Page 129 of Prince of Masks
My chin lifts, shoulders roll back, and the echo of cane-strikes thrum my bones.
She starts to organise the line of debutantes and reach out for the skirts of gowns to whoosh them out and chuck a finger under a chin to better view the makeup under the filtered light.
Both Amelia and Mother have gone, out of sight now, to join the rest of the guests in the Parterre.
The debutantes are left with the wretched witches who head the board of the organisation. That includes Grandmother.
Her spidery fingers pinch the shell of my ear.
I wince before she yanks me along the wall. “Take your place, girl. The world will not wait for you.”
She steers me down just one spot to stand behind Asta.
The brochure is gone from her hands now, and her full attention is on me; she makes no effort to hide her snicker.
Grandmother doesn’t just release my ear, she shoves it with an extra pinch.
The hiss that cuts through me is sharp.
I slide a glare to her, but she’s already turned her back on me, and she hits her cane on the runner rug as she starts the final inspection round.
Thud, thud, thud.
I hate it, I hate when it comes closer to me, a threat, a mockery, but then it just passes by.
Grandmother runs the inspection stroll to the end, pauses on Serena at the back, and hums a sound of approval.
My face tightens into something ugly.
“Even your grandmother doesn’t love you,” Asta scoffs. Her shoulders jerk as she looks back at me. “Nowthat’sembarrassing.”
The urge swells up inside me, an ugly adrenaline-tickled sensation, the urge to tell her all the things I did with her boyfriend behind her back.
I don’t, of course.
These games must be played right.
I keep my hand in the shadows.
Still, I smirk something ugly at her. “Bold of you to trash talk when you’ll be going in front of me.”
Her face falls. It slackens into a mixture of shock and fear. “You wouldn’t.”
I shrug, and my dress rustles with the gesture. “I can’t help it if I step on your dress and it rips.”
“And—ready?” comes the singsong call of the other Elderwitch standing by the door. “Girls, smile! And go!”
The sudden swell of music lifts through the air, a symphony, a melody.
It starts.
The Walk of the Debutantes.
One at a time, we will walk through the doors to the Parterre.
I wait my turn.
Dinara Korolyov goes ahead.
