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Esmae grins. “That’s why we focus on the eyes and the mouth. I’ve never even seen your face powdered. I’m sure we could bring a little more color into it…”
She stands between me and the mirror as she works, patting a cool sponge all over my face and then applying color with brushes of varying sizes.
The cosmetics don’t feel as heavy as I expected, but maybe Esmae just has a light touch.
When she steps back, I stare at myself.NowI look like a noble.
I look like a stranger.
My cheeks have a rosy tint that’s unfamiliar on my sallow skin. A deeper ruddy tone makes my lips look fuller.
But it’s my eyes that stand out the most, kohl frames and shaded lids turning the bright blue irises piercing.
Esmae clicks her tongue. “It’s a shame we’ll have to cover most of that up. Could you line my eye? It’s always hard when I only have the one to see with.”
I can at least offer a steady hand if not one that’s wielded kohl often in the past. “Of course.”
Once she’s satisfied with herself as well, we help each other fasten our simple masks over our upper faces—hers a purple lace that matches her dress, mine a sleek gold imprinted with a subtle lattice pattern that Casimir must have picked out to coordinate with my gown’s embroidery. It brings out the red in my hair, as he may have counted on as well.
It’s a perfect disguise. I’m going to mingle with Florian’s elite while they drink and cavort—and do my best to be in the right place to overhear secrets spilled with a slip of a tongue.
Even Julita sounds pleased, despite Esmae’s assistance.You’re doing me proud, Ivy. Now let’s get out there and track these scourge sorcerers down.
We only have one flight to ascend to reach the ballroom. It takes up most of the space on the fifth floor, under the building’s broad dome.
As we step through the doorway, I stop my jaw from dropping only with sheer force of will. I’ve always known the nobles went for extravagance, but this… This is as if the godlen of beauty herself touched the space with her blessing.
Crystal chandeliers twinkle at varying heights across the arced ceiling, which looms so far above our heads they look like clusters of stars. Their glow beams down across the otherwise darkened dance floor in iridescent streams. I can’t tell whether the crystals themselves give the light that pearly quality or if it’s the result of someone’s gift.
Flashes of color slip in and out of those glowing beams as nobles in billowing dresses and velvet suits of every hue in existence circulate through the room. Staff in formal but subdued black suits circulate between them with platters of bubbling glasses that hold their own, definitely magical glow.
The music seems to wind alongside them, coursing from every corner of the room with its lilting melody. I can’t see the performers. Are there dozens of them or only a few projecting their music through the vast space?
More magical décor glimmers around the edges of the room: pink roses for Ardone and orange blossoms for Inganne, gliding swans and fluttering butterflies.
One of the waiters breezes by us with a tray, and Esmae snatches up a glass. I decide I’m better off keeping my head as clear as possible.
The very atmosphere in the ballroom tastes like a drug. And I remember far too well how my control started to slip in the grips of whatever Anya or Romild slipped in my dinner the other night.
I drift forward, searching the figures with their gilded masks for any features I can recognize. My gaze halts on a towering figure near the edge of the crowd who’s staring right back at me.
There’s no mistaking Stavros, even in a suit twice as fancy as anything I’ve seen him wear before and his realistic prosthetic hidden by a glove. No one else has a frame quite that massive to fill out the deep green jacket and trousers to such impressive effect.
No one else has that shock of blood-red hair turned even ruddier in contrast with the green.
He’s wearing a gold mask too, to match the ample detailing on his jacket, a few shades yellower than his light brown skin. The shape of it is sharper than mine, though, with a definite masculine edge.
And his eyes bore into mine from across the room, refocused with that subtle twitch of his head, leaving no doubt that he’s recognized me too. Between the fractured lighting and the mask, it’s hard to read his expression, but his normally nonchalant posture has stiffened.
His lips part with a flick of his tongue over them that sends an unwelcome waft of heat crackling over my skin. Then he turns away as if he never saw me.
Of course. I’m not here to talk tohim.
He was probably just startled to see me looking so little like a thief.
Come on, let’s get in there,Julita says impatiently, and I venture farther into the mass of nobles.
Skirts brush against mine, and laughter bounces alongside the music. I think I spot Anya’s pale hair off to my right, but she’s whirled away an instant later by her current dancing partner.
