Chapter 50

In the end, I was not on Leopold's arm for the first dance.

We left the parlor in an orderly line, arranged and nervously fretted over by Aloysius.

First were a number of pages, young sons of the oldest families of Martissienes. Next came a chorus of small girls in gowns far too large for them to comfortably manage. They tossed yellow rose petals along the path the king would take, carpeting his steps with fragrant decadence.

A bright fanfare of trumpets indicated that the true procession was about to begin, and the crowd fell to a hush, waiting for their king's arrival.

Marnaigne went down the grand staircase ahead of us all, with Leopold only a step behind him. Bellatrice was next, then Euphemia, hand in hand with Margaux.

I admit, I studied the back of the oracle's robes with wounded scorn. Her spot near the royal family was secure, granted without a second thought, while mine felt suddenly precarious, about to be snatched away.

I'll put a stop to you.

What had Marnaigne meant by that? Would he have me sent from the palace? Exiled from Martissienes? Hoisted onto the same platform as Baudouin, my neck laid on the block as Bertie brought an axe down?

I shuddered, wanting to turn and run, but Aloysius pushed me forward into a group of dukes and duchesses. The king's ministers of finance and foreign affairs followed closely behind, making escape impossible.

By the time I'd made my way down the staircase, the royal family was deep in the ballroom, greeting guests with smiles and nods as Marnaigne led them ever closer to the throne. As he ascended the steps of the raised dais, the orchestra gracefully brought their song to an end and the room fell into complete silence.

"Friends," the king greeted his guests, holding out his arms. All traces of his earlier ire were erased, and his smile was warm and paternal. "It gives me great pleasure to welcome you here tonight, to commemorate—to celebrate—the end of the uprising, the end of our struggles, the end of the war itself!"

A wave of applause broke out, and the king paused appreciatively. Shrill whistles came from a group of soldiers in the far corner of the room, eliciting titters of laughter and echoed attempts.

The crowd was uproarious, and I found the jubilation grating; it rubbed my wounds raw and spurred on the sense that I needed to leave, needed to run. Their smiles were so wide, their exhilaration completely over-the-top. There was a current running through the ballroom, a hunger to please the king at all costs, a righteous fervor that felt strong enough to tip the mood from revelry to mania.

"This past year has been hard, unimaginably hard, on us all. There was uncertainty and strife, sickness and discord, but time andtime again we have triumphed. We put an end to the Shivers, and today, with my treacherous brother's death, we have put the last of this year's difficulty and fear into the past. Martissienes looks forward to a bright future, one blessed by the gods with fortune good and prosperous. And so, my dear friends, let us celebrate! Let us feast and laugh, let us rejoice and raise toasts for those who cannot. Let us honor their sacrifices, let us drink to their memories. But let us also remember that we are alive and we are the victors, and we should be reveling. Merrymaking! Dancing! Let the masquerade commence!"

The room burst into another round of applause, and the orchestra hastily shuffled through their pages.

Leopold made a motion to step off the platform, to head toward me, but Marnaigne stopped him. Scanning the crowd, the king pointed to an ambassador newly come to court. Beside the man was his very pretty daughter. With a flick of his wrist, the king beckoned her over, then all but pushed her and Leopold onto the dance floor.

Mathéo swept up the steps and gave the king a gallant bow before asking if he could have Bellatrice's first dance. Seemingly content with the soldier's show of deference, Marnaigne consented, and the pair hurried off.

Euphemia grabbed her father's hand and tugged him out as the song began, lest they miss a moment of the dance.

This was my chance. I could leave now without anyone noting my absence. I could go up and lock myself in my chambers and have a good cry before deciding what I was going to do next. I could pack. I could scream. I could take off this ridiculous tiara and dress and feel like myself once more.

But my feet stayed in place, my attention fixed upon the dancing couples and how much my pride hurt.

I knew I was not the sort of girl the king would select for Leopold. I could not offer alliances or dowries, easy charms or the promise of beautiful children. But I'd thought Marnaigne liked me well enough to treat me better than this, casting me to the shadows with such severe derision.

It stung, how wrong I'd been.

I was nothing more than a particularly gifted servant, called upon when her services were needed. A healer and nothing else.

I thought of the candle I'd given him— the candle I wasted on him —and wanted to cry. Merrick had been right. I should have listened to him, listened to the deathshead.

I felt miserable and flushed, my blood boiling. My dress felt too tight, and I had the urge to pick up the shiny skirts and run, run from the court, run from the city, run to a new life in a little town where no one knew me, no one knew my past, no one knew all the horrible things I had done.

Do it, a tiny voice within me said. You could do all that and more. There is no shame in turning on those who turn from you.

