A Kusheline party; a diamond and a velvet leash.
Trust me, Imri, you wouldn't have liked it.
"I know," I said.
"Well." Phèdre cleared her throat. "Joscelin honors Blessed Elua in his way, and I in mine. And none of that will change tonight. All right?”
"All right," I muttered.
"Good." She rubbed her arm where I'd grabbed her, looking absent for a moment. Beneath the crimson silk, I suspected there were bruises. "Now go see Alais, will you? She really is missing you.”
I found Alais amid a gaggle of attendants. At almost fifteen, she was old enough to have her own ladies-in-waiting; daughters of the peerage, nearly old enough to play the Game of Courtship in earnest. They giggled with one another, flirting and making eyes at the young noblemen. Alais looked lonely and forlorn in their midst.
"Hello, my lady." I bowed to her. "Joie to you on the Longest Night.”
"Imri!" Her expression brightened, dispelling my bad mood. "Where's your lamp? I thought you were supposed to have a lamp.”
"I left it on the table," I said, extending my hand. "All the better to dance with you, if you'll do me the honor.”
Her face glowed. "Of course.”
We took to the floor, moving smoothly among the myriad costumed couples. It struck me anew how much Alais had grown in the past year. She was a studious dancer, following my lead with care, as though she feared to do aught that might make her look foolish. In the past, she wouldn't have cared.
"You look beautiful tonight," I told her. She was clad as a forest sylph in dark winter hues, and her mask was adorned with ebony brambles, clusters of garnets gleaming like berries in her black curls.
"Do you think so?" Alais asked.
I nodded. "Truly.”
She turned her head. "Have you seen Sidonie?”
"Oh, yes." Out of the corner of my eye, a flash of gold. Mavros was talking to her. I prayed he kept his mouth shut. "Tell me, do you like your ladies-in-waiting?”
"Sometimes." Alais' tone was noncommittal. "It's different.”
"Why?”
She sighed. "You know.”
I did. It was different because she was half-Cruithne and looked it; because she was betrothed to an Alban prince and wouldn't be playing the Game of Courtship. Because she was Alais, proud and clever, and not terribly good at flirting.
"Will you stay with me a while?" Alais asked hopefully, her hand tightening on mine.
"Of course," I promised. "As long as you like.”
It was a promise I had cause to regret. In Lucca, surrounded by soldiers, I'd yearned for the company of women. After ten minutes amid a horde of adolescent girls, I'd have traded their giggles and shrieks for the grunts and bellows of the training ground in a heartbeat.
Still, I'd promised.
At Alais' pleading, I told a story about the siege. They got round-eyed, oohing and ahhing, and begged to see my scars until I relented and pushed up the rags draped around my right arm to let them see the shiny pink mark where a deep gouge had healed. The squeals were deafening, and all of them insisted on touching it. Some were more insistent than others.
"You're so strong" one of them breathed.
"Greetings, cousin.”
I glanced up to meet Sidonie's amused gaze. Her gold dress had a low décolletage, and a sun-shaped pendant nestled above the swell of her breasts. Her skin was fair and smooth as new cream. I stammered a greeting and attempted to pry Alais' young attendant off my arm.
"I'd thought we might have a dance." It was hard to tell behind the half-mask, but I thought Sidonie was trying not to laugh. "Later, mayhap? If it doesn't inconvenience your plans with Lord Mavros.”
"Of course." I inclined my head.
"Later, then." Her voice softened to a tender note. "Are you enjoying yourself, my heart?" she asked Alais.
"Oh, yes!" Alais' violet eyes shone. "Now I am.”
"I'm glad." Sidonie smiled at her sister and turned away. She tapped her favorite attendant, the priestess' daughter, with the tip of her gilded spear. They exchanged a glance of unspoken complicity and strolled back into the throng, masked guardsmen hovering discreetly. I sighed, the sound lost in the general uproar.
"Prince Imriel?" There was a small hand on my thigh, resting just below another long-healed gash I'd taken in the battle of Lucca. I glanced down at the very young lady-in-waiting to whom it belonged. She batted her lashes at me. "Do you not have another battle-scar you might show us?”
