Chapter 32

T he grand ballroom sits on the far side of the palace, connected to the rest of the monolithic home by a single entrance. It's like a hand extended to the outside world, to be used only for public events - or at least, that's how Liliana explained it. She filled the silence of our walk with stories of the all-night soirees and drunken escapades of years past. But it was hard to take in the details while keeping my focus on tonight's plan.

The orchestral horns echo into the hallway as we approach the entrance, and my steps synchronize with the rhythm, though Liliana's cane hits the floor on every odd beat. As the music slows, so do we.

Liliana stops only a few feet from the door, turning to me. That maternal spark lights in her eyes. "Are you ready?"

"As I'll ever be," I say, tying the mask's ribbon behind my head.

"Good, let's go." She takes my hand with a firm grip and then taps the head of her cane against the door.

Two men wearing bear masks open it from the inside. Nerves catch in my throat as I take it all in. This single room is larger than I could even imagine possible, and it's filled to the brim. Hundreds of people are dancing in circles, laughing in corners, and mingling inside. The air feels charged with this vibrant energy. It's jubilant and carefree - the exact opposite of what I'm feeling.

Breathe, Radya . Tonight will go off without a hitch.

Wait for the tripudio.

This will work.

As soon as we step inside, eyes drift toward me. If Olly were here to escort me, then I might feel slightly better about the sideways looks being cast my way. At least with a prince, they're more likely to be interested in him than me. But without him, I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I am the oddity.

I desperately search for a glass of the strongest drink available.

Liliana leans over and yells into my ear, "Don't mind them. They're admiring your beauty." It's hard to hear her over the combustible sounds filling every crevice of the space.

I count the guards and invisibles stationed around the room to distract myself. Two guards on either side of the dais, four total. Four sets of invisibles in pairs of two. One pair in each corner. These are the people that I must avoid when meeting with Guylita. How on earth am I going to slip away unnoticed?

As I try to map out my plan, someone taps me on the shoulder and interrupts my thoughts.

I freeze. The possibility that Lord Sherrod might be here tonight didn't occur to me until now. If he's here, then he or his henchmen could attack again. There's no reason for him not to, for he would receive no punishment. If he wants me dead, then I'm as good as gone.

Slowly, I turn over my shoulder, bracing.

"Are you Princess Radya?" A short woman in a mask presumably made of blue jay feathers grins up at me. I exhale a sigh of relief at the sight of her.

"Just… Radya," I correct her.

"Ohhh, don't be modest! My mother is from Umbra! She told us all about the legend of –"

"Radya, come meet some of my friends." Liliana interlaces her arm with mine and tugs me away. I flash an apologetic smile to the woman, trying to lessen the hurt etched on her face. I want to go back to her to hear what she has to say, but Liliana won't loosen her grip.

She pulls me toward a plump man who decided to forgo the mask altogether. Instead, he wears a wig that adds half a foot to his stature. Even still, I have to hunch over to hear him.

"What an honor it is to meet you!" He shoves his hand out toward me. Clunky golden rings rest on each finger, each one spreading his fingers wide in a way that looks uncomfortable. One of them is adorned with a ruby.

Before I can respond, a woman shoves her way into our conversation, elbowing the plump man right in the gut. "You're just as beautiful as I imagined!"

"I, uh, thank you." The heat in my cheeks starts to burn so fiercely that I consider dunking my whole head into an ice bucket.

"Would you mind your business, Annie?" The man says to the woman, pointing his finger an inch from her face.

She slaps the finger out of the way, careful to avoid any rings. "This is just like you to ruin something innocent. I was just paying a compliment to our guest of honor!"

"Francis, Annie, play nice," Liliana interjects.

"She can't allow me to speak to another woman without turning into a jealous maniac!" He yells as the pinkness in his ruddy cheeks deepens. Clearly, this quarrel goes far beyond this interaction.

"You just like to think that you're the center of the universe! You can do what you want, sleep with whomever you want, and spend what you want! But anything I do just for myself must be done out of malice!" The heat between these two is palpable and very much not my business. I turn to Liliana and discretely nod my head away from the couple, hoping that she understands the unspoken plea.

"Our guest of honor appears to need a drink. It was so nice speaking to you both, but we'll be on our way." The couple fails to hear Liliana over their continued squabbling, so we slip away unnoticed. When we can no longer hear the traces of their argument, Liliana says, "The problem with open invitations is that not everyone behaves appropriately, given their company."

