The Bone Palace - Amanda Downum [121]
“Will your aunt be happy to see you speaking to me?”
“She’s gone to the washroom.” Yellow topazes flashed in the darkness of her hair as she tilted her head. “I thought I should ask you about your costume for the solstice ball, considering what happened the last time we wore the same colors.”
“Saints, the ball.” She’d had the beginnings of a costume since the end of summer, but hadn’t been in for fittings in decads.
“I know,” Ginevra said, her lips pursing in a charming moue. “I haven’t decided on anything either. Luckily my milliner is used to me by now.”
Savedra met Ginevra’s eyes for an instant; they were of a height. Tall, slender, black-haired—her hands tingled as an idea began to gain strength. “About what happened last time… How would you like to play a game with me?”
“Oh?” The sparkle in her grey eyes belied the lazy disinterest in her voice. “What sort of game?”
“How does your dressmaker feel about challenges?”
Nikos came to her at midnight, kissing her before she could finish a greeting. It had been decads since they spent the night together, and she felt every absent day as he pulled her close. She wanted to protest as he led her to the bed, guilt twisting a knife beneath her sternum, but his fingers were tangled in her laces and her hair, and the scrape of teeth and stubble against her neck replaced guilt with want.
They lay in breathless silence when the bells tolled; the hour of regret. Savedra pressed her face against Nikos’s neck and breathed in salt musk and the lingering cedar-and-saffron of his perfume.
“What’s wrong?” she finally asked, trailing her fingers down his arm. Gooseflesh prickled in the wake of her touch. “Something Kurgoth said?” She had thought briefly of spying on them, but decided against it. She didn’t want to lose the captain’s trust so quickly, and she had a costume to plan besides.
“He’s worried about Father.” He laughed humorlessly, his chest shaking against hers. “And imagine how bad it must be if a man like Kurgoth will speak of it. He’s nearly as emotionless as Father himself.”
“What’s the matter?”
“He says Father is tired, stretched too thin—worse than the usual stress of a campaign. Nightmares. And of course Father won’t speak of them.”
“Does he think Mathiros will share them with you?”
“He knows better than that. He hoped that I could persuade Kiril to help, but I think that ship has sailed.”
“You could command him. He is a sworn agent of the Crown.”
“He served my father out of love, and Father squandered that. Besides, Father hasn’t seemed inclined to listen to him lately, either. The old man deserves some rest.”
Savedra sighed and pulled Nikos closer. “Don’t we all?”
CHAPTER 16
Erisín celebrated the longest night of the year with masques and parties. Legend held that the masks were meant to confuse the hungry spirits who crept through the mirrors that night, but in more recent times it was an excuse for excess and indulgence before the Invidiae—the demon days that fell at the dark of the year.
In the palace, celebrants gathered in the White Ballroom. The room was exactly what its name implied, but that couldn’t do justice to the brilliance of mirror-polished marble and crystal chandeliers. Alabaster lamps chased the shadows from the corners—those seeking privacy could slip onto the terrace. Only the ceiling broke the flawless pallor, covered with a mural of the courtship of Sarai and Zavarian. Daises had been erected on either end of the hall—one for the musicians, the other for the king’s chair of state and the lower seats for the prince and princess. Those chairs were empty now, and the musicians tuned their instruments while the growing crowd mingled and loitered and laid waste to the food and wine.
Isyllt waited near the throne dais, trying to ignore the smell of food. Only long practice kept her still, hands folded placidly when she wanted to fidget and tug