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Sighing, I ease my body out of the bath, knowing under ordinary circumstances, without the God of Death’s magic, without potentially Allysteir’s Ithydeir venom in my body, none of this could be accomplished without pain. The pain would have lasted for days. Emotions would have mirrored it and lasted far longer.
At the scarlet droplets tumbling from my sex, I understand I may bleed for a short time. Instead, I smile and frame my hands again around my stomach which will eventually shrink back to normal. I can only hope the trace amounts of blood and whatever aftermath of pheromones will linger long enough for my escape.
I swallow the thickening wave of guilt in my throat, considering the millions of women who have had those experiences and bow my head in respect for their sufferings.
But I can’t afford the emotion. Because tonight is the Night of Masks. I must look my best.
I set my jaw and fetch my robe. Tonight, I will run, I will leave Talahn-Feyal and never return. A sorry excuse for a Queen perhaps, but I was never meant to be Queen. Just as Aydon said, I volunteered, I promised myself tohim, not to Allysteir.
As I wrap myself in a robe and make my way up the staircase to my room, Ary’s shade curls across the back of my neck, his voice dipping to the deepest, ominous low to warn me, “They’re coming.”
* * *
“Well, now, I whole-heartedly confess, you have upstaged me,” Allysteir comments when I appear before him, embarking into the Secondary Hall, fully clothed in my ensemble for the evening. “Of course...” he assumes my hand and rubs his mouth upon my knuckles while I smile from his mask. “You did the first time I saw you in the Skull Ruins. Our first meeting, you have perfectly captured, my Lady Queen,” he finishes.
I trace one finger around the tiny skull, one of hundreds strategically positioned to create a mask echoing the Skull Ruins.
“And you have embraced my namesake for you and how we first bonded in the Hollows,” I remark on Allysteir’s mask, though it’s more of a non-mask. After centuries wearing the corpse mask, Allysteir’s painted one becomes him. I curl my fingers to his cheek, marveling at his youthful beauty, how he carried the weight of the mask, the Curse for so many years. A spark of anger heats my blood. No one should.
Allysteir grips my wrist and kisses my palm before it can settle. I smile softly at the elaborate corpus roses with their skull centers. A pang invades my chest. Chewing on the inside of my cheek, I refrain from touching the space on my collarbone absent of the skull mark. Veiled beneath my black, lacy neckline so Allysteir cannot see.
Tonight, I’ll leave all this behind. I’ll leave the Underworld with its spirit lights, the refter bride glen, the Citadel of Bones with its wonders, the Sea of Bones, and pomegranate isle. I’ll leave all this truth and beauty behind in pursuit of my own beyond Talahn-Feyal.
I’ll leave Franzy.
When she enters the secondary hall alongside Aydon, garbed in a flowing, dark green gown reminiscent of our last Feast of Flesh a year ago, the knife twists deep into my heart. Shame curls heat to tingle my cheeks.
“My Lady Queen,” Franzy greets me with an official curtsy. I nod, smiling at her mask of woven white and purple heather. It compliments her darker gold skin. She imparts the same curtsy to Allysteir. “Your Majesty...”
The King is quick to take Franzy’s hand and raise her while shaking his head. “None of that nonsense. I know you’re married to my flouncy brother,” he jerks his head to Aydon, who’s already proven his point by offering me a customary bow and kissing the back of my hand—specifically the wedding ring—, “but I insist: no standing on ceremony here.”
“I have a feeling this will be a night no one will forget,” Franzy mentions with a smile.
“Ahh, an echo of the past,” Allysteir responds and leans in to kiss her cheek. “I believe you are right again, dear Franzyna. As Aydon knows, I am looking forward to sharing with the entire kingdom the news of our future child.”
Aydon shifts his gaze to me. I don’t balk or squirm despite how his blue eyes seem darker, more predatory concealed within the eye holes of his mask of black death roses and skulls. At first, he cocks his head, pinches his eyes. A bolt of terror shoots up my spine.
Does he know?
I sigh heavily and touch Allysteir’s arm, playing into the ruse since everyone in this room knows it’s my unwanted fate, “No need to spoil our evening so soon, Allysteir. Let us enter the court so we may dance and eat and enjoy the festivities first.”
“I agree,” the matriarchal voice behind Aydon and Franzy dictates as she sweeps into the room wearing an illustrious velvet gown of deep umber, adorned in gold-shimmered bones and jewels.
“Mother,” Aydon and Allysteir both state, bowing to her.
She captures each of their cheeks, but a new pattern has formed ever since Allysteir’s restoration. A deeper fondness in her palm for him. Her gaze lingers upon his face as if she wishes to memorize every part of him, as if fearful he could return at any moment to the rotting corpse he once was.
“Slantya, Franzyna,” she greets the Crown Princess. “Well met on the Night of Masks. You are lovely and glowing.”
“Thank you, Your Highness,” replies Franzy, curtsying in spite of Allysteir’s statement.
“Our Isla is right,” Gryzelda confirms and crosses the few steps to my side to gather my hands. “It is a night of celebration and glorious frights. The spirits are restless for their King and Queen. As the Princess rightfully proclaimed: let us give them a night they will not soon forget.”
The Queen’s grace and poise in such a heavy gown shame me. My greatest adornment is my crown, but I’ve selected something closer to a bridal gown. Scarlet for this night, empire-waisted, and flowing from the bust to maintain the pregnancy illusion. The sheer, light fabric at the thighs and downward frees me to dance. Allysteir knows nothing will keep me from dancing.
Tonight, I will dance with Franzy. When we are alone, I’ll explain. I’ll say...goodbye. No, the worst thing I could do is say goodbye. Because if her heart breaks before my very eyes and I’m forced to watch, I’ll lose my nerve. How can I tell her it’s the only way? How can I explain the gods must have their blood, their Curse? The very thought of entering into the Curse turns my stomach to rot.
For now, I remain at Allysteir’s side as the trumpets and Court criers announce our arrival. The crowd hushes, their conversations perishing. Once the curtains sweep aside to reveal the Court, I swallow hard, eyes widening from the glittering sight.