"No," I said shortly. Alais giggled. "And it's not funny.”
She wrinkled her nose at me. "Yes it is.”
It seemed like ages before I was saved by Night's Crier, entering the hall and sounding his bronze tocsin. The stern sound and the pall of darkness that fell over the ballroom made me shiver, stirring echoes in my memory; the sound of bronze wings clashing inside my skull, and Gallus Tadius standing over a dark abyss, the broken mask in his hands. The ritual played out as it had done a thousand times before, year after year. The cunningly built mountain crag behind the musicians' grotto split apart to the sound of a crashing drumroll and the Winter Queen hobbled forth as an aged crone; an answering drumroll sounded as the doors were flung open to admit the Sun Prince's chariot.
There was one difference this year. After he'd pointed his spear at the Winter Queen, after she'd let fall her tattered robes to reveal herself in her youth and beauty. After the wicks were relit and light returned in a glorious rush, and the Winter Queen ascended the chariot. The chariot made its slow turn, and they both bowed to Queen Ysandre. This time, the Sun Prince saluted Sidonie, too; one glittering figure to another.
It was a small gesture, only a symbol. Mostly people cheered, but a few murmured. I hated them for it. As the musicians struck up once more, I decided I wanted very much to claim the first dance of the reborn year of Sidonie.
"Will you be all right on your own?" I asked Alais. "I promised your sister a dance.”
She nodded. "Do you think they have anything like this in Alba?”
"I don't know, villain." I kissed the top of her head. "We'll find out.”
"Don't call me that.”
Now the revelry began in earnest. I caught sight of Mavros looking impatient and made a forestalling gesture. Servants were circulated with freshly laden trays of joie. I snatched a glass in passing and drank it at a gulp. The lamps seemed to burn brighter. I slid easily through the crowd, winding past bulkier figures, agile in my rags and bare feet. A gilded spear-head, a glint of cloth-of-gold.
"Sidonie." I held out my hand to her.
Beyond her, Barquiel L'Envers was watching us, arms folded over his Akkadian robe. Sidonie ignored him. "You do keep your promises, don't you?" she mused.
"I do," I said. "Yes.”
She gave her gilded spear to Amarante of Namarre and took my hand. I led her onto the dance floor. The musicians were playing a galliard. I wished it was a slower tune. I wished half the room, including L'Envers, wasn't watching us.
"You look absurd, you know." Sidonie touched the ragged neckline of my tunic, her fingertips brushing my skin.
"Do I?" I asked, not caring.
Her lips curved. "No," she whispered. "Not really.”
We drifted closer toward the far end of the floor, dancing beneath the looming form of the Winter Queen's mountain, its hidden opening closed once more. The musicians ended their tune and shifted into the opening bars of a quadrille. Lines of dancers began to form, a dense wall of costumed backs presenting itself.
"Here." Tugging my hand, Sidonie darted behind the mountain.
It was dark and cramped and wonderful. We stared at each other; masked and unmasked, rag-clad and golden. I caught her other hand, pinned them both against the false mountainside, pinning her there with my body. Our fingers interlocked. My blood was roaring in my ears, and I could see the pulse beating in the hollow of her throat. I couldn't see her eyes, only dark glimmers behind the radiating sun-mask.
"Sidonie." My voice sounded raw and strange.
Her head tilted and our lips met.
Wrong, so wrong! And ah, Elua! Glorious. I felt her lips, impossibly soft, part and I made a sound I'd never heard before. I kissed her, and it was a delirium of kissing; avid mouths, darting tongues. It felt as thought it could go on forever, more and more and more, all of it new and undiscovered. Her mask scraped my cheek, and I didn't care.
I pressed harder against her and felt her shudder, our intertwined fingers spasming. Deeper and deeper, I kissed her. If I could have crawled down her throat, I swear to Elua, I would have.
"Sidonie!”
An urgent hiss. She tore her mouth away from mine, gasping. I leaned my brow against the mountain and groaned.
"L'Envers is on the lookout, cousin.”
A different voice; Mavros, wry and warning. I let go of Sidonie's hands and stepped back, breathing hard. My body was one single quivering ache of desire. Mavros glanced over his shoulder, then beckoned to Sidonie.
