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Before I can leave, Casimir brightens as only he can. “The ball will give you—and Julita—plenty of chances to observe both the students and the staff with their guards down.”
I hesitate. “You think I should go?”
Benedikt waggles his eyebrows. “You were planning on skipping the biggest party of the month?”
“Well, I don’t exactly have a lot of experience with reveling with nobles.” Or rather, reveling in general.
Navigating a ball feels like a much higher magnitude of con artistry than handling classwork or a hunt.
“Don’t turn tail on us now, Thief,” Stavros drawls, so apparently even he expects me to pull this off too.
Alek looks as if the thought of balls makes him feel about as sick as scourge sorcerers carving up their kids does, but he inclines his head too. “It is probably the best opportunity you’ll get all month to observe and overhear things people would usually keep hidden.”
Julita shifts in the back of my mind with motion that feels almost like a pat on my head.Don’t worry about it. I can talk you through the whole thing. It’ll be fun!
I have my doubts about that, but I can hardly back down now. “All right. I guess tomorrow I’m going dancing.”
Gods help us all.
Nineteen
As I let her into Stavros’s quarters, Esmae lets out a little gasp. “Oh, it’s gorgeous.”
Her gaze sweeps over the ballgown I’ve mostly managed to put on myself—because I didn’t want the woman who’s somehow become my friend noticing the lack of godlen mark on my front or the scars on my back. I resist the urge to hug myself against her assessment.
The dressisgorgeous. When I unfurled it from the package a messenger dropped off a few hours ago, I might have gasped myself.
Translucent swaths of sky blue and seafoam green tumble down across an underlayer of paler blue, giving the impression of gleaming water flowing from my collarbone to my toes. Gold embroidery dances along the waistline and in trickles down the skirt like froth on the water.
Even thinner gauze swirls from my shoulders to my forearms, disguising the knobby elbows that a week of noble food hasn’t managed to fill out. Linzi’s white ribbon around my bicep only shows faintly through even in the bright lights of the apartment.
A thin silk cloak streams from the back of the neckline nearly to my feet, ensuring my scars are totally concealed.
He thought of everything.
I think I’d have known that Casimir must have picked out this dress even if it hadn’t arrived with the hair pin I admired in town tucked into the same bundle. I can’t imagine anyone else being that aware of the parts of me I’d prefer to disguise.
To top it off, the overlapping panels of fabric obscure slits that mean I’ll still have access to at least a couple of knives. He might have not just picked it out but had the gown custom-made.
The knowledge sends a bubbly feeling through my chest as if I’ve already downed a couple of glasses of champagne. I’m not sure I like the sensation.
I’m not sure I could possibly belong in this dress. But here I am.
I smile awkwardly and motion toward my lower back. “I don’t know if I’ve gotten the lacing as tight as it should be.” I wasn’t going to ask Stavros to lend a hand before he set off to make his own ball preparations elsewhere.
“Let me see…” Esmae sweeps over in her own gown, a purple one with just a narrow swath of gauze across her otherwise bare shoulders and thick embroidery defining the waistline above the billowing skirt. It’s probably more in the current court fashion than my own, but I can’t say I give a roach’s ass about that.
Why is the one-eyed mouse here again?Julita mutters as Esmae eases aside the lower part of the cloak to give the ribbons at the small of my back a deft tug.
We already had that argument after Esmae volunteered when I saw her at breakfast this morning. I pointed out that between Julita and me, I still only have one pair of hands.
And it’s a pair of hands that isn’t particularly practiced at the beautifying arts.
My ghostly guest couldn’t deny that, but it hasn’t stopped her from grumbling. I suspect she’s a little offended that Esmae has made more of an effort to be friendly with me than it sounds like she ever did with Julita.
Esmae ushers me over to the mirror mounted on the wall and slips her fingers into my hair. “That pin goes perfectly with the dress too. We could gather your hair all the way up like this. Or keep it more arranged at the back like this.”
“Let’s go with that one,” I say to the second style, and do my best to hold still while she tucks the strands into an intricate arrangement I could never have accomplished on my own.
