Why would someone as haughty as Lady Raven invite my parents, Imonie, me? Why would she invite someone like Olivette’s father, who worked with his hands and kept to the shadows? Why would she invite Nura and Olivette? I couldn’t make sense of this dinner party and the odd mixture of guests, and it only heightened the sense that something was wrong.
Nura returned to us. I struggled to focus on her, waiting to feel her scathing glare, for her to expose me for the fraud I was. It never came; she was too preoccupied with Olivette. She wove their fingers together—brown and white—and whispered, “Come here, Oli. We need to speak.”
I watched them retreat to a quiet corner of the ballroom. I felt bare, alienated. I drained my champagne and decided I would leave. This night held nothing promising or good for me, and I didn’t care if I offended the countess.
I turned and nearly stepped into Phelan.
“Going somewhere, Miss Neven?” he said, cordial but cold. The cadence he would give to a stranger.
“Yes. I’m going home. Wherever that might be.” But I didn’t step away. I stood facing him, so close I could smell the spice of his aftershave. “Will you let me pass, Mr. Vesper? I know I’m the last person you want to see tonight.”
“You read minds now?”
“Yes. For three gold coins.”
“You seem to have already emptied my pockets,” he said. “Or else I would pay.”
“Go ahead, then, Mr. Vesper.”
He arched his brow. “Go ahead with what?”
“Expose me. Reveal who I am. That’s why you told your mother to invite my parents and Imonie here tonight, no? Take your vengeance on me and let’s call a truce. We can part ways and you never have to see my deceptive face again.”
He smiled, but it wasn’t gentle. It was a wince, as if something within him ached, and he leaned closer to me. “I know you believe this night is about you, Miss Neven. Let me assure you: it’s not. And you can leave now if you want. I won’t stop you. But you will come to regret your impulsive departure when the sun rises.”
“You speak in riddles,” I said, breathless with anger. “Why are my parents here?”
“You will discover that soon enough,” he replied. “If you choose to remain.”
It was a challenge. One he knew I couldn’t resist.
The dinner bell rang.
I followed the stream of guests into the dining hall, surprised when Phelan chose to sit beside me. The table was long and narrow, sparkling with fine china and glasses and silver candelabras. Once everyone had taken a seat, I noticed that two chairs were empty.
“Two more guests will be arriving later,” said the countess, as if she had heard my thoughts. She was the last to sit at the head of the table, the duke to her left, Imonie on her right, and only once she had taken her seat did the servants file into the dining hall bearing the first course.
It was a thick green soup I had never seen before. It was also chilled, and I didn’t know what I thought about it when I forced a spoonful into my mouth.
Nura and Olivette also seemed disgusted with the green mystery. They were sitting to my left, and I watched from the corner of my eye as they took only a few polite sips. My father, who had somehow managed to sit directly across from me, drank the entire thing, savoring it.
Conversation flowed quietly. I didn’t even try to engage with Phelan. He, too, was often silent, speaking minimally when the duke attempted to draw him into a discussion about dreams.
The second course arrived. Another strange dish I had never tasted before, but it looked to be roasted poultry on a bed of sautéed greens and buttery porridge, with pickled beets on the side. I didn’t know how to properly eat it, so I watched my father, who once again acted as if this dish was one of his favorites. Were these recipes from Seren? I was too shy to ask, but it was the only explanation I could come up with, especially when I recalled how Imonie told me the significance of November seventeenth to the mountain duchy.
Course after course was served. All of them were bizarre and unfamiliar, and I struggled through this seemingly endless dinner, thankful that no one took much note of me. I was beginning to believe that Phelan had fooled me into staying when the dessert was delivered, a lemon pudding with berries and cream, and Phelan leaned close to me, to whisper into my ear as one does to a lover.
I didn’t move as his lips brushed my cheek.
“Something is about to happen tonight,” he said. “You must not expose who you are. Hold your act.”
And then he leaned away from me, as if he hadn’t spoken such dire words, dipping his spoon into the pudding.
My father was watching us, though. I lifted my eyes to his, and the tension eased in his face. As if he also knew what was about to unfold and he was waiting for it. . . .
The doors opened with a bang, startling half of the table.
The candlelight flickered as Phelan’s brother, Lennox, entered the room. He looked windswept, his clothes wrinkled, his cravat knotted crookedly as if he had arrived here in great haste. He wasn’t alone. Mazarine accompanied him. Mazarine in her human disguise.
My breath left in a rush. My body tensed until I felt Phelan’s hand on my knee, beneath the table.
Hold your act.
The countess smiled and rose. “At last, you have arrived, my son. And I see you have brought our guest of honor.”
“Indeed, Mother,” Lennox said with a triumphant smirk. “Ms. Mazarine Thimble of Hereswith.”
I couldn’t take my eyes from her. There was a trickle of blood flowing from her lip, and her silver hair was snarled. It was almost impossible to believe that she had been bound and brought roughly into the city. Mazarine, a bloodthirsty, dangerous creature of the mountains. But in this moment, she had been tamed. Her hands were fastened behind her back.
“Perhaps you would like to sit and join us, Mazarine,” the countess said. “Or perhaps you would like us to call you by your true name.”
Mazarine smiled. It was frightening, even with her human face. “I will not sit and eat at your table, even if you tried to serve the best of Seren foods. Call me by my name, heiress.”
Lady Raven stared at the troll. The only evidence of her displeasure was the tightening of her jaw. “Welcome, Brin of Stonefall. It has been a long time since last we met. Ambrose Madigan has shielded you well the past decade, but alas, all good things must come to an end.”
Mazarine spat on the table.
Lennox took a fistful of her hair and yanked her head back, and I felt compelled to rise until Phelan tightened his hold on my knee.
Even my father gave me a sharp glance. One that ordered me not to interfere or respond.
I watched, but my mind was reeling.
“You have us all together, Lady Raven,” Mazarine—Brin—said with a malicious gleam in her eyes. “Why delay? Prove your point.”
The countess lifted her hand in response. An emerald ring gleamed on her finger.
Five servants, who had been standing against the wall, stepped forward. They no longer held platters; they held daggers. And they moved in unison, approaching the table.
Mazarine was stabbed first. A servant plunged the blade into her chest, where it met her bone with a crack. The troll laughed as dark blood ran down her dress, as it seeped into the silver tangles of her hair.