now for the most important part: clothes.”
