All the blood drains from Adair’s face. “You can’t do this. Not after the price I paid.”
That isn’t the first time she said that particular phrase. “What price are you talking about, Adair?”
“You’d know nothing of such things,” she snaps. “You’re an imposter. I am the True Scala.”
I’m tempted to say something snarky about what makes a True Scala, but I don’t want to be a sore winner.
The Dungeon Knights end the moment by marching Adair towards the warehouse’s back door. The heavy dread that’s been weighing on me for weeks lightens to nothing. This is it; Adair is captured.
Oooooooh, yeah.
Adair tries to break away, babbling how she deserves to get her life back, but the Knights are a pretty agile bunch despite their armor. They easily recapture her and push her towards the door. It’s such a pretty sight, I could cry.
What a day.
This morning, Adair sabotaged my Grand Unveiling. Twelve hours later, and she’s heading off to jail, led by thrax guards, no less.
Octavia steps up to my side. “Job very well done, my dear.”
“Thanks, Octavia. Couldn’t have done it without your support. Now, I can really focus on getting ready for my first big iconigration.” It’s only forty-eight hours away. Yowza.
“Obviously, the iconigration is a top priority,” answers Octavia smoothly. “But, don’t forget. Your Ball of Welcome is tomorrow night.”
Oh yeah, oops. “That, too.”
Octavia tilts her head to one side. “I hope you’re looking forward to it.”
I brace myself, waiting for the typical sense of dress-up-party-yuck to settle into my belly. It doesn’t. In fact, I feel downright pumped for the Ball. Getting rid of Adair makes everything seem that much better, I guess.
“You know what, Octavia? I am looking forward to it.” I exhale a satisfied breath. “Most definitely.”
Chapter Sixteen
I sit at a tiny make-up desk in my chamber at Arx Hall. My ladies’ maid, Clover, stands behind me as she fiddles with my hair. Clover’s on the short side with a rail-thin body topped by a large, moon-shaped face. Like all thrax, she has mismatched eyes of brown and blue. Her uniform’s a simple peasant dress of black cotton with a long white apron.
“How would you like your hairstyle for tonight’s Ball?” she asks.
“Down my back is fine. Just what you’re doing.”
“We could try something more formal, too. It is a Ball of Welcome in your honor, after all. I have some diamond hairclips around here. Let me show you.” She steps away and starts scanning the nearby tables.
I frown. The Ball starts soon and I don’t want to be late. This room’s so cluttered, it could take hours to find anything in the piles of statues, vases, tea sets, and music boxes.
“Ah, here they are!” exclaims Clover.
“Great news.” Looks like I won’t be late, after all.
Clover steps up behind me, showing me some hair clips decorated with diamond eagle claws. I give them a quick once-over. The design is lovely but the execution is huge. I’d need a beehive hairdo to make them work, and that’s just for starters.
“They’re very pretty, Clover. But I don’t think they’re me. Thanks, anyway.”
“As you wish.” She takes a brush to the back of my head. “So excited to hear about the iconigration, if you don’t mind my saying so.”
I straighten in my chair, a sense of pride swelling within me. “No, I don’t mind you saying that at all.” The iconigration is all set for tomorrow morning. Inside my heart, my igni pulse with excitement at the very idea.
“Any luck getting Lady Adair to give you those…” She clicks her tongue. “What are they called again?”
“Igni.”
“That’s right.” Her eyes grow large with alarm. “Or is it not proper to ask such a question?”
“No, you can ask. It’s fine. Adair did take some of my igni. We’ve been trying to get them back, but no luck so far.” I tried pushing, pulling, cajoling and bribing. Nothing. After that, the House of Striga has cast every spell, charm and enchantment in the book. My igni still won’t budge. Whatever spell-n-demonic-blood combo Adair is working, it’ll take some time to crack the code. I will crack it, though.
“That’s a shame,” says Clover.
“I’ve enough igni for my first iconigration, though. That’s the big one.”
“Well, that’s good to hear, anyway.”
A knock sounds at my door.
Clover inclines her head, making her long braid of brown hair swoosh to one side. “Who calls upon the Great Scala?”
“It’s me, dear.” That’s Octavia’s voice.
I fidget on my cushy little seat, nervous energy bounding through me. I hadn’t expected Lincoln’s Mom to stop by and I’m not ready yet. Normally, I’m not the kind of girl who worries if she looks perfect, but right now? I totally worry if I look perfect.