18th of Thira

In life, there come moments so pivotal that a person can look back and say, with all surety, that if they had made another choice everything would have been completely different. When Father left the cabin that last night on the Galvania, for instance, there were probably a thousand moments that could have changed the outcome. The same could be said of stumbling upon Arramy under that log, but in an inside-out way – if it had gone differently at all, no one would have found him.

Tonight was a pivotal moment in more ways than one.

~~~

The music surged, silvery notes eddying from the stone walls of the darkened arena. Below us, the background dancers twirled to the heavy beat of the drums, their bodies glowing with intricate patterns of gold neffialli. The main characters wore luminous costumes that floated around them as they spun and leaped to the music. Drakoa the Pyropixxen, trailing her bright orange flames, battling with Ygraine the Waterwitch in her flowing cascade of gleaming azure. It was one of my favorite Lodesian dramas, but my attention wasn't on the dancers.

"Who do you see?"

"Lord Ixander. Blue and red cape," I whispered, studying the man sitting in the section of stone benches to our right. Big, dull, unconnected, not of interest. A woman sat next to him, dressed all in pale, glowing green, her slender figure dwarfed by his bulk. "He has brought his new wife."

"Good. Who else?"

I followed the curve of the second tier to the next private section. "Lord Oguirre and... it looks like Lady Tarrakarenne. They're together... and they've got a herd of adorai," I added, taking in the group of handsome young men lolling about on the stone benches, all of them dressed in matching robes of glittering gold and orange. They weren't of interest either, and I kept going, finding all the vipers in the room.

My gaze slid past Oguirre and Tarrakarenne to the shadowy section beyond them. None of the purple theater lanterns were alight above that wedge of theater seats, and it took a few seconds to make out the black-clad figure lurking alone on the middle bench like a great spider, lanky legs sprawling out from beneath his protruding middle. If his crest of frizzled hair hadn't stood in silhouette against Lady Monphaelen's yellow dress, I wouldn't have known he was there. A shiver of apprehension slithered down my spine as his information card came to mind: Definite person of interest. Reixham's partner, well connected, possibly Coventry. Very dangerous, approach carefully, Rule Number 6. I turned to look up at Braeton. "Lord Delmyrre is here."

"I see him. Good eyes." Light footsteps sounded in the entryway to our section, and Braeton turned, listening as Henmyrre bent to deliver a quiet message before leaving as quickly as he had arrived.

The hair prickled on my nape. "Is it Arra—"

"He's still at his post. Longwater is with him." Braeton leaned closer. "Who else?"

I bit my lip.

Lady Monphaelen's section was the last on that side of the auditorium. There were several guests attending with her, but none of them were on my list of targets. I glanced around Braeton's shoulder at the section to our left.

I stiffened. Our neighbor's face was hidden behind an orange skull mask, but there was no mistaking who it was, with that trim build and sharp profile. Target of interest. One of Mun-Ghour's overland clients. Owns several mines. Not particularly dangerous to grown women. "Lord Winn-Cryste," I said softly.

He had several girls with him. A year ago, I would have assumed they were his daughters, and might even have thought it sweet. Now I knew better. My throat constricted. They were all very pretty, all of different races and regions, and all dressed as Tradition dolls, like some sort of life-size collection. A red-headed Caraki dressed as a peisan maker in a green jumper, her hair plaited into a crown; a Tettian blonde wearing a purple summer-maiden dress; a Ronyran girl in a tirna of glowing golden lace. The youngest girl was wearing an Edonian snow festival dress of twinkling white ruffles. Pale blue snow flowers dotted her dark hair and twined over her face and arms. She was very small. Small enough that, as I watched, she lifted her hand to her mouth and began sucking her thumb.

My stomach instantly cramped up on itself, and I dragged in a harsh breath.

Braeton's grip on my wrist was a silent warning in the dark, keeping me from rising up off my seat. His words were hot on the side of my neck as he pressed his lips hard against my ear and whispered, "This is bigger than just one man."

"She's a baby," I choked out.

"I know. But he watches them like a hawk, and —" Braeton's fingers tightened on my wrist and he brought his free hand up to my shoulder, holding me still, forcing me to hear, "— and if you try to get close, she'll wind up floating in the river with her throat slit. As awful as it is, it's safer for those girls if you leave them alone."

I stared at that little Edonian girl, hating every fiber of myself as I sat there next to Braeton. The music had become raw, sawing and scraping over my nerves, the thunder of the drums and the sweetness of the chimes damning me as I did nothing.

Braeton's hand covered mine, and after a moment I wove my fingers through his and held on tight.

~~~

Mingling with the other members of the Circle was the entire point of attending the theater. I understood that. I had been preparing for it for days, memorizing possible guests and facts about them. Braeton had even insisted that I go over maps of the theater caverns so I would know where everything was, the better to look like I belonged on the second tier. But reality turned out to be far different than it had appeared on paper. I had known from the beginning that I would eventually come face to face with the Shadow Road; I hadn't imagined that face would belong to a child of five. I wanted to be sick, and only my death-grip on Braeton's arm kept me from stumbling as he led me out of the theater arena and into the main hallway.

Lights. Everywhere. Bright and warm with the flicker of mirrored gas flame, disorienting after so much time in the dark. I made myself keep moving, frantically trying to blink away tears.

"Braeton! How surprising to run into you on this side of the Marral. In for the social season?"