Another person shoves their way in front of me and begins droning on about the music. I politely agree, nodding my head, while actively scanning the crowd for Guylita. Or a drink. Whichever comes first.

Liliana finally intervenes and brings the conversation to an end. But we achieve only two steps before another guest eagerly blocks our path. This pattern continues for the better part of three songs, and we barely reach the room's center. Masks of every kind float by, each uniquely crafted of different materials, but none of them resemble a doll. My heart sinks.

What if she decided not to come?

"I need to excuse myself for a moment," I say to Liliana once the music quiets enough for me to speak in a relatively normal voice.

Her eyebrows raise in question. "Everything okay?"

"Yes, I'm just feeling a little overwhelmed. I'm going to go get a drink." Looking down at my arms, I notice the red splotches dotting my skin. I'd be willing to bet that a mirror would reveal identical marks across my neck and face.

"Wonderful, I'm quite parched, as well." She begins to stride toward the bar, appearing a little too eager to keep me company. Is she babysitting me?

"No!" I shout, gritting my teeth. "Let me get you a drink. What would you like?"

"Whiskey neat," she says reluctantly. I can feel her eyes burning a hole in my back as I walk away. My gaze remains fixed on the floor, hoping to deter any more social interactions on the way to the bar.

Several people crowd around the bar, and I try to place myself inconspicuously behind them in line. But as soon as the woman ahead of me looks over her shoulder, she gushes, sending compliments flying my way. Soon, the whole line starts to do the same. Screw the drink. I nod to each of them, smiling and saying thank you while slowly backing away.

I hate this.

I turn and search for an escape. But as I scan the room, someone taps me on the shoulder. The touch surprises me. Like a bolt of lightning, it skitters over my skin and ignites a fire in my blood. I turn around to face the person responsible.

He's at least a half foot taller than me and dressed in an unusual style. While the rest of the guests wear their finest clothes, be it finely tailored gowns or colorful doublets, he is wearing riding clothes. His boots are muddy and worn as if he walked here through the woods. I try to get a look at his face, but his silver mask covers every inch and leaves only slits for his eyes. Can he breathe beneath it?

"For the guest of honor." He extends a glass of bubbly toward me, bending down into a slight bow.

"You might be my hero." As I take the glass, I notice the wear on his leather riding gloves. How far did this man travel to be here?

"Not a fan of crowds?" His deep voice strokes like a feather and goosebumps crawl across my skin in response. What is happening?

"Is it that obvious?" Ugh, of course, it's obvious. I thank the gods for the mask that covers my blushing cheeks.

"Not obvious, no. Just a guess."

Is he teasing me?

He laughs softly, shoving his hands into his pockets. "You know, I've imagined every possible iteration of this very conversation, but not one of those scenarios accounted for how nervous I would be. Now, it's like I can't remember how to speak at all."

"Is that what you say to all the ladies?"

"No. Only you, Radya ." He says my name slowly like he's testing it, savoring it. While I know that I'm the guest of honor, which means everyone here likely knows my name, I like that he knows my name.

When I was young, my mother took me to a field of sunflowers. I'd never seen such a thing before. They were so tall and colorful, and each one naturally angled itself toward the sun. I couldn't believe how they did that. With no need for instruction or sight, they knew how to find their energy source and soak up its rays. It was in their nature.

Standing in this man's presence makes me feel like a sunflower, and I find myself wanting to open up to him.

"What's your name?" I ask.

"Call me Bas." Over his shoulder, I see two masked individuals staring at us intently. Their arms are folded across their chests and not even an inch of skin is visible beneath their leather riding clothes. I strain to get a better look, only to see them turn and walk away. When I try to refocus my attention on Bas, he's gone. I look around the room, searching for his silver mask, but he is lost in the sea of people.

"Bas," I whisper to myself just to taste the name on my lips. It's sweeter than honey.

Another memory tickles the back of my brain. I try to unlock it, but it's just out of reach as if the door to the memory is covered by layers of impenetrable stone. But the hint of the memory calls out nonetheless, begging to be recovered.

Liliana finds me standing alone, looking like a dazed and confused fool. "Everything okay? I couldn't find you."

"Yes, sorry. I got overwhelmed by the crowd," which isn't a lie. "Do you know someone named Bas?"

"Bas? No, I don't think so. Why? Did someone bother you?" She asks like a mother hen, ready to snap at anyone who comes too close.

