Page 22 of Her Dark Reflection

A footman led me to a podium in the corner of the room, staying only to help me climb onto it before disappearing. This part of the night was sure to be the dullest; we were to stand almost as statues while guests ogled us, changing position whenever the orchestra housed in one of the galleries above changed songs. I interpreted my role of ‘statue’ loosely as I looked around, watching footmen dart from guest to guest, balancing silver trays loaded with glasses of champagne. The far wall was lined with glass doors, which were thrown open to the courtyard beyond, where flickering torches hinted there might be more to see. How were they keeping the room warm with the doors open like that?

The music shifted, and I obediently swept an arm above my head and arched my neck, feeling gazes crawling over me as I did so. Two women approached, their masks mere strips of lace about their eyes. I watched them in my peripheral vision as they regarded me, fluttering their fans and cocking their heads.

‘How peculiar,’ one said in the sharp, hissing accent of Creatia as she looked me up and down. ‘To dress these creatures up in such a fashion and display them like this. I really don’t see the appeal.’

‘Perhaps their theme promises too much. Would this girl be considered a marvel, or a monster?’ her companion replied, leaning closer to me as though she was inspecting the pores of my skin, as though I really was a statue.

The music changed and I took the opportunity to swing my arms suddenly, causing the woman to jump back in fright.

‘Well,’ she sniffed, ‘I hope there are more impressive displays than a few harlots in face paint.’ The two returned to their group, which contained a few young men who obviously thought I was an impressive enough display as they gaped at me.

I endured similar treatment from other guests as they poured into the Great Hall, filling it with chatter and laughter as they promenaded around, preening themselves before the mirrors and eyeing each other up. Fortunately, no one had been so uncouth as to actually poke me, but several seemed to be contemplating it. My limbs grew stiff from holding poses and my feet ached in their white slippers.

Finally, a set of trumpets piped a vibrant refrain, silencing the orchestra. A hush fell over the room as the king appeared in a gallery above and people shuffled around to stand where he was visible. Though he was far away, I could see that he was dressed impressively: A cloak of thick white fur hung around his shoulders, and the gold of a crown glinted on his head.

A servant hurried forward to clip a woven circlet around his neck so that when he spoke his voice rumbled off the walls and reached every corner of the hall.

‘Welcome,’ he boomed, spreading his arms wide, ‘to a night of monsters and marvels.’

There was a scattering of applause, and he waited for it to die out before continuing.

‘When the Creatish king, Thorgil the Sly, held the first Armistice Ball, I doubt he knew we would be continuing the tradition centuries later. After all, he used it as a ploy to gather information on his new allies. What better way to ensure peace than ply everyone with drink, entice them to act their worst selves, then flood the celebration with spies.’

Laughter greeted this statement, and a young couple nearby turned to each other to share a few whispers.

‘So, in the spirit of those ancestors who were badly behaved enough to ensure a hundred years of peace, I implore you to drink, dance, be merry, and rest assured that there will be no spies to make you regret yourself in the morning.’

A wave of cheering and applause rose around me, then the shrieking began.

Several streams of blue fire roared from different corners of the room, sending heat and the rushing of air arcing high over the heads of those assembled, eliciting a more enthusiastic round of applause and cheering. From my position, I could see two dancers now moving through the room, producing bursts of flame as they whirled across the floor. They had the olive skin and dark hair of the northern tribes who wandered the Shifting Plains, and I was surprised to see one was a woman. Her hair was shorn close to her head, and she wore the same dark breeches and shirt threaded with gold as the man a little further along. With a torch in each hand, she moved her arms in great arcs of fire, and as I watched she touched one of her torches to her back and was entirely engulfed in flame.

A fresh burst of screams sounded around the room as the other dancers erupted into cerulean fireballs, the flames flaring high until the hall was filled with a blue glow. I watched with my mouth slightly agape. It was magic. The blue of the flames, the way they were completely engulfed and yet continued to dance, it had to be magic.

The dancing flames were reflected in the surfaces of the dozens of mirrors until the whole hall seemed to be on fire, and then just as suddenly as they’d begun, the flames died out. The dancers bowed, and a deafening applause rattled the room. As it died away, the dancers disappeared, stepping out of sight easily behind the many pillars and mirrors.

The orchestra struck up a cheerful tune as the crowd seemed to recover and chatter filled the air once more. With a sigh of relief, I climbed down from the podium and stretched, seeing glimpses of rippling white around the room as the other maisera within eyesight did the same. I moved away from the podium immediately, darting around the mirrors and servers and clusters of guests as I looked for Senafae. I snatched a glass of champagne from an unattended tray and sipped at it as I went; I may have a job to do, my official one as well as my secret one, but I was determined to enjoy myself while I was here.

Unfortunately, the sight of Vanaria fawning over the king soured the taste of the champagne in my mouth. Tucked into one of the pockets partitioned around the central dance floor, it looked as though she had somehow managed to sequester him away for herself already, though I doubted that would last long. I was never going to have a shot at him with her constantly vying for his attention. I may have matched her in the beauty department, but she was clearly the highest-paid maisera in the city for a reason. As I watched, the music changed to something low and rhythmic and she began to dance, raising her arms above her head and shifting her hips so gracefully that she seemed more liquid than solid.

But the king wasn’t the only one watching her dance. A few paces away, Lord Faucher had his watery eyes fixed on her, his mouth hanging slightly agape. I sidled up to him with a smile.

‘My lord,’ I simpered with a curtsey. ‘How pleased I am to see a familiar face.’

‘Yes, yes, good to see you, my dear,’ he said, ripping his eyes away from Vanaria and kissing my offered hand. ‘What a spectacle all this is, eh?’

‘It is at that. I find it’s getting a little too much for me, though.’ I fanned at myself, then took his hand and pressed it to my forehead. ‘Do I feel hot to you?’

‘Mm, yes,’ he mumbled, his gaze immediately fixing on my mouth. ‘Perhaps you should rest.’

‘I should. Won’t you help me find somewhere to sit?’

He jumped to attention, slipping my hand into the crook of his elbow, and leading me away from the pillars and to a shadowy alcove furnished with a settee and draped in gauzy curtains. He settled me down, then waved over a footman with a tray and swapped my empty champagne glass for some water.

‘It’s so nice to be taken care of,’ I said, smiling at him from beneath my lashes.

He sat beside me and patted my knee. ‘You girls must spend a lot of time on your feet. And all that paint looks hot. Have they painted… everything?’

I smacked him playfully. ‘Restrain your wandering mind. You mustn’t flirt with me like that.’

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