CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
TRAPPINGS OF POWER
Tonight is the masquerade. One week from now is the third and final trial. Except, if all goes according to plan, there won’t be another trial.
I dress quickly. First, I need to find Sef, then Luc, and make sure both of them are prepared. Today is the day I finally ruin Kaidren Vale, force him out of the Tournament, and secure the throne for Luc. And, eventually, myself.
I open my bedroom door—and halt.
A white box tied with scarlet ribbon rests against the wall. There’s no one nearby. Someone delivered this, clearly, but they didn’t knock to make sure I got it.
Frowning, I carry it inside and set it on my bed. There’s a note attached to the top, written in neat green ink.
Shadow Skulker,
I used to put these on and dream of being the most powerful person in the room too.
Kaidren
P.S. Hope you’ll save me a dance tonight.
I’ve been avoiding him. It’s for the best and I know it, but that doesn’t stop my stomach from fluttering as I remove the box’s lid to reveal the gift inside. Honorate robes.
At first glance, I think they’re the same ones I found beneath his bed. The old, worn ones he must keep for sentimental reasons. They’re not. On these robes, the golden thread hasn’t lost its shimmer and there are no frays. These are brand-new.
They’re even nicer than the ones Luc gifted me, that I wear for chamber in my attic. He claimed it was the best he could do, and I was grateful for the gesture. This . . .
My heart softens. Cracks fissure the walls I’ve built around myself.
Steel and ice, I sternly remind myself. I can’t let this small act of kindness affect me.
Tonight will go as planned. Kaidren will receive a threat from the Shadow Queen.
His aunt harbors illegal magic. On its own, it’s not much, but last night served as confirmation: he loves Jules.
Hopefully, it will be enough to coerce him to drop out of the Tournament.
So long as he does as he’s told, I won’t have to mention the discovery that he murdered his father.
I’ll use it if I have to, but I’d rather save it for later. After all, Kaidren Vale has a long career ahead of him as an Honorate. I’ll need all the secrets I can find to keep him in line.
There’s no room for error, no space to get emotionally involved. Too much hinges on this dance going smoothly for me to risk it for a boy I was certain I hated just a few weeks ago.
Selva Sixmen ruined Eduma and had her thrown in prison.
Arliss Vale ruined Kaidren’s mother and cost her a job and, ultimately, her life.
Mathson Kyler ruined Aja and cost her everything.
It’s the same story, over and over. Powerful men taking advantage and ruining lives because they can. They have no limits. Why should I?
I climbed the mountain, right to the crest. I’m so close to the top, I can taste it. If I fall, I fall all the way down. If Kaidren falls, he stays exactly where he is.
I seal the lid back over the box and shove the gift under my bed, where I can’t see it. Where it can’t distract me from the only goal that matters.
The ballroom is beautiful tonight. The dance floor is illuminated by a crystal chandelier hanging from the high, domed ceiling. The usually clear shards have been replaced at intervals with sky blue and white. Candlelight casts wintry light around the ceiling, walls, and floor.
A maid was supposed to replace those crystal shards, but I did it myself. I painstakingly fiddled with the chandelier until it was perfect for my plans, yet beautiful enough for no one else to notice.
The ballroom floor is tiled with squares of dusty pink and banded tshira, polished to shine. Tall glass windows of pale blue quartz line the back wall, bringing in light from the beacons outside. The golden columns are tied with silk ribbons in large bows.
Everything is perfect, down to the last detail.
Sef did my hair, and she outdid herself.
My thick, coily curls have never been bigger.
They’re displayed in a combination of tight braids, two-strand twists, and free hair.
Two sections twisted in the front frame my face.
Thin braids trail from my forehead to the crown of my head, where the rest of my hair is free and loose.
And all throughout my curls are glittering crystal sparrow clips that match the tshira trinket on my bracelet.
My dress is rich black velvet embroidered with gold along the bodice and inlaid with stars that wink within the folds of my skirt as I move.
My gloves and mask are matching red lace.
Tonight, I feel beautiful. It’s a rarity for me, but despite that warm feeling of confidence, I hug the back wall, watching Luc dance.
We spent hours ahead of time going over the best ways to make a good impression. He’s naturally personable, but tonight, I need him to be more than nice if he’s to charm donors.
