“She what?”
“It was an accident. Sort of.” I’d never told Mal exactly how bad it had been for me before I’d learned to use my power, the endless, lonely days of failure. “I just can’t be sure where her real allegiance lies.” I rubbed the back of my neck where the muscles had started to bunch. “I can’t be sure of anyone. Not the Grisha. Not the servants. Any of them could be working for the Darkling.”
Mal looked around. For once, nobody seemed to be watching. Impulsively, he seized hold of my hand. “Gritzki’s throwing a fortune-telling party in the upper town two days from now. Come with me.”
“Gritzki?”
“His father is Stepan Gritzki, the pickle king. New money,” Mal said in a very good imitation of a smug noble. “But his family has a palace down by the canal.”
“I can’t,” I said, thinking of the meetings, David’s mirrored dishes, the evacuation of the school. It just felt wrong to go to a party when we could be at war in a matter of days or weeks.
“You can,” said Mal. “Just for an hour or two.”
It was so tempting—to steal a few moments with Mal away from the pressures of the Little Palace.
He must have sensed that I was wavering. “We’ll dress you up as one of the performers,” he said. “No one will even know the Sun Summoner is there.”
A party, late in the evening, after the day’s work was done. I’d miss one night of futile searching through the library. What was the harm in that?
“All right,” I said. “Let’s go.”
His face broke into a grin that left me breathless. I didn’t know if I’d ever get used to the idea that a smile like that might actually be for me.
“Tolya and Tamar won’t like it,” he warned.
“They’re my guards. They follow my orders.”
Mal snapped to attention and swept me an elaborate bow. “Da, moi soverenyi,” he pronounced in somber tones. “We live to serve.”
I rolled my eyes, but as I hurried to the Materialki workrooms, I felt lighter than I had in weeks.
Chapter
18
THE GRITSKI MANSION was in the canal district, considered the least fashionable part of the upper town because of its proximity to the bridge and the rabble across it. It was a lavish little building, bordered by a war memorial on one side and the gardens of the Convent of Sankta Lizabeta on the other.
Mal had managed to secure a borrowed coach for the evening, and we were tucked inside its narrow confines with a very cranky Tamar. She and Tolya had grumbled long and loudly about the party, but I’d made it clear that I wasn’t going to budge. I also swore them to secrecy; I didn’t want word of my little excursion beyond the palace gates to reach Nikolai.
We were all dressed in the style of Suli fortune-tellers, in vibrant orange silk cloaks and red lacquered masks carved to resemble jackals. Tolya had remained behind. Even covered head to toe, his size would draw too much attention.
Mal squeezed my hand, and I felt a surge of giddy excitement. My cloak was uncomfortably warm, and my face was already starting to itch beneath the mask, but I didn’t care. I felt like we were back at Keramzin, casting off our chores and braving the threat of the switch just to sneak away to our meadow. We would lie in the cool grass and listen to the hum of the insects, watch the clouds break apart overhead. That kind of peace seemed so far away now.
The street leading to the pickle king’s mansion was clogged with carriages. We turned onto an alley near the convent so that we’d be better able to mix in with the performers at the servants’ entrance.
Tamar carefully shifted her cloak as we descended from the coach. She and Mal were both carrying hidden pistols, and I knew that beneath all the orange silk, she had her twin axes strapped to each thigh.
“What if someone actually wants his fortune told?” I asked, tightening the laces of my mask and pulling my hood up.
“Just feed him the usual drivel,” said Mal. “Beautiful women, unexpected wealth. Beware of the number eight.”
The servants’ entrance led past a steam-filled kitchen and into the house’s back rooms. But as soon as we stepped inside, a man dressed in what must have been the Gritzki livery seized my arm.
“Just what do you think you’re doing?” he said, giving me a shake. I saw Tamar’s hand go to her hip.
“I—”