Leopold and the ambassador's daughter danced by me. I felt his eyes search for mine, but I couldn't bear to meet them, couldn't bear to tear my gaze from her, from her perfect heart-shaped face, her dimpled cheeks, and her demurely lowered lashes. She radiated a grace and confidence I would never possess. She looked at home on Leopold's arm, as if she'd been born to be there, and in a way, I suppose she had.

Not like me.

My lashes grew wet as tears welled in my eyes. My vision blurred, warning me they were about to fall. I turned from the dance floor, searching for the closest exit, the fastest way to flee. I would not give King Marnaigne the satisfaction of seeing me cry.

Before I could make my escape, I felt a small hand close over mine.

The first dance had already come to an end, and Euphemia had found me, ready for ours.

"Where are you going, Hazel?" she asked, her blue eyes filled with concern. "Don't you want to dance?"

I blinked hard, hoping my mask would catch any falling tears. My smile felt shaky, and I was certain she'd see through its false brightness. "Of course I do! I was just on my way to find you!"

"I was out there!" she laughed, pointing. "With Papa. Come."

I tried to keep an eye out for the king as she pulled me to the center of the dance floor, stopping beneath one of the chandeliers, but he'd been swallowed by a crowd hungry to hear his take on Baudouin's final moments.

"Are you feeling all right, Euphemia?" I asked as she positioned herself in front of me. Even through her lace covering, I could see that her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes seemed glassy.

"You were right!" she exclaimed, fanning her hands at her face. "It's too warm in here!"

"I told you!" I tried to laugh.

My heart panged as I watched her skip around me. I knew with utter clarity that this was the last time I would see Euphemia. Once our dance was over, I was going to escape to my rooms, pack a bag, and slip into the night. I didn't know where I was going, but it didn't matter. Any place was better than here, with a king's temper swaying from exuberant highs to dangerous lows, close to a boy I'd come to care for but could never be with.

I wasn't concerned with the details of my flight. I had money, more than enough to get me out of Martissienes. It didn't matter after that. Healers were needed the whole world over. No matter where I went, I would be able to work, even without the added assurance of my gift. I could make a life for myself.

I distantly wondered when Merrick would find out, when he'd find me, and where I'd be when he did. I knew other countries had other gods, revering them for other reasons, but I'd always supposed they were just different iterations of the ones I already knew. Death was death, regardless of how one characterized him.

"Are you all right?" Euphemia asked, breaking into my dark thoughts. "Your eyes are all watery, Hazel."

I shoved away my plans and vowed to be present in the here and now, grounding myself in this dance, in these last moments with this little girl I'd come to think of as a sister.

The best sister I'd ever had.

"I'm fine," I promised, and impetuously picked her up, twirling her around and around in a close embrace. My exuberant gesture knocked both our masks off but allowed me to press a quick kiss to her temple. "I was just thinking how much I shall miss you once you've gone to bed."

She laughed, delighted, and threw her arms around my neck, prolonging our hug. I held her close as long as my arms could stand it, performing all the frenzied footwork of the dance while keeping her aloft. I could feel her chin resting on my collarbone as she watched the other dancers over my shoulder.

Eventually, her little body grew too hot and heavy. As the final notes of the song blessedly faded, I set her back on the floor, my spine aching.

"Thank you for such a marvelous dance," I said, wanting to give her a proper farewell without showing my intentions. "I will remember it always."

Euphemia had stooped to search the ground for our missing masks. Finding hers first, she pinned it back in place. "I don't see yours!" she worried. Glancing up, she brightened. "But, Hazel! You look so lovely tonight! You shouldn't hide under a mask anyway!"

I wiped my brow and cheeks, feeling the sheen of sweat from carrying her about the dance floor for so long. Beautiful was the last thing I felt in this moment.

"Oh, you mussed it," she fretted, grabbing my hand to show mea smear of gold powder across my palm.

"I'll go freshen up," I promised, glad to have an excuse to leave the ballroom. "And you need to go find Leopold before…" The shimmer of paint sparkled strangely in the light of the chandelier, and I frowned. "Before…"

Something twinged inside me, screaming to be noticed, and my words trailed off as I started to piece it together.

Gold.

There was gold on my hands. A burnished gold, fine and slippery.

But I hadn't been wearing gold.

Cherise had doused me in a pearlescent powder, gleaming like an opal. Bellatrice had said it clashed with my gown, but I'd thought it beautiful.

So where had the gold come from?

I looked down at my dress, wondering if the metallic threads could have somehow caused this. Or the inside of my mask. Or…

My eyes fell on Euphemia.

Little Euphemia, who had only moments before had her cheek pressed to mine.

Little Euphemia, all in black, without a speck of gold upon her.

Heart thudding with dread, I snatched the lace mask from her. She let out a cry of dismay and tried to grab her covering. As she struggled, three new streaks of Brilliance ran down her heated face.