Chapter 11 A Masked Deception #2
“It’s because of Marcella. Her ladyship has been filling her daughter’s ears with all sorts of fantasies about life as a duchess.
And you know how Katrina copies her mother.
She’ll do anything to please her.” Dasha looked over Celise again with a curious expression, then went back to sorting through the wardrobe and preparing her dress for the ball.
Celise watched the maid air out the layers of gray silk and fluffy chiffon. Truth be told, she was curious to see how the night turned out. Would Katrina manage to secure a dance with the duke? Would the Mad Dog even attend the ball?
What if he did—and what if Elias recognized her? What if he arrested Celise at the ball, thinking she was a spy?
Oh Mother of Dust, save me!
“If I must go to the ball tonight, Dasha, please make me look as unlike myself as possible. Please! Do anything you can. Powders, paints, rouges, dyes . . . I must look completely different. I want to be—”
“Exquisite!” Dasha agreed. “Yes! I completely agree. I’m glad you’re warming up to the idea. You shouldn’t be hiding among the servants, not tonight. I hope you enjoy every second of the ball. I will make you outshine every woman in that room.”
Celise blushed. “I don’t want to outshine anyone, necessarily. . . .”
“Then we’ll give you just a little more sparkle; how’s that?”
Dasha hummed happily to herself as she began unpacking Celise’s bags and laying out items on the bed: toiletries, scented oils, little makeup brushes and paints. A fresh chemise and underskirt. She crossed the bedroom to the wardrobe, where Celise’s ballgown was hanging.
Her dark eyes widened, and she stopped mid-stride.
“Oh? What’s this?” The curious maid reached behind the bulky wooden wardrobe, where she tugged out the heavy frock coat Celise had stolen from Lord Elias.
The blood drained from Celise’s face when she saw it.
“What is a man’s coat doing in your room?” Dasha exclaimed.
“I . . . um,” Celise muttered. She couldn’t help it—she blushed bright red. She tried to think of an excuse. “It was . . . it was already here in the tower. I found it.”
“Did you?” Dasha said and held up the discarded shift along with the coat. “Did you stash your undergarments back here too? I’m not going to ask why this is covered in mud, but . . . .”
Celise cleared her throat. Then she stared at Dasha, at a loss for words.
“You are the most horrible liar in the Five Kingdoms,” the maid laughed.
“The coat doesn’t belong to Officer Kindale, I swear. . . .”
“Oh hush, there’s nothing wrong with borrowing a fellow’s jacket on a late-night stroll!” Dasha said in delight. “If you intend to keep it, I shall place it far at the bottom of your traveling chest. You don’t want Marcella to find it.”
“I . . . I don’t mean to keep it for very long.”
“Who does it belong to? I’ll have a servant return the coat to the gentleman.” Dasha dropped her voice. “Best be quick about it while your parents are out.”
Celise bit her lip. She couldn’t very well tell Dasha that she had Lord Elias Blackwood’s coat stowed away in her personal chamber. She didn’t want to tell anyone about last night’s adventure.
“Just place it in the chest, and let’s not speak of it again,” Celise finally whispered.
With a cheeky smile on her face, Dasha carefully folded the coat. She gave it a little sniff and raised an eyebrow. “That smells like expensive cologne." Then she swiftly packed the coat away, placing it at the bottom of Celise’s trunk and closing the lid with a heavy thud.
Humming a sprightly tune, Dasha went back to the tub and finished filling the deep basin with hot water.
Celise wondered how the tower’s plumbing managed to pump water up to the third floor, but the Blackwood family could afford the latest innovations.
The whole system was either run by some sort of shined technology—likely, although it would need constant mana channeling to work—or someone had engineered a pump system in the tower’s boiler room.
Dasha laid out a soft sponge, a bar of scented castile soap, and a ladle next to the tub.
Celise dropped her quilt to the ground, and Dasha helped her into the big copper basin.
Celise hissed slightly as her bare feet entered the hot water.
She sank down onto her knees and rested her back against the side of the tub.
Dasha clucked under her tongue and pointed at her arm. “Where did you get those bruises?”
Celise glanced over, surprised to see brown marks where the thief from the night before had thrown her to the ground.
“I don’t remember,” she said.
Dasha looked troubled by it. Then she reached out a hand and turned Celise’s face toward the sunlight from the window. She inspected the bruise along her jaw. “I do hate how the rot-queen treats you! I don’t know how you tolerate it. That wasn’t right of her, how she struck you yesterday.”
