Page 55 of This Dark Descent
He cleared his throat. “Something like that. Are you ready? We’re going to be late.”
“Aren’t you supposed to bring flowers or something?” Ailene called from where she clung to the banister.
Reid blinked, and for a moment he looked so innocently perplexed, she almost smiled. “Flowers,” he repeated.
“For your date. People usually bring flowers.”
“This isn’t—I’m not—” Reid looked to Mikira for help, but she merely grinned.
“Yes, Reid, dear. Where are my flowers?” she asked silkily.
Reid took one look at her and about-faced, marching back outside. Mikira winked at Ailene before hurrying after him. As they climbed into the coach, the door swung shut to the sound of Ailene yelling, “Bring her home before midnight!”
VANADAHL MANOR WASeven more beautiful than the Zalaires’.
Intricately carved pale rose stone encompassed stretches of enchanted glass. White painted birds fluttered across the panes, perching on the ruby framework before swooping low to touch wingtips to a rippling lake. Enchanted violins played a gentle rhythm against the backdrop of laughter and the clink of glass.
The beauty of it at once entranced and infuriated Mikira. Like the races themselves, the balls were an opportunity for the greater houses to display their wealth and enchanters’ skills, never mind that people like her couldn’t afford the verillion to refresh the most basic enchantments—lights, coldboxes, heated water. But Goddess forbid the Vanadahls’ windows didn’t dance.
The moment she and Reid entered the ballroom, that anger fled in placeof nerves. Eyes roamed over her, judging, evaluating, finding her wanting. Snippets of whispered conversation drifted past as they walked in, mentions of destitution, of desperation. She was a glass figurine in a room full of barbed words and piercing stares. Each one left behind a new crack.
She longed for a little of Ari’s grace, her composure. The enchanter had a sensuality to her that Mikira could never mimic, a femininity that she’d never felt comfortable inhabiting. Where Ari was long, graceful lines, Mikira was coiled fists and scraped knuckles. She was a mouthful of glass, not a whispered sigh between soft lips.
Mikira wished she were here.
The crowd shifted, and she spotted Damien among a small group. He beckoned them over, and Mikira’s heart rose into her throat. She wanted to disappear, to flee back to the coach.
“Mikira?” Reid’s voice was soft, a dam in her dizzying spiral. The look he gave her was knowing, and she straightened beneath it.
Make them a shield.
She’d already ruined one plan; she couldn’t jeopardize another. The fate of the race, of her family and Ari’s future, relied on her holding herself together. She wouldn’t let these people break her apart.
She lifted her head as they arrived.
Damien gestured at her with one black-gloved hand. “Gentlemen, may I present Miss Mikira Rusel, daughter of Keirian Rusel.”
Mikira shook each of their hands.
“I was quite impressed by your last leg of the race, Miss Rusel,” said a dark-skinned younger gentleman with warm brown eyes and the trace of a melodic Yaroyan accent. “You rode remarkably well.”
“My father taught me everything he knew,” she replied, happy to use the advantage Damien had lent her.
An older, golden-skinned man with a sapphire-blue waistcoat and flushed complexion gave her an evaluating look. “It’s great to have a Rusel at the races again. I look forward to seeing what you do next.”
They discussed the race a little while before Damien excused them from the group and led her away. She looked around for Reid, but he’d disappeared.
“That wasn’t so terrible, was it?” Damien asked lightly.
Mikira snorted. “The night’s still early. How long do we have to stay here?”
“Not long.” Damien readjusted the cuff of his black jacket. Unlike the bulk of Veradell’s elite, his outfit was as austere as he was: a dark embroidered jacket over a black silk waistcoat and crimson tie. “I’ll introduce you to a few people, make sure you’re well seen, then leave you for a bit to give Rezek a window to approach you. Then we’ll go.”
She shivered at the thought of being alone with Rezek again, though she had proposed the meeting to pass him information herself.
Damien offered her his arm, and she allowed him to escort her through the thrumming crowd. People swept out of their way in a sea of bobbing heads and swift curtsies. Some greeted Damien by name, others averted their eyes, but it was clear that everyone they passed knew who he was.
What must it be like to wield that kind of power? She’d be lying if she said she didn’t envy it. Walking at his side, watching the crowd part before her—it felt the same as the moment after she won a race in the tunnels, when everyone chanted her name.