"No, no. I just didn't recognize him." That explanation would fall flat under scrutiny, given that I don't recognize the majority of people here, but she seems to let it go. She starts talking to me about something, but her words get lost in the sound of music. The rhythm lulls me into a waking dream, where that silver mask is the focal point.

I only snap out of it when Queen Eleanor steps onto the dais. The music stops suddenly and the crowd goes silent as all of the attention focuses on her. Her luminous skin glows even more radiantly tonight, as does the king's.

"Thank you all for coming tonight," the king bellows, his voice amplified by enchantments. "It is our honor to acknowledge a most wonderful young woman whose very presence is a gift. Radya, where are you?" He looks out into the crowd, searching each masked individual for me.

Liliana places her hand on my back, nudging me to step forward. "Go on, then. It's your time to shine, dear."

My heart is racing so fast that I can hear it thumping in my ears. I place one foot slowly in front of the other as I proceed to the dais. Every head turns toward me, so I focus on my shuffling feet. But even without looking, I can still feel the weight of their attention on me.

"Ah, there you are!" He motions for me to hasten my steps.

I realize that this could be the announcement that will invoke the tripudio and open the window for me to find Guylita. I must find her in the crowd. Now. Hoisting my skirt above my ankles, I ascend the stairs and pray to the gods that I don't trip. The upper half of Eleanor and Vani's faces are covered by masks, but their tight controlled smiles are still visible.

Eleanor greets me with a kiss on the cheek, which takes me by surprise. I fumble to return the gesture. Our masks scrape against each other, leaving both of ours askew, but she doesn't flinch. She gracefully straightens it before turning to address the crowd. "Thank you all for coming to this magnificent celebration!"

A roar of cheers echoes, but I'm too busy scanning the crowd for a doll's mask to respond.

"We hoped that Prince Allwyn could be in attendance tonight, but he was called away to fulfill his duty of protecting this kingdom from the evils that exist across the border," she says with a rousing intonation that elicits differing reactions across the room.

A handful of women sigh, while most of the men grunt with patriotic pride. One man, however, scoffs. My eyes draw to him immediately. To Bas. He's standing with one leg bent and resting against the wall behind him. His arms are folded across his chest.

Butterflies erupt in my core and flutter through me. The mere sight of this stranger makes me flustered beyond recognition. It's overwhelming, and I don't have time for it.

I stamp out the butterflies and resume searching for Guylita.

Queen Eleanor is still speaking, but her words refuse to land in my mind until I hear my name mentioned. "Radya and my son are pleased to announce their wedding plans. Once he's back, the real celebration will begin." She lifts her glass into the air, raising the spirits in the room with it. She cuts a glance over to me, silently urging me to follow her lead.

Why would she tease the people by telling them about our supposed wedding plans when I have yet to agree? I try to keep my expression neutral, but I fear that my eyes must give me away. The people don't seem to notice as they clink their glasses together.

King Vani exclaims, "Let us celebrate!"

Is that the end of the toast? Oh, gods. The tripudio should begin any second now, and I'm no closer to spotting Guylita.

Maybe Viola didn't say doll. What if she said dog and I misheard? There are plenty of animal masks in the crowd. My heart races as the musicians ready themselves for the tripudio by stretching their hands and rolling their shoulders.

I am running out of time.

My eye catches on the silver-masked man as he stomps out of the room furiously. I watch as he leaves, noticing the two individuals stalking behind him.

Why does he seem so angry? Why do I care?

No, I have to focus.

Face by face, I search until finally, I see a woman standing alone in a tattered dress. I squint my eyes to etch out the details of her mask. She's too far away to tell for certain, but the way that her stare fixates on me sends a tingling to my fingertips that acts as confirmation.

The music picks up, building to a fast-paced rhythm and urging me to make my move. The room explodes in celebration as partners all across the room pair up. The frenetic dancing turns the room into a dizzying whirl. Skirts spin around and around, creating a three-foot radius around each couple like a living, breathing monster blocking my route.

Bracing myself, I turn to walk down the steps. A hand latches onto my shoulder, and I freeze.

"It's customary for the royal family to watch the tripudio from the dais." King Vani's jaw remains clenched, his eyes solemn.

"I'm not yet part of the royal family. Wouldn't it be better for me to participate in the tradition?" The smile tearing at my lips threatens to falter, but I clench my teeth to keep it in place.

