Two throne-like chairs sat in the front and center of the crowd of nobles, and on them were seated the Regent and Lady Marie. Lord Aiden stood at his mother’s shoulder, expression grim. I let my eyes drift slowly over the room, keeping my face soft, kind, and benevolent as the skirt of my costume tickled against my bare feet. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see my mother slowly making her way along the wall, nodding and greeting those who spoke to her as she went. But where was Tristan?
I finally spotted him standing in the shadows, his eyes tracking my mother’s progress from the far side of the room. He made no move to go to her, but I felt no comfort. I was playing this too close and risking everything by keeping him in the dark, but what choice did I have? My mother reached the door at the far right of the room and leaned against the wall, crossing her arms and watching. Not your mother, Anushka!
Tearing my eyes away from her, I glanced down. Below me, the courtiers came out onto the stage and began to dance an intricate pattern. The girls of my company drifted amongst them, lending their voices as harmony to my own. They twirled and danced, and I sang a song designed to be lovely and pleasing without distracting too much from the would-be wives trying to catch Lord Aiden’s attention.
The music ended, and I ceased my swinging, leaning forward slightly as though deeply intent on what my subjects were about to do. Each of the girls danced forward and named her virtue, curtseying deeply to Lord Aiden, who dutifully nodded at each of them. If I hadn’t been so blasted terrified about what was to come, the whole spectacle might have been a comedy. Except I knew one of these girls was destined to become Marie’s successor, her life dedicated to protecting the woman I was supposed to kill.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw motion from Tristan’s side of the room. I wanted to turn my head and look, but I dared not. Instead I smiled and nodded as each of the girls took their turn, cursing the very idea that there was so much virtue in the world. Finally they had all finished and returned to their partners. The music struck up, I lifted my head to resume swinging, and I saw Sabine standing by the doors closest to the stage. But she wasn’t watching me. Instead, she was facing toward the rear of the room, eyes fixed on my mother, her posture rigid.
Too late, I remembered – Sabine had also seen the mask in Catherine’s memory. And it had clearly made an impression.
It was only all my practice and training that got the first line of the song through my numb lips as she began to pick her way toward Tristan. My gloves felt sodden with sweat between my palms and the ropes, logic telling me not to react, but instinct demanding I leap off my swing and stop her.
Julian sprang onto the stage below me, dancing circles around the girls as he tried to tempt away their virtues, but they all spurned him, and he and I dueled until he scampered offstage. Only one more short song to praise the victory and strength of the girls, and then it would be over.
I sang louder than I should, wishing I could feel the triumph of music. But there was no winning in my situation, no choice that wouldn’t have painful consequences. No matter what I did, I was destined to lose. And it would happen in minutes. Sabine had only a few more people to navigate around before she reached Tristan and told him the truth. Then he’d try to kill my mother, and there’d be only one way to stop him.
Why should you stop him, the promise whispered. She’s a murderer.
She’s my mother.
He’ll never forgive you…
You don’t know that.
You gave your word…
The ballroom blurred as I warred my internal argument, then sharpened into focus as Sabine stopped in her tracks, and though the music was too loud for me to hear, the curses were clear on her lips. Spinning on her heel, she ignored the appalled expressions on people’s faces and pushed her way back to the exit. My voice wavered as my eyes jerked to where Tristan had been standing moments before, catching only a flash of him as he bolted through another exit.
Panic flooded through my veins, and, not caring if all the audience noticed, I twisted on the swing, my eyes searching, searching for sight of my mother.
She was gone.
Fifty-Five
Tristan
Genevieve ambled her way along the far side of the ballroom, expression unconcerned as she paused to greet guests, the chatter of the room loud to compensate for the grinding noise of the rotating set. She cast a backward glance at the stage when the lights dimmed, and my eyes went with hers in time to watch the curtain lift, revealing Cécile sitting on a swing high above the stage.
She was lovely. Even with the thousand concerns running through my head, I couldn’t help but notice that. She wore a white silk gown that revealed an exceptional amount of pale skin, all of which shimmered with gold dust. Her long crimson hair hung amongst the feathers trailing down her back, and both swayed with the motion of the swing.
Only my unique insight into her mind betrayed that she was not content. She briefly tracked her mother’s progress before letting her gaze drift across the ballroom to land on me, her mind a twist of nerves, hurt, and… guilt? I smiled at her, but a flash of unease betrayed my expression.
Something was wrong.
Something was not going to plan.