Page 10 of The Devil In Blue
“There is always a guardian of light. Always a guardian of the dark. One cannot exist without the other. They love each other deeply, but they may never touch.” Her head turned toward me, her gray eyes darkening. “For light is the death of darkness and darkness the death of light.”
“But they must suffer existing in the same space,” I muttered, almost feeling the painting come to life before me. “Yet never close enough.”
Naeve was staring at me. I could tell, but I dared not look at her. Instead, I breathed deeply and let the story sink in. It was tragic. It made my heart heavy, but a heavy heart was better than an empty one. I learned that a long time ago, so whether it was happiness, pain, sadness, or anger, I never let it go to waste.
Glancing to my left, there was another painting. I knew the image well from one of the books Catlyn had gifted me. Three circular images were stacked atop one another, each depicting a different world. A dark, ominous realm with clouds and no sun, a world of sunlight and rich with life, and a world with two moons and a maze covering the bottom half of the circle.
“Mmm,” Naeve hummed. “The Quendalier. A depiction of the realms.”
“Has no one thought to report this to the authorities? It’s heresy to promote the realms,” I whispered.
Naeve leaned in to whisper back. “I will tell you a secret. Phariel doesn’t give a shit.” She giggled. “In fact, he’s probably laughing. You understand each realm has its own sovereign. Brothers, the three of them. And Phariel is the youngest. And the most irresponsible,” she sighed.
I threw her a surprised glance, but in truth, it wasn’t Phariel I was anxious about. It was the zealots that did things in his name. People who would have cursed Naeve’s presence at the masquerade for even talking about the other realms.
“You have an appreciation for art,” Naeve sighed. “I can tell. The count does as well.”
“You know the count?”
“Of course. I am one of his most trusted advisors.”
A woman? I furrowed my brows, though my mask concealed it.
“Will he be appearing here tonight?”
She smiled wide again, that strange grin catching me off guard just as it did the first time.”
“Sweet,” she said, leaning in and lowering her voice to a near whisper. “He is already here.”
Somehow, that sounded chilling. My pulse quickened a bit as she unhooked my arm and stepped away.
“Admire the art,” she said. “My tongue is bored. I need something to eat.”
It was then that I remembered I had a glass of wine in my hand. I looked down at it, brought it up to my mask, and smelled it. It smelled rich and aromatic, but I still wasn’t a fan of wine’s sour, jaw-clenching taste. Not wanting to be rude, I walked over to a nearby table filled with more wine cups and set it down for someone else to enjoy. Besides, Lucien had instructed me not to take off my mask and to drink, I would have to do just that.
Lifting my head to look across the long line of cups and platters of fruit, I noticed the man in black walking among the crowd. He was taller than most, his antlers giving him even more height. He was not lounging on the outskirts of the celebration that time. He was roaming, his long coat flaring out behind his legs a bit, but I only caught a brief glimpse before he disappeared into the masses again.
“What is that perfume you’re wearing, darling?” a voice said. It was equally sensual to Naeve’s but with a higher pitch. “It smells divine.”
I turned around to see another woman in black standing just behind me, her face shrouded in a veil of fine, silver chains attached to a beautiful headdress of black roses and twigs. Her skin was the richest shade of brown with gold dust along her collarbones and the tops of her pushed-up breasts.
“I am not wearing any,” I said.
Her wine-colored lips curled up in a wide grin and I swore that her teeth were sharpened to points. Every one of them.
“Even better,” she said, beginning to circle me. Her deep-blue eyes skimmed over my entire body from hem to head. “Love this dress as well. It does nothing for your skin, though, love.”
I was taken aback by the forwardness of her comment and folded my hands neatly in front of me.
“Well, I did not choose it,” I slipped.
I regretted the boldness of my words immediately, but it didn’t stop the woman from hearing them.
“Oh? Well, who chose this for you, then?”
“My guardian. And the dressmaker who created it.”
“Were you sick, love? Could you not pick your own gown?”