“It’s far from the worst she’s done,” Celise pointed out.
Dasha grimaced and released her face. “Not to worry, we’ll make sure you’re presentable for the ball. I’ll use a bit of extra powder to hide the bruise.”
“I am so glad you came,” Celise admitted.
Dasha winked at her and began unplaiting her hair. Then she brushed out the matted tangles. The talkative maid didn’t ask any more questions about the previous night, even as she extracted broken twigs and bits of moss from Celise’s unruly locks.
Celise’s mind returned to Mordwen’s predictions of doom and destiny. Mordwen’s cards had promised a catastrophe that would change the fate of the kingdom. But if that prediction was meant for the stolen ghost swords, then it seemed the catastrophe had been averted.
“Do you remember Mordwen’s fortune-telling?” Celise asked after a few minutes, her mind filled with thoughts of the night to come.
“Vaguely.”
“Do you think there’s a chance it might come true?”
“No, my lady, I don’t. I’ve never been religious. I think Mordwen’s cards are mostly self-fulfilling prophecies. I wouldn’t worry too much about it.”
Celise sank back into the hot water with a sigh.
Perhaps Dasha was right, and she should set aside all thoughts of “fate” and “destiny.” She should focus on surviving the evening with her stepmother and half-sisters.
If tonight was to be a clandestine event, it would have to involve Katrina or someone else!
She hoped against hope she didn’t come face-to-face with Elias Blackwood at the ball.
Elias spent the second half of the morning in a private meeting with his father, Lord Cornelius Blackwood, the Duke of Gravenmere.
They sat in a spacious chamber on the second floor of the North Wing of the castle.
Their family called it the “Day Map Room,” not to be confused with the “Geography Room,” which was attached to his father’s study and housed an extensive brandy collection.
Morning light flowed through a row of east-facing windows.
A green rug covered the polished hardwood floor, edged with cream-colored scrollwork and vining leaf patterns.
Sparkling chandeliers hung from the high ceiling.
A tapestry spanning the south wall of the room displayed the continent of Agea, from the northern pole of Dresengard to the southern tip of the Abyss.
Colorful illustrations of castles, forests, towns and mystical creatures decorated the map, drawing attention to each kingdom’s features.
It was a stunning work of art, with details to entertain the eyes for hours.
Elias’s gaze followed the gentle line of the Grapevine Mountains from north to south, down and down to the Abyss, symbolized by a black and red swirl of smoke.
On the other side of the Abyss, connected by a narrow landmass that skirted around the ancient meteor’s crater, was the desert kingdom of Sera’naya.
His gaze paused there for a moment, thinking of a girl with berry-colored hair.
Then his eyes traveled east, beyond a wall of clouds to the rugged peaks of the Greater Rog Mountains and the Kingdom of Bratzia.
“Ho ho!” Old Blackwood laughed as he fed his griffix dried dates. “He snapped that right up! Good show, Berrybean. Have another.”
The little catlike creature screeched in gratitude and took the sugary candy with a taloned front paw. Berrybean was about the size of a bobcat, with tawny, swooping wings, calico fur and brown, nubby horns.
Griffix were all the rage among the nobility.
Domesticated from larger griffons that dwelled in the Grapevine Mountains, griffix were smaller in size, similar to house cats, with limited flying ability.
The mischievous creatures weren’t good for much except destroying furniture and killing birds.
A flock had been introduced to the royal palace by Queen Valienthe, and now the little monsters had taken the kingdom by storm.
Berrybean sat on the back of Old Blackwood’s armchair, his wings half-spread for balance, his feline face and bright green eyes smirking at Elias, who sat across from his father on a leather chaise. He wondered at the beast’s intelligence. In moments like this, it almost seemed sentient.
“Now, my boy, what is this urgent matter you wish to speak of?” Old Blackwood asked.
Elias flexed his left wrist, which was cramping again. His scars pained him after swinging a ghost sword half the night. He reached into his coat pocket and drew out a letter. He tossed the envelope onto the low mahogany table.
“Another one, received just yesterday,” he said.
“Another what, exactly?” his father grumbled, holding a teacup to his lips.
“Another death threat,” Elias replied. “Considering the number of threats I’ve received this year and the thieves who targeted our treasury last night, I think we should call off the ball.”