“My lady.” He swept out one arm, indicating I should go ahead, and he bent to lift the trunk.
I retrieved Mort and put the scabbard on over my dress, not caring at all how it looked with my outfit.
Emmaline was waiting for me. She’d changed into a simple silver-gray gown, but still wore her navy page’s vest over it, and her auburn hair was pulled back into a businesslike bun at the nape of her neck. Her eyes popped, and her mouth fell open when she saw me.
“You look incredible!” she said. “Like royalty.”
“Very kind of you to say so.” I gave her a wry side-eye with one brow raised. “Okay, what torture awaits next?”
“We join the rest of the traveling party in one of the reception halls for cocktails and hors d'oeuvres.”
“A party before the dinner that will be followed by another party,” I said under my breath, followed by a tortured sigh and a look skyward.
She gave a small smile. “I’ll take you to the hall now.”
She led me to one of the upper floors of the fortress, to a large room I’d been to before. But last time, it was to be honored along with my class for our graduation from advanced weapons training. My clothes had been a hell of a lot more sensible for that event.
The walls of the reception hall were decorated with enormous geode slices that served as natural artwork. There were granite pillars interrupting the marble floor at evenly-spaced intervals. Swoops of velvet softened the right angles where the walls met the ceiling—decorative touches that were cleverly disguised echo dampeners.
There were already about two dozen guests gathered, and at least that many servers and attendants like Emmaline. Pages in black serving attire and white aprons circulated with trays of some pinkish bubbly cocktail in tall glasses. My stomach grumbled loudly, and I looked past the drink servers for any with food platters.
“I’ll bring you a small plate,” Emmaline said. She lifted her chin, her eyes cast across the room. “It looks like you’re being summoned.”
I followed her gaze to find Marisol with her arm lifted toward me. She flicked her fingers, beckoning me in a way that set my teeth on edge. There was nothing specifically condescending in her gesture—it was inviting, if anything—but standing around at a formal reception making polite talk with the New Gargoyle matriarch was not my idea of a good time. I just wanted to get to the Duergar palace and on with my mission.
Fat chance of that. This was only the beginning of the night’s painful formalities. My best hope was to slip away after dinner. It should be easy to sneak out once everyone had been drinking a while and the dancing started.
But at the moment, duty was literally calling to me, so I strode across the marble floor to join Marisol. As I approached, people shifted, revealing Maxen standing in the small crowd surrounding his mother. In a split-second, he took me in from head to foot. One corner of his mouth crooked up almost imperceptibly, and he gave me a subtle nod. I knew he was trying to play the stoic New Gargoyle prince. But I also knew him well enough to read his small changes in expression, and he was quite pleased by what he saw. I channeled Penelope and shot him a sultry little smile while Marisol’s attention was elsewhere. The quirk of his lips bloomed into a full grin, and he gave a tiny shake of his head. He knew I was just playing with him.
“Lady Lothlorien,” I said with a deferential inclination of my head as I approached Marisol and dredged up what I could remember of formal etiquette. “Lord Lothlorien. Ladies, gentlemen.”
I couldn’t look directly at Maxen, or I would have busted up laughing. I knew it was juvenile of me, but calling him “Lord” gave me a case of the giggles.
I recognized a few of the New Gargoyle political figures milling around Marisol and Maxen, if not by name at least by face. Seeming to sense that Marisol wanted to speak to me without an audience, they all drifted away except Maxen.
“I wanted to express my appreciation for your willingness to accompany the attaché to the Duergar palace,” Marisol said. “I know it’s not your usual scene. But we need our changeling to come home.”
Ah, Marisol and her dependable bluntness. She wore it easily, like an invisible crown she’d been born to. The leader of the New Gargoyles was the very definition of regal, standing rod-straight in a crystal-white dress that somehow made her sapphire eyes even more blue.
Maxen shifted his weight next to her, outside her field of vision. I knew he was confused about why Marisol hadn’t told him about Nicole earlier and probably wondered why I was being sent after the changeling. I was barely a member of the Stone Order, and my involvement had to seem strange.
“I can’t say I’m disappointed you’ll be by Maxen’s side,” Marisol said. “He’s extremely capable, of course, but backup never hurts.”
I pulled back slightly in surprise before I could control my reaction. Marisol had to be aware of her son’s long-standing interest in me, and we all knew she had absolutely no intention of letting him make such an un-strategic match. That she’d admit she was glad I was traipsing off to court with Maxen was a bit of a shock. She must have been more worried about King Periclase than she let on.
Emmaline appeared at my side, offering me a little plate piled with finger foods, which saved me from having to come up with a suitable reply to Marisol and gave the New Gargoyle ruler an easy out. She excused herself to speak to some new arrivals.
I glanced at Maxen before stuffing two cubes of cheese and an olive in my mouth. I was amped up, antsy from standing around and thinking of the mission ahead, and with no means to expend my energy, I just wanted to eat. He was drilling me with his blue eyes.
“I want to know why you’re really going,” he said, tipping his head down to look at me from under his brows. “You of all possible people.”
I shrugged. “Did you ask Marisol?”
His blue eyes remained intent on me. “Must be something dire if you’re willing to put on a dress and go to court,” he said, ignoring my question.
I gave a short laugh.
“I’m glad you’ll be there.”
“You don’t really think you’ll need backup, like Marisol said?”
“The thought crossed my mind. It’s often occurred me to ask you to join in some of our missions. But I never would have expected you to say yes to an invitation,” he said.
I looked away again. I knew what he was implying—that I wasn’t likely to be a dutiful New Gargoyle. He didn’t expect he could depend on me for things such as backup in a foreign kingdom. I had to admit, it stung a little. It wasn’t that I didn’t care about him or the Stone Order—I did. But my work kept me mostly outside of Faerie and almost completely isolated from the matters of the Order. I couldn’t do both—be fully active in the Order’s affairs and hunt down vamps.
“I guess you never know what the answer will be if you never ask,” I said mildly, my gaze still fixed across the room. I was trying not to sound defensive, but he probably saw through it.