So far, it looks like it paid off. Luc holds himself with poise and dignity. We’re not a monarchy, but in his splendid golden robes, he looks the part of a king.
I should feel proud. Instead, I resent it and him.
I wish Sef were here. She would stand in the back and gossip with me. Give me her opinions on everyone’s outfits, crack jokes, and make me feel less lonely. But she’s completing a more important task right now, involving an illicit magical object and a vial of poison.
Footsteps plod in my direction as Kaidren approaches. “Remira.” He speaks my name softly, as though awed.
He wears dove gray. A stunning shade against the warm tones of his skin.
The small black mask around his eyes does nothing to hide who he is.
Or disguise the way his gaze shamelessly rakes me up and down.
His lips stretch into a smile that shows off all his teeth.
Except it doesn’t look like his usual campaign smile.
There’s a brightness to his eyes and an awkwardness to the slant of his mouth that makes this one feel genuine.
“You’re exquisite,” he says.
I fight a shudder. There’s that word again. He said it to me before, in the library after the first trial. There’s something different in the way he says it now. His tone is heavier, more reverent. He holds the word in his mouth, savoring it, before releasing it in a near whisper, for my ears only.
“Thank you.” I stop myself before I say anything more and reveal how breathless I am from that single compliment.
“Did you get my present?”
“I did.” I no longer sound breathy, but my throat is dry from the way he stares at me, and my words sound more like a croak.
“And?” he presses.
I frown. “And what?”
Kaidren grins and extends a hand toward me. “Dance with me?”
I study his hand for longer than I should. We’ve been at each other’s throats for weeks. I’m planning on blackmailing him later this very night. I shouldn’t want to dance with him.
But I do.
I thought I despised the way his unpredictability has rattled my world; I thought I hated his ambition and the tricks he plays to get what he wants.
As it turns out, I like his games. I like taunting and plotting and tossing barbs back and forth until one of us slips.
I like knowing that beneath his cool exterior lies a vicious, ruthless creature.
I’ve craved power my whole life. Kaidren aims to strip me of mine and take it for himself.
For some reason, that struggle—his thirst for the one thing I want above all else—is more alluring than pretty smiles and sweet words.
“I don’t think I like sweet at all.”
I’m starting to realize I don’t either.
When I don’t move, Kaidren arches an eyebrow, never lowering his hand, nor his intense gaze.
My hands might be covered, but gloves will do nothing to guard me from his lips, which are too tempting for their own good, and just as conniving as the rest of him.
I break eye contact. “I don’t dance.”
Kaidren’s forehead furrows, and he lowers his hand. “We don’t have to talk about the Tournament.”
“I can’t think of anything else we have to talk about.”
“Remira—”
Flynn Sixmen approaches before he can finish the thought. “Mira, you’re looking especially lovely tonight. Dance with me?”
“Don’t waste your time, Sixmen,” says Kaidren. “Mira doesn’t dance.”
Flynn’s just given me the escape I need. From Kaidren and the way he holds my stare, calls me “exquisite,” and, worst of all, means it.
I shoot Kaidren a saccharine smile over Flynn’s shoulder. “With you.”
Confusion clouds his expression. “What?”
“I left off the end of that sentence. I don’t dance . . . with you.” I turn my undivided attention to Flynn and take his arm. “I’d love to dance with you, Honorate Sixmen.”
Flynn looks surprised but pleased as he guides me onto the dance floor. He places his hands in the correct position and smiles. “You seem nervous.”
Do I? I was hoping I was hiding it. “I don’t dance very often.”
He chuckles. “That’s not true. Your mother is always hosting parties.”
“She’s not my mother,” I say frostily.
“Of course. Sorry.” We fall into tense silence for a few beats. “So . . .” Flynn drags out the word with a sly grin. “What’s going on between you and Vale?”
“What do you mean?”
“Ah. I see we’re pretending neither of us noticed the way he was looking at you. Sorry. It would help if you told me in advance that we’re playing make-believe.”
“There’s nothing going on, and he wasn’t looking at me any sort of way.”
“Sure, Mira. Whatever you say.”
I purse my lips, hoping it’ll mask my embarrassment. From the corner of my eye, I see another girl approach Kaidren. There are nerves rolling off her, leaving little doubt she intends to ask him to dance.