"We need you by our side, Radya. You can continue mingling after the dance is over," he says.

Guylita is staring at me from the outskirts, making no effort to move into the frenzy. If we can't meet during the tripudio, then we'll have to wait until after. My heart races as I try to mentally beg her for patience, sending all of my silent pleas her way.

"Do I just stand here and smile?" I ask somewhat sarcastically, but he makes no effort to respond.

The dance is even wilder than I expected. Every time the drums quicken their beat, so do the dancers. Faster and faster, the couples spin, swapping partners every round. Individuals remove themselves one by one as the pace exceeds their steps, stumbling out of the way to avoid being hit.

I spot Gemma's teal hair in the distance, but she's too distracted by the burly man with his hands on her hips to notice.

I down the rest of my bubbly to calm my nerves, but the buzz fails to alleviate the pressure.

"Can we get her another?" I hear Eleanor ask of the man at the bottom of the stairs. And then she is beside me, leaning in close. "This tradition started centuries ago as a way to get out the pre-war jitters. It helped the men get their minds off of what was to come. Now, we do it both in times of sorrow and celebration. As you can see, the people love it."

"How long does it last?"

"They'll continue to dance until only one couple remains. It can last quite a while. The last time we danced the tripudio, it took nearly two hours for the final couples to peel away. I'm unsure how they have the stamina to keep moving after so long."

Hours? Gods, I don't know if I can wait that long. My nerves are ratcheting up by the second. "What do they get for being the final couple?"

"Bragging rights, I suppose." She shrugs as if the result is of no consequence to her. "My mother won once, long ago. That's how she met my father. They were both firebirds, if you know what I mean. Before they passed, that is…"

She keeps talking, but my mind is focused elsewhere. I'm mentally rehearsing what I'll say to Guylita when the time comes. Every version of what I want to say comes off wrong – too pleading, too whiny, too desperate.

When only two couples remain, my eyes lock on Guylita. My hands begin to shake with anticipation, waiting for the perfect moment to slip away. Finally, one of the two remaining couples collapses to the floor, splaying out on the ground like they've been flattened by the music. A roar of cheers echoes throughout the room as people push forward to clap the final couple on the back.

Guylita is moving, but… she's walking in the wrong direction. Where is she going? I squint my eyes to get a better look. It's hard to track her as she moves behind the crowd, but she appears to be heading toward the exit.

"Excuse me," I say to Eleanor as I turn to rush down the stairs. At this point, I don't care if the queen herself witnesses our conversation, so long as I get answers. The man who retrieved a glass of bubbly for me blocks my path, holding the glass out toward me.

"Thank you!" I grab the glass with an apologetic smile as I shove past him.

A man with a rose-colored mask approaches me on the way to the exit, but I refuse to slow down. There are too many people in this gods-damned ballroom. How can I possibly get to her before she leaves?

The rush of chasing her down makes me clumsy, and I bump into a woman and accidentally spill bubbly down the front of her dress.

I can see Guylita walking outside.

This maze of people is impossible to break through! A heavily intoxicated man stumbles in front of me and puts his hand on my waist. I can smell the whiskey on his breath as I slap him across the face. Be it for getting in my way or for touching me inappropriately, I couldn't contain myself. He stares back at me like he can't believe that a woman would be capable of hitting him. I would love to stick around to see his face as the realization of who he just assaulted kicks in, but instead, I shove past him without another thought.

Only steps away from the entrance, I realize that I'm running. But the faster I move, the harder I breathe. With the unforgiving corset constricting every inhale, I worry that I might pass out before I make it outside. I slow my pace and attempt to steady my breathing, clutching at my chest all the while.

I use the opportunity to search for the invisibles, noting their locations. They appear to be distracted by Eleanor and Vani, who are attempting to meet with the crowd at the steps of the dais.

Now or never.

I burst out into the garden before anybody can stop me and frantically search for any sign of Guylita, but all I see is a group of inebriated guests taking a break from the dancing.

How could she have left without a trace? I was right on her tail, but there's not even a cloud of dirt to suggest that she left by carriage. No horses galloping away. It's almost like I imagined her.

Any chance of finally getting answers melts away, burning like acid as dread spreads through my bones. The air feels too warm, too thin, too hard to breathe. Tears claw their way from my eyes before I can stop them. I yank the mask off and toss it into a bush before collapsing on the stone steps.

This was my shot, and I blew it.