Hidden Huntress
Page 132
I ground my teeth together. It was almost time to consider my alternative plan of action.
The lights had dimmed in the ballroom, ladies taking seats on the banquettes scattered around the room, gentlemen standing behind them with glasses of dark wine in their hands. Sabine spotted me the moment I entered the room, politely breaking off her conversation with an old woman who was dripping with rubies before strolling in my direction, looking for all the world as if she belonged among these people.
“I was wondering where you’d got off to,” she said, taking my arm. “The masque’s about to begin. Don’t you see how they’ve turned down the lamps, and how you can hear the actors moving behind the curtains…” She blathered on for a few minutes more until those near to us lost interest and stopped eavesdropping, and then she said, “Marie came in only moments before you, and she does not look pleased. Either the evening is not going as planned, or,” she lifted one eyebrow, “the plans are not to her liking.”
I eyed Lady du Chastelier over the top of Sabine’s blonde curls. She stood next to her husband, her expression studiously neutral, and though she nodded occasionally at the man speaking to them, it was clear she wasn’t listening. Her eyes swept the room, her face tightening ever so slightly as she noted Sabine and me, before returning to the conversation. I wondered how hard she’d fight to keep Anushka’s secret safe. I did not want to harm her, but if it meant saving my people, I’d do it anyway.
“Everyone believes she’s upset that Lord Aiden seems set to miss the masque that was commissioned in his honor – it’s all anyone will talk about. Besides you.”
“He’ll make an appearance shortly,” I muttered, but I could barely think for the tension threatening to split my skull. “Something’s happened. Cécile’s seen or learned of something, and whatever it is, it’s driven her nearly to the brink. I don’t think we can wait to find her after the performance – we need to know what’s happened now.”
“Did she give you a name?”
I shook my head. Genevieve?
“Where is she?”
“Not far.” I stared at the set as though with effort I might see through it. “In one of the rooms just beyond the ballroom. I need to find her.”
Sabine tugged sharply on my arm. “You can’t. The point of this is to lure her in, and if you go to Cécile, you’ll be doing the exact opposite.” Her eyes went to the stage. “Besides, Genevieve will be onstage in moments, and she is the one who needs your protection. I’ll go find Cécile. No one will think it strange to find me back there.”
It was my turn to hold her back. “They know you’re involved,” I said. “Be careful.”
I watched her blonde curls bob through the crowd and disappear behind the curtains just as the lights onstage dimmed. Fred chose that moment to reenter the ballroom, a frown on his face as he went over to stand at Marie’s elbow, his posture a remarkably good imitation of the choleric Lord Aiden.
Everything was silent but for the odd cough, the rustle of clothing, and the soft whisper of the curtain rising up to the ceiling. The lamps near the stage brightened, and there was a collective gasp from the audience.
The set was cast in the blacks, greys, and reds of some sort of underworld, shadowy figures in monstrous shapes painted against the backdrop and some sort of effect with the lighting making it seem as though flames danced across the stage. Music flooded the hall, dark and sharp and filled with echoing discord, but that was not the cause of the reaction.
Genevieve de Troyes perched on a faux-rock outcropping some six feet up in the air like some dark chimaera from another world. Costumed as Vice, she wore a black gown slashed with crimson, ebony-feathered wings stretched out to either side, and a cruel beaked mask obscuring her face. One hand was braced against the outcropping, and the other reached toward the audience. Both were encased in talon-tipped gloves, the metal winking dangerously.
She was beautiful and terrifying and altogether unnerving, but when she began to sing, everyone leaned toward her as though they were puppets attached to strings and she was their master.
Her song taunted the audience, invited them to partake in all manner of wickedness, captivated their thoughts, and rendered them glass-eyed and staring. Girls costumed as the sins danced on the stage beneath her, but I might well have been the only one to notice. Everyone, from the servants standing near the lamps to the Regent sitting in his high-backed chair, was captivated. No. They were compelled.
My unease returned, crawling up my spine. Enthralled as they were, anything could happen and I doubted any of the humans would notice. I shifted so that my back was pressed against the wall, watching for any sign of motion. Nothing. I glanced back at the stage, starting when I realized her eyes were directly on me. Instinctively, I fell still, mimicking the expressions of those around me, but I knew I had been caught out. But by who? Cécile’s mother, or someone far more dangerous to my kind?
The song ended, and motion returned to the hall. One by one the girls sashayed to the front of the stage to proclaim their sins’ names, and then cymbals crashed and a drum roll thundered through the room. A young man dressed as a devil sprang out onto the stage and began to sing and dance with the girls in a seductive twist of limbs, while Vice watched from above. The rhythm of the music changed, the girls swinging wildly on each other’s arms as Vice and the demon sang of their plot to capture Virtue and her maidens and steal their souls.