"Here, your highness. Quickly.”
She adjusted her mask, then took his hand. He led her around the curve of the crag, shielding her gilded figure with his height. My legs were trembling, and I sank down to sit, resting my back against the mountainside.
Amarante looked down at me. "Prince Imriel?”
"Give me a moment." I pressed the heels of my hands against my eyes.
"It's all right now." Her voice had regained its usual composure. "Anyone who noticed will think it a foolish game, nothing more.”
I dropped my hands and squinted at her. She was arrayed as Spring, in a gown of pale green with a crown of flowers. I knew the costume. Sidonie had worn it last year. "It's not, you know. A game.”
"I know." Her mother was the head of Naamah's Order. Of course she knew. And I had asked for Naamah's blessing, knowing the risk. I was at the mercy of my own desire. Genuine desire, fierce and real. I was an idiot.
We waited until the musicians began a stately pavane, then slipped back onto the dance floor. By the time the dance ended, my pulse was nearly normal and I felt steady on my feet. I thanked Amarante, who merely nodded and went to find Mavros.
"Shall we go?" he asked.
"I think we'd better.”
I made my farewells. The royal family was together. Alais, who was beginning to look sleepy, hugged me and kissed my cheek. Sidonie and I exchanged cordial nods. She was as cool as ever, her back as straight as the spear she'd reclaimed, but the sun-pendant on her breast trembled. I felt a quiver in the pit of my belly.
"Imri?" Phèdre gave me a long, quizzical look. She suspected, I thought; surely, she must. But if she did, she didn't say anything. "Be careful," she said instead, smiling ruefully. "I know, I'm always telling you that.”
"And I'm always careful," I lied.
Outside, the air was bracing. The unseasonal warmth had given way to a cold snap and there was ice on the streets. I shifted from foot to bare foot on the courtyard as we waited for the carriage to be brought around. It was only an hour or so past midnight. The stars were distant and frosty, and a full moon stood high overhead, washing everything with silver. Mavros flung back his head and howled at it. I laughed, and he thumped my shoulder with one fist.
"You were right, cousin," he said. "You were oh so right. She wants you.”
"I don't want to talk about it," I said.
"Why?" he asked.
I shook my head. "I don't know.”
Mavros eyed me. "Are you going to be any fun tonight?”
"I don't know," I repeated.
"Ah, well." He shrugged. "I am.”
By the time we arrived at Cereus House and gave our tokens at the door, the festivities had gone well beyond revelry and into sheer license. I daresay at the outset the panoply outshone the Palace, but by now costumes were disheveled, and those masks that had not yet been discarded sat askew. Still, it was an amazing thing to see all the adepts of the Thirteen Houses in one place. So much beauty! Many of them came from a long lineage of Naamah's Servants, and their blood was as pure as any peer's.
On the Longest Night, there were no assignations allowed in the Night Court, no contracts. Only such liaisons as the adepts themselves chose. And this they had commenced to do with fervid enthusiasm. Everywhere one looked, in every corner or nook that afforded a measure of privacy, couples were entwined; couples and triads and groups of all manner. Alyssum's modesty and Bryony's avarice were abandoned, Heliotrope's marque blossomed beside Jasmine's.
"Elua!" Mavros took a deep breath. "What a lovely garden.”
He plunged into its midst and I lost sight of him almost immediately. I followed more slowly. I felt strange, a beggar at a banquet. I'd never gotten my lamp back, and I daresay I looked the beggar, too.
It was all right, though. I didn't mind.
A ripple ran through the crowd and I heard my name whispered. It seemed my bet with the Dowayne of Bryony House had caused a stir in the Night Court. I was Phèdre nó Delaunay's foster-son and I was welcome among them. Whatever I felt, I'd not go begging; not here.
There were offers.
A lot of offers.
And I turned them down, all of them. I found a perch atop a mostly empty banquet table and watched the glorious swirl of pageantry and lovemaking, the breathless, flushed garden of D'Angeline adepts. A vast tenderness filled me, and the beauty of it all made me ache with longing and loss.