Chapter 20 #3
All eyes turned to me, surprise flickering across several faces.
I ignored it. Kneeling beside Ilyth, I reached for the needle with steady hands.
Elion’s lessons rose easily to the surface—pressure, depth, patience—my movements were measured as I began to stitch the torn muscle with care.
The work was precise, the pattern intricate, meant to hold even under strain.
Jorius kept Ilyth still, murmuring to her as I worked. When I finished, he applied the salve, smoothing it over the wound with a gentle touch. Her tension eased. Her breathing slowed, the tremor in her tail subsiding as the pain ebbed.
She rose a short while later, testing her weight, her movements clean and sure. Jorius clapped my shoulder with relief. “Thanks. You’re very impressive.”
Others echoed the sentiment, praise offered without ceremony. My face warmed and I lowered my eyes, unsure what to do with it.
Across the courtyard, Lucina tended Voryx’s flank with steady hands where he was scratched. Displeasure hardened her features, the anger in it unmistakable as she regarded me.
“Valentina.”
The low timbre of my name startled me. Thanor stood near the enclosure, one hand resting against it as though he’d been waiting to call me over.
He’d never used my name before. It sounded unfamiliar on his lips and sent a traitorous flutter low in my stomach.
I hesitated for a moment, but it was enough to feel everyone’s attention shift toward me again—enough to know that ignoring him would draw more notice than I wanted.
So I gathered myself and crossed the sand, keeping my face still.
He stood waiting, displeasure held in his stillness.
“Don’t do that again,” he said, towering over me. “You will use your skills for Kharos. For no one else.”
I held my breath, forcing my temper down. Everyone was watching. The curve of his mouth told me he knew exactly how much effort it cost me. He was testing me, measuring how I would walk the line he’d drawn.
“Fine,” I said at last, folding my arms across my chest.
Something in him shifted and his eyes sparked. As he passed me, I heard it—barely more than a breath.
“Good girl.”
Heat rushed to my face. The words sank deeper, spreading through me like something molten, twisting low in my stomach until I could no longer stand there among everyone.
I turned and fled into the halls.
Livia waited in my chamber as dusk gathered at the window, the light turning soft and amber as the city prepared itself for Carnis Noctyra. My costume lay arranged across my bed, its fabric spilling in pale, liquid folds, every inch kissed with gold.
She helped me into it slowly. The gold and ivory slid over my skin in heavy folds, draped to bare me.
The bodice plunged low, held together at my shoulders by polished clasps, leaving most of my chest exposed.
A band of molded gold cinched my waist tight, angling down over my hips, holding the fabric in place.
Small golden flowers were set into the seams. When I moved, the dress followed.
Livia adjusted the clasps at my shoulders, smoothing the material until it fell into place, then stepped back to study her work.
“Beautiful,” she murmured. She gathered my hair next, lifting it away from my neck, braiding thin chains and tiny blossoms through it, pale and gold alike, until it framed my face without hiding it.
The mask waited last. She placed it in my hands for a moment before lifting it herself, fastening it carefully behind my head. It was gold and ivory, cool against my skin, worked with raised vines and flowers curling along the edges, leaving my mouth bare and shadowing my eyes.
I barely recognized myself when I looked into the bronze mirror—less Valentina, more symbol, something shaped for reverence and desire in equal measure.
Livia stepped beside me and offered me an encouraging smile. She looked lovely herself, her honey-blond hair wrapped atop her head like a crown. She had threaded the same flowers through her hair as mine, as if we belonged together. The thought warmed me.
I stood still as she made her final adjustments, aware of the way the dress moved when I breathed, how little it allowed me to forget that tonight I would be seen. Not as a Bondward. Not as myself. But as a goddess who had once been taken and learned to rule the dark in return.
When she finally stepped back, satisfied, the Ludaryn was already stirring outside my chamber, voices rising, music threading faintly through the halls. Carnis Noctyra had started.
The Atrium was alive with movement. Servants passed in hushed currents, their heads bowed, hands full of lanterns and trays, ribbons of gold trailing from their sleeves.
Somewhere above us, drums had begun to beat.
Slow at first, a heartbeat felt more than heard, vibrating through the stone beneath my feet.