The lights had dimmed in the ballroom, ladies taking seats on the banquettes scattered around the room, gentlemen standing behind them with glasses of dark wine in their hands. Sabine spotted me the moment I entered the room, politely breaking off her conversation with an old woman who was dripping with rubies before strolling in my direction, looking for all the world as if she belonged among these people.
“I was wondering where you’d got off to,” she said, taking my arm. “The masque’s about to begin. Don’t you see how they’ve turned down the lamps, and how you can hear the actors moving behind the curtains…” She blathered on for a few minutes more until those near to us lost interest and stopped eavesdropping, and then she said, “Marie came in only moments before you, and she does not look pleased. Either the evening is not going as planned, or,” she lifted one eyebrow, “the plans are not to her liking.”
I eyed Lady du Chastelier over the top of Sabine’s blonde curls. She stood next to her husband, her expression studiously neutral, and though she nodded occasionally at the man speaking to them, it was clear she wasn’t listening. Her eyes swept the room, her face tightening ever so slightly as she noted Sabine and me, before returning to the conversation. I wondered how hard she’d fight to keep Anushka’s secret safe. I did not want to harm her, but if it meant saving my people, I’d do it anyway.
“Everyone believes she’s upset that Lord Aiden seems set to miss the masque that was commissioned in his honor – it’s all anyone will talk about. Besides you.”
“He’ll make an appearance shortly,” I muttered, but I could barely think for the tension threatening to split my skull. “Something’s happened. Cécile’s seen or learned of something, and whatever it is, it’s driven her nearly to the brink. I don’t think we can wait to find her after the performance – we need to know what’s happened now.”
“Did she give you a name?”
I shook my head. Genevieve?
“Where is she?”
“Not far.” I stared at the set as though with effort I might see through it. “In one of the rooms just beyond the ballroom. I need to find her.”
Sabine tugged sharply on my arm. “You can’t. The point of this is to lure her in, and if you go to Cécile, you’ll be doing the exact opposite.” Her eyes went to the stage. “Besides, Genevieve will be onstage in moments, and she is the one who needs your protection. I’ll go find Cécile. No one will think it strange to find me back there.”
It was my turn to hold her back. “They know you’re involved,” I said. “Be careful.”
I watched her blonde curls bob through the crowd and disappear behind the curtains just as the lights onstage dimmed. Fred chose that moment to reenter the ballroom, a frown on his face as he went over to stand at Marie’s elbow, his posture a remarkably good imitation of the choleric Lord Aiden.
Everything was silent but for the odd cough, the rustle of clothing, and the soft whisper of the curtain rising up to the ceiling. The lamps near the stage brightened, and there was a collective gasp from the audience.
The set was cast in the blacks, greys, and reds of some sort of underworld, shadowy figures in monstrous shapes painted against the backdrop and some sort of effect with the lighting making it seem as though flames danced across the stage. Music flooded the hall, dark and sharp and filled with echoing discord, but that was not the cause of the reaction.
Genevieve de Troyes perched on a faux-rock outcropping some six feet up in the air like some dark chimaera from another world. Costumed as Vice, she wore a black gown slashed with crimson, ebony-feathered wings stretched out to either side, and a cruel beaked mask obscuring her face. One hand was braced against the outcropping, and the other reached toward the audience. Both were encased in talon-tipped gloves, the metal winking dangerously.
She was beautiful and terrifying and altogether unnerving, but when she began to sing, everyone leaned toward her as though they were puppets attached to strings and she was their master.
Her song taunted the audience, invited them to partake in all manner of wickedness, captivated their thoughts, and rendered them glass-eyed and staring. Girls costumed as the sins danced on the stage beneath her, but I might well have been the only one to notice. Everyone, from the servants standing near the lamps to the Regent sitting in his high-backed chair, was captivated. No. They were compelled.
My unease returned, crawling up my spine. Enthralled as they were, anything could happen and I doubted any of the humans would notice. I shifted so that my back was pressed against the wall, watching for any sign of motion. Nothing. I glanced back at the stage, starting when I realized her eyes were directly on me. Instinctively, I fell still, mimicking the expressions of those around me, but I knew I had been caught out. But by who? Cécile’s mother, or someone far more dangerous to my kind?
The song ended, and motion returned to the hall. One by one the girls sashayed to the front of the stage to proclaim their sins’ names, and then cymbals crashed and a drum roll thundered through the room. A young man dressed as a devil sprang out onto the stage and began to sing and dance with the girls in a seductive twist of limbs, while Vice watched from above. The rhythm of the music changed, the girls swinging wildly on each other’s arms as Vice and the demon sang of their plot to capture Virtue and her maidens and steal their souls.
