Chapter 30
Will was not the sort of man to stand willingly on the sidelines and become a forgotten pawn.
But he had learned from his recent mistakes, and this time he did not leave the ballroom.
He danced and danced, whirling across the marble floor to violins and deep drums until he surrendered to the rush of it.
One moment he danced with a bird whose fingers ended in golden talons, then with a devil, a werewolf, a harpy, a ghost, a demon.
Round and round he went, laughing at their jokes, paying compliments, telling them about the Capitol.
At last, his feet aching, he stumbled aside and searched for an alcove where the shadows would conceal him without hiding the dance floor from view.
“This corner is already taken.” Saint grinned at him, the corners of his mouth nearly reaching his ears.
“But I have room for you.” He was dressed as a court jester, his cap sitting crookedly atop his unruly hair, and the costume peculiarly suited him.
Tiny bells rang with every movement, emphasizing the mischievous sparkle in his eyes.
The alcove was spacious. Beyond a pointed arch, it imitated a window with a stone bench upon which Saint sat, one leg drawn up, his back against the wall.
It was warm inside, yet Will still braced himself for the cool touch of stone against his skin.
It never came. The wall was unnaturally hot, almost like a living body.
“Why is the stone warm?” Will asked before he could stop himself.
“Because the King built this house, and his magic flows through the stone—much like it does through the royal palace,” Saint explained with a calmness that proved Will had once again asked about something everyone else considered perfectly ordinary.
“Why is he never here? Our queen often appears at the celebrations of the high nobility.” Will himself had only ever seen her from a distance, a beautiful older woman.
“He is here—represented by the Red Hand.”
Will frowned. “Have you ever seen him?”
Saint laughed. “No one sees the king. That is why he has the Red Hand.” He gestured toward the dais. His fingers were black tonight as well.
“But how do you know he exists if no one ever sees him?”
“Must you see everything with your own eyes to know it exists?” Saint leaned toward him across the bench, bracing himself on his hands. “How am I supposed to know the Capitol exists when I have never seen it?”
Will frowned. “Mr. Arcos is an ambassador and travels there regularly. You receive goods from us…”
“And it is the same with our king,” Saint said triumphantly.
That did nothing to satisfy Will’s curiosity. He sagged against the wall, his wings spreading to either side of him. “But I do not understand why Duchess Ormonde and Mr. Arcos are so determined to become his Red Hand. Why do they believe he would help them?”
Saint adjusted his cap and shrugged. “I cannot tell you anything more… That is all I heard from the vampires.”
“From the vampires?”
“Yes. They told me the King built this house.”
Will straightened. “The vampires speak to you?”
Saint shrugged. “Some of the stronger vampires still have enough memories left to recount fragments.”
Will knew he should not ask any more, that whatever Elodie and Mr. Arcos were planning was none of his concern. At the same time, he knew he needed answers if he meant to survive the next few months here. For Elodie, he had to risk it.
“How can I speak to a vampire?”
Saint studied him through narrowed eyes, then shrugged. “Come with me the next time I go hunting. I need fresh specimens for my laboratory anyway. Did you receive your human bones?”
Will shuddered at the memory of the torture chamber hidden beneath the little shop. Even so, he nodded. “Not a word about this to the duchess. Or Mr. Arcos.”
“Not a word about what?” Elodie asked at that very moment. She leaned one shoulder against the edge of the alcove, her sweeping skirts filling the small space. The beads of the embroidered eyes glittered within her shadowed silhouette against the ballroom’s red glow.
“Duchess Ormonde!” Saint sat upright at once and gazed up at her with something close to reverence.
“Saint.” Elodie pressed her lips together, reminding Will strongly of an older sister looking at her troublesome younger brother.
“I am going to check on my father.” The moment the words left him, Saint squeezed past her and darted away, the bells of his costume still echoing behind him.
Will laughed quietly as they watched the young man disappear. The more often he saw Saint, the less physical attraction he felt toward him, but the more he came to appreciate his peculiar nature and bright eyes. He was entirely a product of this city, and yet it had failed to dim his light.
“What was that about?” he asked.
Elodie sighed and sat beside him on the bench.
Here in the shadows, her costume looked even more bizarre, especially with the eyes spreading across her forehead like those of a spider, glittering in the weak light.
“He has worshiped me since he was ten. At some point, I made the mistake of showing him my wardrobe, and ever since then, he believes my house is a wonderland.”
Her fingers moved over the elaborate embroidery and plucked at an eye until the thread came loose.
Will settled back into his corner. “Not only him. So many of the people I danced with tonight admire you.”
“That is the point. They may not influence the final decision, but their approval is a form of currency in this city. I hope the investment pays off in the end.” Rather than blossoming beneath the praise, she seemed to fold in on herself.
Carefully, Will slid his hand across the bench until he could brush his little finger over hers. She hooked her finger around his and spread her wide skirt over their hands. A small smile returned.
Will did not understand why seeing her suffer affected him so deeply, or why, despite all her games, he still wanted to see her flourish.
Yes, her goal was honorable. Her methods were not.