curtains just as the lights onstage dimmed. Fred chose that moment to reenter the ballroom, a frown on his face as he went over to stand at Marie’s elbow, his posture a remarkably good imitation of the choleric Lord Aiden.
Everything was silent but for the odd cough, the rustle of clothing, and the soft whisper of the curtain rising up to the ceiling. The lamps near the stage brightened, and there was a collective gasp from the audience.
The set was cast in the blacks, greys, and reds of some sort of underworld, shadowy figures in monstrous shapes painted against the backdrop and some sort of effect with the lighting making it seem as though flames danced across the stage. Music flooded the hall, dark and sharp and filled with echoing discord, but that was not the cause of the reaction.
Genevieve de Troyes perched on a faux-rock outcropping some six feet up in the air like some dark chimaera from another world. Costumed as Vice, she wore a black gown slashed with crimson, ebony-feathered wings stretched out to either side, and a cruel beaked mask obscuring her face. One hand was braced against the outcropping, and the other reached toward the audience. Both were encased in talon-tipped gloves, the metal winking dangerously.
She was beautiful and terrifying and altogether unnerving, but when she began to sing, everyone leaned toward her as though they were puppets attached to strings and she was their master.
Her song taunted the audience, invited them to partake in all manner of wickedness, captivated their thoughts, and rendered them glass-eyed and staring. Girls costumed as the sins danced on the stage beneath her, but I might well have been the only one to notice. Everyone, from the servants standing near the lamps to the Regent sitting in his high-backed chair, was captivated. No. They were compelled.
My unease returned, crawling up my spine. Enthralled as they were, anything could happen and I doubted any of the humans would notice. I shifted so that my back was pressed against the wall, watching for any sign of motion. Nothing. I glanced back at the stage, starting when I realized her eyes were directly on me. Instinctively, I fell still, mimicking the expressions of those around me, but I knew I had been caught out. But by who? Cécile’s mother, or someone far more dangerous to my kind?
The song ended, and motion returned to the hall. One by one the girls sashayed to the front of the stage to proclaim their sins’ names, and then cymbals crashed and a drum roll thundered through the room. A young man dressed as a devil sprang out onto the stage and began to sing and dance with the girls in a seductive twist of limbs, while Vice watched from above. The rhythm of the music changed, the girls swinging wildly on each other’s arms as Vice and the demon sang of their plot to capture Virtue and her maidens and steal their souls.
Still there was no sign of Sabine.
I ground my teeth in frustration, knowing that Genevieve’s half of the performance would soon be complete, and I was supposed to go backstage under a veil of magic to keep an eye on her while Cécile performed. But I did not want to lose track of Marie. She was the only person who knew Anushka’s identity with certainty, and I mentally weighed the risks of letting either woman out of my sight.
The final chords of music drifted through the room, and the lights dimmed. Where was Sabine?
Indecision still racking me, I began making my way through the tightly packed nobles toward the stage. My priority needed to be Genevieve, not keeping Marie within my grasp. If anything happened to Cécile’s mother because I deviated from the plan in pursuit of my own interests, she’d never forgive me. Then the choice was rendered moot as the curtains to one side parted and Genevieve stepped into the ballroom.
FIFTY-FOUR
CÉCILE
The music of the first half echoed through the ballroom, an eerie and haunting accompaniment to my mother’s voice. No, not my mother’s voice: Anushka’s. I knew it was fact, but my mind seemed set on rejecting the truth, on holding me back from the actions I needed to take.
“Cécile!”
At the sound of the hissed whisper of my name, I turned between my escorts – to see Sabine standing only a few paces away. She was dressed in an elaborate evening gown, her hair pinned up and jewels hanging from her ears,