Page 87 of A House of Gold
I find Nat in the library. He takes one look at the invitation and winces.
"Convocation?" I ask. "What's that?"
"Political theater." He closes his book. "The Seven Houses gather every few years to discuss territories, disputes, treaties. It's mostly posturing and power plays. Very formal. Very dangerous if you say the wrong thing to the wrong angel."
"Great. And I'm required to attend because...?"
"Because you're Croesus's sin eater. His...asset." Nat's expression is sympathetic. "He'll be showing you off. Proving he has something the others don't. Expect the other angels to test you. To see if you're worth the trouble Croesus went through to steal from Seraph."
My stomach drops. "All seven of them will be there?"
"All seven." He stands. "Be careful tonight, Raven. These aren't like Croesus. Some of them are crueler. Some are kinder. But all of them are dangerous. And all of them will want to know what makes you special enough for the lord of greed to break centuries of protocol."
The dress arrives around six when I return from the dining hall after dinner.
Not delivered by servants, it simply appears on my bed, like the house itself conjured it. Gold silk shimmering like liquid metal, cut in a style that's both ancient and modern. The neckline is high, almost modest, but the back is completely open, plunging to just above my tailbone. Sleeveless, leaving my arms bare and every tattoo visible. A skirt that flows like water when I move.
It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. And yet another way of marking me as his possession, his acquisition, his thing to display at a gathering of immortal beings who will look at me like I'm prey.
But I put it on anyway. Because refusing would be worse. And some traitorous part of me wants him to see me in this thing and still look at me with those cold, gold eyes.
The silk feels cool against my skin, almost alive. It clings in some places, flows in others, and when I look in the mirror, I barely recognize myself. The woman staring back looks like she belongs in this world of gold and angels and impossible beauty. Like she was made for this. Just because I find a pretty pair of strappy heels, slick my hair back from my face, and apply a little make up. I look like I could be dangerous.
There's jewelry on the dresser. Gold, of course. Delicate chains for my throat and wrists. Cuffs that wrap around my upper arms, emphasizing the tattoos rather than hiding them. I put them on with shaking hands.
When I'm finished, I look like a treasure. Like something that belongs in Croesus’ collection. The thought makes me want to tear it all off.
A knock. I open the door to find Croesus standing there, and the sight of him steals my breath.
He's dressed formally, all black and gold. His hair is pulled up in that top knot, revealing the sharp lines of his face. Gold rings on his fingers. Gold cufflinks. Gold threading through the black fabric of his jacket. He looks like a king, a god.
Like something I should run from.
His gold eyes sweep over me, but I remember what he told me. He's blind. Can't see color, can't appreciate visual beauty the way humans do. He's looking at my shape, the way the dress fits, the positioning of my body in space. But the shimmering gold silk, the way it catches the light, the visual splendor of what he's put me in, he can't see any of it.
Something flashes in his expression anyway, heat, possession, maybe pride in knowing how I must look even if he can't fully perceive it.
"You'll do." he says, voice carefully neutral.
"That's it? I'll do?" I gesture to the dress, the jewelry, the effort I've put into becoming whatever he wants me to be tonight. "You dress me up like a doll, and all you can say is, ‘I'll do?’"
"I could say you look beautiful. Exquisite. Like you were made to wear gold." He steps closer, and I get a whiff of smoky incense. "But you'd hate me for it. And I can't even see the gold properly, just shadows and shapes and the way the fabric moves against you. So instead, I'll say you'll do. And we'll both know I'm lying."
He offers his arm. "Shall we?"
I take it because I have no choice. His arm is solid under my hand, warm through the expensive fabric. We walk throughshifting corridors in silence, and I'm hyperaware of everything, the slide of silk against my skin, the weight of gold at my throat and wrists, the heat of him beside me.
"Rules," he says as we wander through the halls until we approach a set of massive doors carved with images of all seven sins. "Don't speak unless spoken to. Don't make deals with any of them. Don't let them touch you. And stay close to me."
"Possessive much?"
"Practical." He stops, turns to face me. "They are not like me, Raven. I'm greedy, but at least my sin is straightforward. Some of them are twisted. All of them will see you as either a threat or an opportunity. Don't give them reason to think you're the latter."
"And if they ask me questions?"
"Answer honestly. They'll know if you lie. But be careful what truths you reveal." His hand comes up, adjusts one of the gold chains at my throat. The touch is impersonal, but I feel it like a brand. "You're mine tonight. Let them see that."
Before I can respond, the doors open.
