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“Well, yeah, but that’s what everyone else wants, too,” he pointed out.
“There’s got to be someplace—” I looked up at the stairs. “Where do these go?”
“To the box seats, I guess. But our tickets don’t let us—”
He stopped, because I was already moving, under a velvet rope and up the stairs, which unlike the cattle call below, were completely clear. And then around a bend and up some more. Until I was stopped by two guards lounging in a marble hallway leading to a row of little rooms. The box seats, I assumed, judging from the flash I got of one as a man came out.
A very familiar man.
It was Radu’s latest boy toy, a blond hunk whose name escaped me but who didn’t seem to have that problem himself. “Dory?” he asked, in disbelief.
“That would be me. And this is Ray.” I shoved him forward. “Sorry we’re late.”
“I…you…yes…”
“But we made it, so that’s what counts,” I said, starting forward. Only to find another hunk in my way, this time of the vamp variety. An apologetic-looking one, because anyone who might belong here rated the white glove treatment.
“I am afraid I will need to see your ticket, Miss…”
I ignored the hint for my full name, since I didn’t think it would be popular. “Oh yes, that’s right. Give him the tickets, Ray,” I said, and dodged around the vamp. Who let me go, because it was that or tackle me, and he wasn’t ready for that.
Yet.
“Tickets, I…yeah, where did I put those?” I heard Ray say weakly, as I slid through a red drape of curtain. And into what must have been the family box.
Mircea was absent. Louis-Cesare equally so. I hadn’t really expected them, though. But considering Gorgeous George—or Ted or Harry or whoever—outside, I had expected Radu.
Who wasn’t there, either.
A bunch of other people were, however, who had been talking and drinking and gossiping and who were now silently staring at me, as if I had suddenly grown two heads. I ignored them in favor of turning to the blond, who had just come in behind me. “Radu—”
“Was asked to stand in for your father in the consul’s box. For the opening ceremony.”
“And the consul’s box would be?”
He blinked at me, like I might be slow. “There.”
I followed his gaze across the railing, and the width of the huge gleaming oval below, to the far wall. Where a massive balcony ran the length of all the box seats on our side. It was still mostly empty. A lot of shadows were moving around in an arched alcove, talking and drinking and waiting for the hoi polloi to settle before taking their seats, but only a few had drifted out onto the actual balcony. Radu wasn’t one of them.
But guess who was?
Marlowe looked about the same, even without whatever glamourie he usually used. A little paler, maybe, and there were tired lines at his mouth and dark circles under his eyes, probably because this was something like his fifth straight day awake. But his servants must have finally tackled him out of sheer desperation, because he was currently wearing a perfectly cut black tux without a wrinkle in it. It looked a little incongruous next to the still messy brown curls and the gold earring shining in one ear, but it perfectly matched the sharp, dark eyes, which were busy scanning the crowd below.
But despite the fact that we were in each other’s line of sight, he didn’t see me. I suppose the people in the boxes were regarded as safe, more or less. I only hoped he continued with that thought, because this was the best vantage point I was likely to get.
And there was plenty to see.
The great mirror at the far end of the room reflected back the huge crowd assembling at the other. Although “assembling” isn’t quite the word for being packed into the standing-room-only area like sardines, with no regard for expensive clothes and delicate feelings. Or danger, because the overflow was being channeled along the sides of the wide-open area of floor where the action was soon to start.
If it had been me, I’d have wanted a splatter shield.
But nobody was looking worried, maybe because they were busy looking up—at the balcony, where Ming-de had just emerged from under one of the arches. The empress of the Chinese court was surrounded by attendants, every single one of whom dwarfed her tiny four-foot-eleven frame. But there was no question who was in charge: she was encircled by a rush of power like a tornado.
It was currently keeping several fans aloft, fluttering around her head like jeweled butterflies, which matched the moving splendor of the rest of her outfit. Bright blue dragons coiled around her wide cuffs, white tigers prowled around her hemline, ebony tortoises gleamed on either shoulder, and a brilliant red phoenix preened its feathers at her waist. I knew enough to recognize ancient symbols of imperial power, although not what they meant.
And then there was the stark contrast offered by Hassani, coming up on her left, his elegant movements at odds with the tattered ruins of his face. They were making small talk as their attendants jostled about in the background,
jealously staking out space for their respective masters. Some of Hassani’s were also exotically pretty, in jewel-tone silks and ropes of pearls. They were rushing around, bringing up piles of pillows to cushion the already overstuffed chaises the consuls had in lieu of regular old chairs. But the rest…
