Arin glanced up and froze. A myriad of emotions flashed over his features, too many and too complicated to name.
He straightened, gaze roaming over my gown. “Sefa did wonderful work on your dress.” He sounded dazed. I had watched him bleed half to death without sounding anything but composed. “Although you are certainly not endearing yourself to Vaida.”
“Oh?” I managed.
“It’s customary for the hostess to outshine her guests.” Arin’s eyes swirled with humor and something quieter, more intimate. Just for me. “You’ve made that impossible.”
I barely heard him. The most bizarre sensation trembled through me. A violence I didn’t recognize. Violence… that wasn’t the right word.
Against my own volition, I touched the loose hair at his temple. Arin held himself still as a statue while I swept the strand behind his ear. My fingers lingered against the strong line of his jaw. I had the most irrational wish for my gloves to dissolve into ash. But without them, he couldn’t have allowed my touch to begin with.
What a reversal of fortunes, that I should seek a touch and be denied.
“There,” I said, knotting my trembling hand into my skirt. It wanted to keep going, to taunt his relentless control, to push greedy hands into silken hair and watch the ice in his eyes melt to liquid flame. My control was fracturing beneath a pressure I did not recognize. I couldn’t trust my own body. “Now she will hate us both.”
The steady beat of a tubluh cut through the din. The crowd fell silent, turning to the bottom of the stairwell. Servants wearing gossamer red gowns or ivory tunics pushed open the looming doors to the banquet. Everyone gathered at the head of the wide stairwell, grasping the banisters or leaning forward. I remained in the rear with Arin. I had seen more than my share of Vaida’s ostentatious displays.
“The ruby of Lukub. Champion of our shining Sultana Vaida. Raise your voices for the Alcalah’s coming Victor, Timur of Lukub!”
The halls went dark as the lanterns behind us were extinguished. A red glow lit the walls, casting fiery shadows over us. The servants scattered a powder in the torches, and the guests squealed as the fire shot up in clouds of red and orange. The flames roared between the jaws of the Ruby Hounds protruding from the walls and carved into the balusters on each side of the stairwell. We were awash in red, the deafening crackle of fire mingling with the excited whispers.
“How do you think she would feel if she knew we saw a real Ruby Hound?” I murmured.
A flash of delicious spite flitted over Arin’s face. “Murderous.”
“Nothing new, then,” I said, and Arin bit his lip. Trying not to smile.
“Are my attempts at humor improving?”
He smoothed his features almost instantly, but it was too late. He had revealed something entirely unintended, something I could not reconcile with my own understanding of him. Arin of Nizahl was a twenty-six-year-old man, filled with the ennui of one who thought most everyone in the room beneath him, struggling not to exchange a laugh with the girl on his arm.
Perhaps Arin was his own ghost, too.
The Omal Heir and his Champion stood to our left. Felix’s glare bored into the side of my face. I waited for Arin to adjust his sleeves and winked at Felix. The brat reddened, his nostrils flaring wide. Nobody should reach Felix’s age without experiencing a solid beating. It built character. I would love to be the one to pound humility into his skull. Was that not what cousins were for?
Arin offered his hand. “Shall we?”
My golden glove fit against his black one. In a burst of restless nerves, I said, “We match.”
Instead of taking the excellent opportunity to mock my inane comment, Arin’s eyes softened. “So we do.”
We began our descent, perfectly tuned to the other pairs. The drama suited Vaida, who’d donned her crown for the occasion. She and her Champion took the steps first. When our turn came, a bizarre rift happened within me. As though the dusty, Omal half of me lingered at the top of the stairs, watching the decorated Jasadi half descend on the arm of the most powerful Heir in the kingdoms.
He is on the arm of the strongest Queen since the Awaleen, Hanim said. Or the ghost of her, anyway.
I resisted the urge to glance back. Hanim’s voice had quieted lately, leaving more room for my own thoughts.
“Should I be watching my food? Felix is not happy to see me.”
Arin tipped his head to speak into my ear. “Ren is in the kitchen watching the cooks. We already have serving boys tasting the food. Don’t worry. Vaida would never allow anything as crass as an assassination attempt to ruin her banquet.”
The dining hall took my breath away. Lanterns hung from white chains attached to the vaulted glass ceiling. They illuminated white petals flowering along the eastern wall and ivory vines weaving through the six Ruby Hounds. The Hounds circled in painted states of motion around the room. A more extravagant table could not exist in all the kingdoms. The servants pulled out high-backed chairs as we entered.
“Your kingdom’s seal marks your seat,” Vaida announced. She took her place at the head of the table, dangling her chalice over the clawed armrest. “My Lukubi guests, you may sit wherever is free.”
I looked at Arin in a panic. I hadn’t prepared for the possibility of sitting apart. I lacked his agility of speech and his even-keeled constitution. His gloved hand squeezed mine, once, before he went to the opposite side of the table. A servant led me farther down, where the Nizahl seal was embossed on the candle flickering in front of my plate.
I glanced around and swallowed a groan. The Orban Champion and the Lukub Champion took the seats on either side of me, leaving the Omal Champion across from us.
The arrangement could have been worse, I supposed. I could be Arin, stuck between Vaida and Felix. The Champions were seated at one end of the table, the royals at the other. The twelve or so nobles Vaida had invited took their places in the center, their excited chatter echoing in the hall.
A few servants bustled around, filling our chalices with a floral wine. At the end of the table, Felix curled his lip in my direction. I lifted the dull knife from my plate and met his gaze as I slapped the flat of the knife against my palm. He flinched, and I hid a laugh against my wrist. The prospect of no longer needing to pretend was heady. Pretending to struggle to carry crates, because I needed to look weak. Pretending to smile when I wanted to scream, because a village girl should be grateful for any fate beyond a husband and six children.
Vaida’s offer of freedom could never have given me this. Myself.