Livia fell into step behind me in the guise of the goddess of love. Warmth clung to the corridors, scented with spiced wine and incense, crushed herbs and something darker beneath. Anticipation. Masks would be fastened now. Names loosened. Boundaries thinned.
She reached for my hand as we entered the upper halls.
Her fingers were warm around mine, holding on for a moment before she slipped away into the crowd, smiling over her shoulder as she mouthed a silent have fun .
I watched her join a circle of women—likely men and women from the servant wing—already laughing, already free.
If she could relax, then tonight I would allow myself the same.
Yet my earlobes felt heavy, the earrings Decimus had sent at breakfast resting against my skin in a way that felt odd.
Wrong . I wore them because I had to. He’d kept his word.
Tonight I would have to answer in kind. He, Jorius, and Livia alone would know who I was beneath the mask.
We had made sure of it. My hair was dusted in gold, the red hidden, my freckles concealed beneath the mask. I would truly enjoy anonymity.
I stepped into the hall, the space opening around me in a wash of light and sound.
It was filled with people—lounging on sofas, gathering in small groups, drifting onto moonlit balconies.
Gold and crimson shimmered in silk and bare skin, while laughter and conversation blended beneath the glow of candlelight.
Near the entrance, a low table held a platter of grapes, dusted with fine flecks of gold. I sighed at the excess of it all, the careful beauty, indulgence layered upon indulgence. Then I plucked one from the stem and slipped it into my mouth anyway, letting its sweetness burst against my tongue.
Something nudged my lower back, hard and unexpected, like the hilt of a blade. Startled, I whirled around.
Only to burst out laughing.
A trident hovered inches from my face. Behind it stood exactly what Jorius had described that morning: very little.
A shining golden loincloth wrapped around his hips and twisted up over his shoulders.
It was more suggestion than garment, revealing more with every movement. Barely an inch of him was covered.
I lifted my hands to cover my mouth, laughter spilling through my fingers as I tried—and failed—not to embarrass him.
“I see the costume achieved its purpose.” He dipped into an exaggerated bow, the trident lowering with him, his grin broad as he straightened.
“Startle first, impress second.” He glanced down at himself, amused rather than self-conscious.
“And really, Tina—efficiency is key tonight. This way, there’s no fumbling later when I inevitably find willing company. ”
I tilted my head, taking him in with deliberate slowness. “I’m sure the efficiency will be appreciated. Though I imagine the trident alone would have been enough. It feels like you’re overcompensating.”
He laughed, unabashed, as if I’d paid him a compliment instead of a jab. “I’d rather have them underestimate me. Easier that way, until they find out what’s really underneath this loincloth.” His grin turned wicked. “Had to poke three more women before I found you… with my trident, of course.”
I shook my head and hooked my arm through his. “Come on, then. If we’re going to scandalize the hall, we might as well do it with lots of wine.”
We drifted toward a long table overflowing with food and drink—bowls of jeweled fruit, platters of meat and vegetables glazed with honey and spice, pitchers of dark red wine.
Jorius reached for two goblets, passing one to me before filling them both.
We stayed by the table as we watched the festival unfold.
Everywhere I looked, gods and goddesses brushed shoulders, not an inch of skin covered.
Bodies gleamed with gold and silver oil, making it impossible to tell them apart.
“Alright,” he murmured, leaning closer. “Any guesses?”
“That one.” I lifted my cup in her direction. “Doesn’t need a mask.”
She stood apart from the laughter, armored in red and gold, her presence obvious even beneath the costume—the goddess of war.
Aelia wore violence as easily as other women wore jewels.
Her brown hair was threaded with tiny blades.
I scowled. She didn’t need them to cut down her opponents. Her gaze and tongue were sharp enough.
“Hard to miss her,” he answered before he tipped his chin toward another figure moving through the crowd. “And her.”
My teeth clenched. Lucina moved through the revelers in pale silk and cruel silver, her beauty sharpened to a point. Her hair was so light it bordered on white, a stark halo against the darker hues of the hall.
The goddess of betrayal. Of ruin. Gorgeous, I had to admit, in the way a knife is—meant to be admired right up until it draws blood.
“I wonder,” Jorius mused, lifting his goblet, “how much wine it would take before she showed me exactly what kind of madness she’d bring me for the night. There’s something to be said for sticking your dick in crazy once. For the story, if nothing else.”