I was brought up short as Braeton turned to face a young man coming toward us. "Gerris. Nice to see you. Yes, we're in for the season... Heading up north in a few weeks... Stopping by to see the Prima Matriax..."

Those weeks of practice were all that kept a smile glued to my lips as Braeton came up with a stream of small-talk, and Gerris' augmented purple gaze slid slowly from my false blonde hairline, all the way down my body to the hem of the form-fitting white satin dress Braeton had chosen for me.

Geris quirked a brow. "Oh, I'm so glad," he said, responding to something Braeton had said without looking away from me, his gaze coming back up to my face. He smiled, flashing a set of perfect teeth.

"What about you?" Braeton asked, pulling me around and starting down the hallway again, heading for the Great Ballroom. "How has your position on the Council turned out?"

"Not bad, not bad at all," Gerris said, falling into step with Braeton. "I've been working on a building project in the Seventh District. It might interest you, in fact. It's bound to turn a hefty profit when it's completed..."

I stopped paying attention. Winn-Cryste would be in the Ballroom. He had said as much when the applause ended and the audience prepared to leave the arena. I was going to have to look at him, talk to him like he was a normal person. I would have to see the girls he had brought with him, look them in the eye, and act like nothing was wrong. Nausea clawed at my throat all over again and my pulse roared loud in my ears. I kept walking, that fake smile stretching too wide on my bright red lips, my breath tangling in my chest as each step brought me closer to the massive hewn-stone doorway of the Great Ballroom cavern.

Braeton swept me along, gossiping with Gerris like they were long-lost friends, and then we were through the doorway and moving toward the tables of food laid out for the post-performance party.

Automatically, I began looking around, getting my bearings. Music from the play drifted from a musician's stage in a far corner. There were gorgeous people everywhere, clad in beautiful clothes, all of it designed to glow one way in the purple lights of the theater, and look entirely different in the light of the lanterns strung from the cavern ceiling. My dress was no longer violet. Lady Monphaelen's yellow dress now gleamed a soft platinum, the feathered band in her white-cloud hair red instead of black. Lord Oguirre was wearing a dark grey formal jacket, all the green zigzags gone. The chorus dancers were wearing sleek bodysuits of midnight blue silk, but the bright golden-orange patterns on stage were now pale pink lines.

I told myself not to look for them, but it didn't do any good. Braeton led me to an out-of-the way spot near the wall, said something about going to get me a drink, I tried to nod, and found them. They were sitting in a little group on the other side of the dance floor, huddled together on cushions, the only children in a room full of adults.

"I must say... Braeton always did have exquisite taste, but you... Who are you?"

With a quick, shuddering breath, I dragged my attention away from the girls. Gerris hadn't left. He was standing next to me where Braeton had left him, and he was regarding me with cool interest. With his shiny dark hair and classically Lodesian features he might have been handsome, but his full mouth was twisted into a wicked smirk. To some, it probably seemed dashing, but to me he just looked predatory.

Numb, I realized he was waiting for an answer. "Pendar," I whispered. Then I swallowed. Hard. My own name had very nearly tumbled out instead. One little word and I could have gutted everything.

"Oh-ho-ho, what have you found, Gerris?" A new male voice said from my left.

I turned to find two more men prowling up. We were in plain view of the other guests, but that didn't change my reaction. Panic swarmed through my middle, and it took every last ounce of control to keep from backing up and looking for the nearest exit.

Gerris' smirk grew to a glittering wolf-smile. "Braeton's new plaything," he said in High Lodesian.

The other two – just as richly dressed and well coifed as Gerris – came to stand beside him, both of them looking me up and down as if sizing up a filly at auction, all three of them hemming me in.

"And he has gone off and left such a pretty little lamb all by herself? Whatever should be done?" One of the newcomers asked, also in High Lodesian. He smiled kindly at me. Then he turned to the other one and made a lewd suggestion about my body. The other one tilted his head, too-blue eyes still roaming my features, and made a wager that he would have me in the cloakroom before the end of the evening, and then all three of them started laughing.

Stunned, I stared up at them, my throat tight.

Across the room, Arramy moved away from his position near the door, coming toward me, brows lowered, but I gave a tiny shake of my head. Braeton was right. We weren't fighting just one man. And I had a role to play.

Still laughing and talking, Gerris shifted his weight away from his friend, and for an instant I caught a glimpse of Winn-Cryste's girls through the gap. Silently begging their forgiveness, I memorized everything about them even while I began walling them off in my head, sticking them in the same little mental box with my father and Raggan and all the people who had died on the Ang. Then I found that empty, frozen place in my soul, firmed my chin, and put up a politely bemused smile.

"Something is funny?" I asked in Altyran, adding a definite Tettian lilt.

Gerris stopped laughing and gave me a patronizing grin. "Nothing to worry your beautiful head over."

"And I believe you all have somewhere else to be." Braeton's tone was light, but there was an edge beneath it that had Gerris and his friends whipping around to look at him, their eyes wide.

He lifted an eyebrow, watching calmly as they each offered rapid excuses, bowed and left.

I let out a breath.

The corners of Braeton's eyes crinkled in a barely-there smile as he offered me a glass of iced fruit. Then he held out his arm. "Come with me. There's someone I need you to meet."

..............................................................

Adorai: (n.) Lodesian. "favored servant." Has a sexual connotation.