Kaidren looks visibly uncomfortable. So much so, I expect he’s going to refuse. But with a swift glance in my direction (I turn my head as if I’m not looking), a smile stretches across his face and he holds out an arm for the girl.
I wonder if anyone else can see how distinctly fake it is.
I try to ignore them as they dance and focus my attention on Flynn. He’s always been easy to talk to and kind to me. He’s the only member of the Honorate who’s ever treated me with any sort of respect.
Except Kaidren . . .
I shoo that annoying voice away.
My eyes won’t stop wandering over Flynn’s shoulder to watch Kaidren. It doesn’t help that each time I look, I find his probing stare already fixed on me.
I decide it’s safer to look at my shoes.
“You’re doing great, Mira,” Flynn says encouragingly.
I can’t help laughing. “You’re being polite.”
“No, I—” He stops. “Dammit.”
“What?” I look up from my feet.
A figure stumbles through the crowded ballroom.
His hair has gotten longer since I last saw him.
He’s always been well groomed, but today, his gray-specked beard is overgrown and unkempt, and the hair on his head is greasy and knotted.
His walk is a stagger, and he shoves anyone who doesn’t move out of his way fast enough.
He’s not even dressed for the occasion. If you told me he stumbled out of bed, fell into a vat of ale, and then made his way here immediately after, I’d believe it.
Selva Sixmen.
An Honorate approaches him. “Selva, what are you doing here?”
A circle clears around Selva. No one wants to get too close.
“What am I doing?” Sixmen slurs his words so much, it sounds as though he’s trying to speak while drowning.
“What are you doing? Where were you when I left the Honorate? Where were any of you?” His voice rises to a gruff roar.
“You’re a coward—a puppet for the Shadow Queen, just like everyone else. ”
Flynn groans. Since the rest of the ballroom has fallen quiet with discomfort, the sound carries.
Selva’s dulled eyes find us. His countenance shifts. His jaw tightens, and he lurches. Partygoers flee, clearing out a path for him to stumble through. “Flynn.” Selva points a shaky finger at his son. “My own flesh and blood did this to me.”
Flynn sighs. “Dad, I told you to stay home.”
“You don’t tell me what to do.” Spit flies from Selva’s mouth and lands on me. “You did this. You conspired with the Shadow Bitch to take my place.”
Flynn gawks at his father. “You sound insane.”
Selva finally notices me. His wild eyes flash with fury. “Everyone let me get thrown out of the Honorate, but they’re fine with an Opheran being here?”
Flynn pushes me gently behind him, placing himself between me and his father. “Leave her out of this. You stepped down voluntarily. You need to go home and calm down. Sleep it off.”
Selva lunges around Flynn and snatches my arm.
I shriek and try to wrench myself away. Even with alcohol dulling his senses, Selva’s grip is strong. “Get your hands off me.” My tone is frosty in an attempt to mask how much he’s scaring me.
Selva ignores me. His other hand grabs my chin and twists, forcing me to look into his bloodshot, hazy eyes. “If I have to leave, I’m taking her with me. Opherans have no more of a right to be here than I do.” His breath is hot and rank. I almost gag from the stench of it.
“Let go of her.” This voice is eerily calm. Kaidren steps from the crowd around us, expression darker than I’ve ever seen it. He’s teeming with a quiet, controlled rage.
Selva scowls and doesn’t release me. “More Opherans. They’re taking over.”
“Does the fact that I’m Opheran scare you, Selva?” Kaidren calmly enters the circle, until he’s right next to Selva, towering over him. “If you don’t take your hands off her, I will show you firsthand that you’re right to fear me.”
“You shouldn’t even be here. You, an Honorate, and I’m not? Absurd.”
“Remove your hand.” Kaidren doesn’t respond to anything Selva says.
With a drunken roar, Selva rears back to punch Kaidren.
Kaidren steps aside, but Selva doesn’t let up. He releases me, trying to hit Kaidren again. This time, when he snaps back his arm, his elbow strikes me. It slams into my nose, knocking the wind from my lungs.
I teeter in place, stars dancing in my mind’s eye. The last thing I see before I crash to the floor is Kaidren punching Selva Sixmen right in the jaw.