Page 10 of Spar of Hearts

“I understand,” Anya said with a smile, forcing the thought of Lord Bryson out. “All right, I think that’s enough. Your turn.” Anya stood and slipped the brush out of Blackbird’s hand. Blackbird took a seat, closing her eyes as Anya ran the brush through her shoulder-length raven hair. Her friend always did this. She could’ve sworn Blackbird almost fell out of the chair once. It was a soothing ritual for herself as well. It was a simple task she couldn’t mess up, a task with no diplomatic implications.

Blackbird blinked as Anya finally tapped the brush down on the vanity. “Are you sure you don’t want your hair up for tonight, My Lady?”

“I had it up for that dull luncheon today. It feels like my scalp was tied in a knot. I’m going to let loose tonight.”

“Oh, I know what you mean. I hope you enjoy, My Lady. I’ll wait up for you.”

“No need,” Anya insisted, striding toward the closet. She tugged the crescent moon handles to reveal an array of ballgowns. She’d never been one for the voluminous skirts favored by much of high society, and neither was Blackbird. They’d special ordered a more flowing variety from a seamstress on the mainland. Some even had pockets, perfect for keeping a coin for a carriage, or in more diplomatically charged situations, a knife.

“Ooh, ooh, wear this one!” Blackbird squealed, unhooking a midnight-black dress with a lustrous, purple sheen to it in the light. “You haven’t worn this one before. It’ll be perfect!”

“You’re right.” Anya accepted the dress, then stepped behind a navy partition with golden wolf eyes painted on it. It was an elegant piece of attire that draped over her arms with sheer sleeves and hugged the curve of her hips before blooming into an A-line silhouette that ended at her ankles. This was daring fashion.

“Would you like shoes?” Blackbird called. The wording was that which only her best friend would use. It wasn’t, what shoes would you like. It was, would you like shoes. And the answer to that question was almost always no—if judgmental, royal eyes weren’t watching. There was a delightful garden at the Melusine Manor, and she intended to spend the majority of her evening there. She would drink and sink her feet into the grass and tickle them on the clover lawn until she could stand it no longer.

“Not tonight,” Anya answered, gingerly taking her black and gold wolf mask off its hook on the partition and slipping it over her face.

Tonight, she would be three things:

Beautiful.

Barefoot.

And beastly.

“Welcome to Melusine Manor. Please conceal your identity at all times. If you remove your mask or speak your name, you will be escorted out.” He held out a small glass cup full of a deep blue liquid. Anya accepted it with a skeptical brow.

“It is a tonic to modify your voice.”

“For how long?” She couldn’t go home sounding like a different woman.

“Until midnight, when the masquerade ends.”

Anya downed the cup, handing it back to the doorman. The faint taste of blueberries and ginger lingered on her tongue as she entered the hall, where a string quartet and trio of pipes played celebratory swings. The manor was the most modern structure in Eteross, even beyond the palace. Marguerite Melusine, the Marchioness of Eteross, was the mind behind the latest magical innovations. Mage lights took the kingdom by storm the past year. The lights were simple glass orbs with a strip of copper in the middle, left in the sunshine all day, and then brought in for the evening. A simple spark and repetition spell by any magic user could keep heat and light going all through the night.

The lights were fixed onto smooth, crystal chandeliers that hung from the buttressed ceiling. Long tapestries of sheer blue fabric cris-crossed one side of the hall to the other, just below the lights, casting a faint, underwater color on everything and everyone below. Whatever could be made of shining marble was, right down to the arcades along either side of the hall. The white stone seemed to absorb the aqua light. The floor was smooth and pleasantly cool on her toes.

Anya was far from the first one to arrive. While there was to be no “species” tonight, it was hard to conceal tapered Elvani ears or Lycanian claws. The light did an effective job at hiding eye color, placing Centarians on a level playing field and shielding them from judgmental gazes. They could present themselves however they wished. Some revelers wore clothes befitting a royal ball, and others, what they had worked in that day. Some were dressed between, like they were taking a lover out for a picnic under the stars.

She strolled over to a table of drinks. Given her claws and strong grip, she wasn’t very good with finery like these thin, translucent glasses. Little bubbles clung to the inside edge of the glass and floated through the dark purple liquid to the surface as she held it to her lips. The bubbles popped and fizzled in her mouth. She shook her head as the feeling rose in her nose. Despite the odd sensation, she found herself taking another sip.

What kind of magic is this? she thought, peering into the drink.

“It is called ‘sparkling’ wine,” an elegant, female voice said. Anya turned and honed in on the woman’s unusually long, tapered ears peeking out from an elaborate gold gryphon mask—undoubtedly Marguerite Melusine herself, one of her dearest friends.

Anya wanted to greet her friend, but Marg gave no hint of recognizing her, so she resolved to play along with the party.

“It’s incredible,” Anya replied. She savored another taste, then crinkled her nose as the bubbles fizzed again. Wine was a delicacy in Valeria. Vineyards were a risky endeavor, and grapes frequently rotted during the rainy season. “How did you get so many grapes?” She glanced at the dozens on dozens of tiny crystalline cups. She thought the Crown and Church bought up any harvests of the rare fruit.

“Confidential, I’m afraid. Can’t have others taking over the burgeoning wine market in Valeria now, can I?” Marg winked and held a finger to the beak of her mask.

“You mean there will be more? How do you know?” Anya set her empty glass down by the other spent drinks.

“You ask good questions. But tonight is not for such matters. Go on, mingle. Bask in the atmosphere. Maybe even lose yourself.” Marg whisked away to engage in more mystery-laced conversation with other revelers.

Lose myself.

Yes. That was what she needed. Anya grabbed another glass of sparkling wine, made her way through the arcade, and stood on the wings of the dance, enjoying the beaming smiles she could see and the bright eyes of those she could not. Her claws clinked on the glass as she looked on. She wanted her subjects to feel this happy and free every day. She knew it wasn’t possible, but she would try. The evacuation was only the first step.