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Chapter Eight
The Masque
The Masque took place in the Grand Hall of the Great Castle.
The Grand Hall was a fantastical space, made even more so by the decorations that teams of maids had worked on around the clock, busily hanging this and assembling that. All three of the chandeliers, which swung gently from the high roof, were fully lit, blazing with candlelight that reflected from mirrors and glittering gold fittings. The space appeared as a fairytale, and seemed almost to be populated by fairies.
The nobles of the court had decked themselves out with an eye to imagination and whimsy. Old men suddenly regained their youth as they dressed as satyrs and pixies, lighter on their feet than they had been for thirty years. Pursed-lipped matrons who disapproved of anything as familiar as a smile, embraced the freedom of anonymity, winking coquettishly from behind a mask and dancing happily with men twenty years their junior. Hardline priests forgot their vows, enemies became friends, friends became lovers and the whole scene seethed with a drink-fueled bonhomie. The costumes, and particularly the masks, encouraged fun and freedom. Do what you wanted; drink to excess; eat like a pig; dance with whoever you pleased; sneak a forbidden kiss—no one would know it was you because itwasn’tyou, it was the costume.
And tomorrow it would all be meaningless.
I could immediately tell that the atmosphere greatly appealed to Prince Balduin, because it was the way in which he lived life every day, and for once he was not being judged for it. And, as far as I could tell, Nicolo was enjoying it too, albeit in a much more restrained fashion—which wasn’t much of a surprise. I could well imagine how Nicolo felt—for once, he wasn’t ‘the Terrible’, for tonight he was someone else, someone who wasn’t feared. The queue of court ladies keen for a dance with the man of foul reputation demonstrated this. Yes, it would be terrifying to be married to the man—if so, you would become a target overnight—but to dance with him was a dangerous fantasy come true.
“Just to get the question out of the way now and apologies for dashing your hopes, but I shall not be dancing with you,” Nicolo had explained to me a day earlier. “The differences in our social status would make that quite impossible.”
I was schooled enough by the Guild not to allow my ego to get in the way of my better sense and chose not to be offended. Instead, I simply nodded and with a smile responded, “Of course, Master.”
“I do not wish to offend you with that pronouncement, but things are as they are.”
“I am not offended, Master,” I answered, wondering why he’d brought the subject up at all. It wasn’t as though I’d imagined he would dance with me—our acquaintanceship hadn’t brought us to such a familiar place yet, if ever.
“Regardless, I wish you to enjoy yourself,” Nicolo continued, eyeing me speculatively, though I wasn’t sure why.
“Very well.”
He nodded. “That means you have my full permission to dance with anyone you fancy.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Anyone with whom it isappropriate, I mean,” he immediately corrected himself. “Other squires, for example.”
“The other squires hate me.” This was because I was a woman, because I’d been a servant, because I worked for Nicolo—they had many reasons.
“That is unfortunate,” said Nicolo in a very unconcerned, dismissive manner. “I can’t immediately think of anyone else you could dance with, unfortunately.” By his response, he didn’t at all seem concerned by this. “But I hope you still have a good time.”
“Thank you, sir.”
***
From the sidelines, I watched the whirl of glittering people, moving to the orchestra, hazy with alcohol, giddy with laughter. Was that a Duchess dancing with a scholar? Everyone was well aware that before the night was over, there would be many a hasty and fevered coupling on a quiet divan or up against the wall in an empty room. Masks on at all times, of course.
Although I’d been relegated to the status of wallflower, I was quite enjoying the night. And I had certainly not gone unnoticed. Yes, I’d been left alone thus far, but there had not been a set of male eyes in the room that hadn’t found their way to me—and remained for a touch too long.
Even though I wanted nothing more than to join the revelers in the center of the dance floor, I knew my station. So, I continued to remind myself that this might be an opportunity for me to do the job I was sent here to do. On a night like this, people let their guard down and it might very well prove to be the only night they did. Yes, the more I thought about it, the more I wondered if it was quickly becoming a case of now or never.
Killing Nicolo… right.
I had noticed in the last couple of weeks that my reason for being here had begun to grow cloudy. As I grew more comfortable with my position of squire and more comfortable with Nicolo, in general, it was almost as if I’d forgotten the reason I’d been sent here in the first place.
I was here on a mission and that mission didnotinclude becoming Master Nicolo’s squire. It sometimes felt as if the job had gotten the better of me—that I’d gotten caught up in the act and was feeling some of the emotions I was supposed to be faking. The line between what was real and what wasn’t was becoming very blurred.
What is real is that as soon as you assassinate Nicolo, you will return to the Guild and await your next mission,I told myself.
Yes, exactly. This was just a job, nothing more.
After the quick discussion with myself, I was much firmer in my resolve, sure of my focus.
As I watched, Nicolo accepted the hand of a graceful and elegant lady of the court, her dress clinging to her body to such an extent, it might have been painted onto the voluptuous contours.
