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Mrs. Harvey sat on my right—across from my uncle—and gave me a nod of approval. “You look beautiful, dear. That color suits you well. Eggplant is such a marvelous shade for dreary January evenings! Hides a multitude of sins, as well.”
At my furrowed brow, she motioned to a slight stain on her pale dress. It appeared to be liquid in nature, though I couldn’t be sure.
“Thank you, Mrs. Harvey.” Before I could remark on the fashionable gown and dazzling jewels she wore, the lights dimmed. Being aboard a ship fitted with electricity was enchanting, especially when it was used it to create a thrum of excitement.
I glanced around the room, taking note of anyone who appeared nervous, but no one stood out. Captain Norwood hadn’t announced the truth regarding Miss Prescott’s death, mostly for his own good, but also because the Prescotts had asked for discretion. Diners chatted excitedly at their tables, silent, and swordsmen and women continued swinging their blades, and all was strangely well. Maybe Thomas was wrong. Maybe tonight’s show would not end in death. I picked up my goblet and sipped, releasing the last bit of tension from my spine.
Smoke flitted along the bottom of the curtains, teasing yet promising a blaze just out of sight. My palms dampened my sheer gloves. It was almost time. I peeked over at Uncle, but he was preoccupied with his supper. He tore into his filet with a singular focus he usually reserved for the dead we studied. Apparently he didn’t believe that murder was on the menu again this evening. At least not in this room.
“Esteemed passengers of the Etruria,” the ringmaster crooned, appearing once again from the cover of thick smoke. I shuddered at the memory of him appearing just as suddenly last night. “Welcome to night two of the Moonlight Carnival! The Wheel of Fortune has chosen an extraordinary performance. For your viewing pleasure, may I present an evening of thrills. Chills. And, quite possibly, spills… of blood!”
Without warning, the curtains peeled back like splayed flesh, revealing a masked young woman in a corset made of crushed red velvet, and midnight stockings. And little else.
Coffee-and-caramel hair was done up in ringlets that added inches to her height. Her bustle had layers of black crinoline edged in red ribbon that was quite beautiful.
A heart was cut out between her neck and bosom, showing off her décolletage. Ties in black ribbon mimicked the back of her corset, holding the neckline together. Matching black appliqués adorned each hip. She wore a filigree mask that was a metal so dark it appeared to be frozen oil. Dressed in red and black, she donned the feminine equivalent of the ringmaster’s suit.
There was a collective gasp as the crowd took in the masked woman and then the oversize sword gleaming in her hands. Much like her costume, the sword’s hilt was a thing of beauty—carved in nearly black metal, it resembled a bouquet of wildflowers and bird wings. It was like a faerie blade forged in some wild, heavenly fire.
Behind the mask, the young woman’s eyes met mine and widened. Why on earth—
I covered my mouth, trying to contain my gasp as recognition shot through me like an arrow. No matter how or why, I knew one thing for certain.
The girl onstage was my missing cousin, Liza.
I swallowed hard, my focus never leaving hers. Even with the mask covering half her face, I knew it was her. The ringmaster moved into view, breaking the spell between us, and I set my goblet back down with a thud. Liquid splattered the tablecloth, and an attendant, ever vigilant, swiftly sopped up the mess. Liza. I barely blinked, worried she was a specter I’d conjured up and would disappear just as quickly.
“Try not to lose your hearts or your heads”—Mephistopheles’s eyes gleamed—“and lovely Liza will try to keep hers as Jian Yu the Invincible. The incredible. The superior Knight of Swords, saws her in half!”
While the crowd roared in delight, I gulped down my growing horror.
“Well, this is an interesting development,” Thomas whispered. I stared at him, unsurprised that he was practically bouncing in his chair. He adored riddles and unexpected pieces to sort out—tonight had just become one of the grandest puzzles of all.
“If by ‘interesting’ you mean absolutely horrid, then yes, I agree.”
Uncle inhaled sharply and I knew he’d recognized our wayward family member as well. I refused to look at him, knowing he must be furious. What she’d done was far worse than simply run off. Maybe not in my eyes or Uncle’s, but in society’s she might as well brand herself a harlot.
Mephistopheles cleared his throat, spurring my cousin into action. Liza grinned seductively at the crowd and lifted the sword above her head, strutting along the stage as if she were born to do so. My pulse thundered. I was both speechless and proud.
“Your aunt would have a stroke if she were to witness Liza in such a state,” Thomas said, earning a swift glare from my uncle. He drew his brows together. “Is it not true?”
“Thomas,” Uncle warned. “Enough.”
In spite of the terrible circumstances, I smiled. My cousin was living out her romantic dreams, uncaring
what the world thought of her. I admired her, though a sliver of worry slipped in as I recalled Mephistopheles’s fateful words. It appeared Liza had lost both her heart and her head to his carnival. Suddenly, her last letter came back to me. She’d mentioned being secretly courted by an escape artist.
Gasps went up around us and I shifted to see what had caused such a stir. A sound of ominous hoofbeats filled the room as Jian Yu the Invincible, the Incredible, the Knight of Swords, rode a black horse dressed in chain mail through the saloon. The animal’s liquid eyes flashed their whites, and it reared up into the air, hooves crashing onto the tile with enough force to rattle glasses. Mrs. Harvey clutched my arm, and a few women seated close enough shrieked.
Jian seemed as hardened as the armor he wore. His silver mask completely covered one eye and ended in a series of points sharp enough to pierce skin on the other side. It appeared as if a crown of swords had melted and formed itself around his head. He was the living embodiment of the Knight of Swords tarot card, and his costume reflected it perfectly.
In his wake, the other sword-wielding performers sheathed their weapons, with a sound that sent spikes into my veins, and dropped to their knees as if in supplication. Gooseflesh rose along my arms. The whole scene was terrifying, made even more so by the silence that buffered Jian.
He rode the horse up the stairs, his gait unhurried—he wanted us to admire him as he went by. Long dark hair was tied back at the nape of his neck, offering the crowd a good look at his equally dark angular features—sharp enough to slice through a few hearts, judging from the fans snapping open and the excited chatter coming from the women. Mrs. Harvey took a long pull of her ice water, and Thomas rolled his eyes.
“Is a muscular physique truly that inspiring, or is it the dangerous scar over one eye?” he asked, though Mrs. Harvey didn’t trouble herself with answering. Or tearing her gaze from the young man now onstage. Jian hopped down from his steed and thrust the reins at Liza, jerking his chin toward the curtains.
“Have you been studying those journals I gave you, Audrey Rose?” Uncle interrupted, pulling my attention to him. “I’ll need both you and Thomas to be well versed in marks made with an—”
