Page 91 of Down Comes the Night

Hannah gave her an approving nod. Then, her satisfaction fizzled until grim silence settled over the room. “Good luck tonight.”

Wren would need it, although the plan was theoretically simple. After Wren took the key from Lowry, she and Hal would go to the east wing, find their evidence, and slip out of Colwick Hall unnoticed. Tonight, they’d get as much distance as they could from this infernal place. Come morning, they’d part ways. Hal would go to Vesria, Wren to Danu. But she tried not to think about that part. Instead, she imagined the relief of knowing Hal was safe at home—and the triumph when she presented their findings to the queen.

“Thank you.” Wren met Hannah’s gaze in the mirror. “If I don’t make it out—”

“Don’t.” Hannah retrieved the mask from the dressing table and considered it thoughtfully. “You will. Besides, you’re not doing this alone. You never were.”

Wren swallowed down the knot of emotion in her throat. “True.”

“And if you’re nervous,” Hannah continued, “there’ll be noshortage of liquid courage tonight. I’ve seen the cellars, and they’ve nearly been emptied.”

“Oh,” Wren said with forced cheer. “How reassuring.”

Hannah placed the mask against her nose and knotted the ribbons at the back of her head. Once it was in place, she clapped her hands together. “Nowyou’re ready. You look terrifying.”

Wren did. The mask was positively ghastly. In the mirror, the deep set of the eyeholes made it look as if she had no eyes at all. Round empty sockets stared back at her. Hannah pinned a black feathered headdress to the back of her ironed curls.

“All done.” Wren turned away from her reflection and stared down at Hannah. After a tense moment, Hannah took her hands. “Be careful, won’t you?”

“I will. I promise we’ll set this right.” Wren squeezed her hands. “I’ll write to you after it’s all over.”

Hannah left her alone with dread clawing its way up her throat. Wren collapsed onto the seat by the vanity and retrieved a vial from the drawer. It was filled with a thick, clear liquid. This dose of chloral hydrate would knock Lowry unconscious within thirty minutes. All she had to do was doctor his drink in front of hundreds of potential witnesses. She’d faced worse odds. Even so, her stomach twisted itself into slick, anxious knots. Wren closed her fingers over the vial to steady herself.

Three sharp knocks on the door startled her.

“Come in.”

Hal’s reflection appeared in the mirror. Dressed in a short black coat and a white cravat, he leaned in the doorframe, dangling his mask by its ribbons. Wren did not expect the answering stutter of her heart. Last night still felt unreal, like a hazy, half-remembered dream. Once they’d curled up beside each other, they’d fallen asleep, and come morning, she could almost believe their kiss had never happened. It was better that way.

Her own words echoed like an admonition:Only once.

As she approached, she didn’t miss the lingering of his eyes on the curve of her waist or the bare slope of her neck. Goddess blessthis heinous mask for hiding her surely beet-red face. “Do you have something you’d like to say?” she said tartly.

Hal offered his arm, and when she took it, he bent close enough to speak against the shell of her ear. “No. I’ve no words.”

“You never do, Cavendish.” She closed her eyes against the pleasant shiver that ran down her spine. Through their tether, she could feel the uneven beat of his pulse. “Now put on your mask.”

They stepped into the grand hall at the stroke of eight. They only had until midnight—the end of the ball—to uncover Lowry’s secrets and expose him.

Over the sound of the orchestra, the din of one hundred conversations echoed through all three stories of Colwick Hall. Below and above them milled dignitaries and courtiers, all spectacularly dressed in black, all in masks, each more twisted and grotesque than the last.

In Danu, Midwinter festivities lacked fanfare. It was little more than the longest night of the year. At the abbey, they had spent hours praying until the sun broke on the horizon.For rebirth,Heloise would say in those black hours before dawn,there must first be death.In those bleary, delirious moments, Wren had come close to believing there was something divine out there.

But in Cernos, it was a festival of dramatics—a show of light. Past the holly-twined banister, the darkness was a cold night sky. Hundreds on hundreds of lights dangled from fine strings, seeming to hover in midair. They sparkled in twisting, antler-shaped sconces. They rained like hail from delicate chandeliers. Just as spectacular as Lowry promised, a thousand man-made stars, the heavens dragged down to earth.

Tightening her grip on Hal’s arm, she descended the staircase, the fabric of her dress whispering with every step. They slipped into the crowd. Everyone looked the same. The same dark colors, the same leering masks, the same indistinguishable drone of theirvoices. On her every side was another sharp point of an elbow, a towering body, a too-loud laugh.

The gossip had already begun. Lowry planned to host a seance. Lowry had imported one hundred cases of Danubian wine. Lowry intended to propose marriage, by her estimation, to at least five different people tonight. She could even hear her own name in the sibilant peaks of whispered conversation.

Pretender. Illegitimate. Disgraced. Traitor.

If she failed tonight, was that all she’d be for the rest of her life? The voices spiraled closer, tighter. Her corset was starving her of oxygen. The smells of wintergreen and roasted game and perfume suffocated her. It was too much—too stimulating.

“I need air.”

“Come on,” Hal said.

As soon as he glowered, a path cleared for them. He guided her through until they broke out into a pocket of empty space in the corner. Only a few solemn-faced, assessing courtiers coquettishly fluttering bone-girded fans hovered by the windows. The glass was scabbed over with frost and overlooked a spread opulent enough to put a royal feast to shame. There were cheeses sliced as fine as paper and rolled up like roses; gamey meats roasted in a crust of fragrant spices, their juices soaking into plump root vegetables; fruits of every color, drizzled with honey and tucked into flaky pastries; and there were tiny cakes lined up like gleaming white battalions, iced with buttercream and garnished with mint. Hal was gazing at them hungrily.