I stopped by my quarters to check my appearance one last time. The mask obscured the upper half of my face, making my darkly lined, golden-hazel eyes stand out. I had a short, thin dagger tucked down the front of my dress and another strapped high on my left thigh. Ian had assured me that they wouldn’t show up on a scanner. He was carrying our only blaster because a tuxedo was far more concealing than this dress.
The silver shielding cuff circled my left wrist and my right was unadorned. Compared to the current fashion, I was practically plain. I hoped I would fade into the edges of the crowd.
I met Ian in the cargo bay. He had added a thin black mask that made him look more like a bandit than a security guard. It was a good look.
The cargo bay door was open and the ramp was lowered. “You ready?” he asked.
I took a deep breath and sank into my cool public persona. I would have to maintain the facade for hours tonight. “I’m ready.”
Ian stepped close enough that I had to tilt my head back to hold his gaze. “You look amazing,” he said quietly. “You’ll have the room at your feet.”
There was only one person I wanted anywhere near me and I wanted him higher than at my feet. “Thank you,” I whispered. Nerves threatened my icy facade, and I added, “Please stay close.”
“I will,” he promised. He offered me an elbow and escorted me down the ramp. Aoife and Alexander were supposed to delay taking off until we’d successfully entered the party. If Yuko’s invitation was bad, we’d need a quick exit.
The landing pad had a temporary plastech path leading to the door of a large three-story building. A soaring, triangular glass atrium carved a line through an otherwise boring building. It could’ve been an office building in any number of cities, but in Matavara, it stood out. I wondered how many of those glass panels they’d had to replace before the party.
Inside, a wide, faux marble staircase led up to the second floor. Soft music drifted from the open doors. Directly in front of us, a half dozen security guards manned a body scanner. At least six more guards were stationed around the edges of the room and I saw the tip of a blast rifle barrel sticking out of the third-floor balcony.
The Syndicate was taking no chances with security.
A security guard in a form-fitting tuxedo stepped in front of me. “Invitation, please,” he rumbled.
Ian produced the invitation and the guard scanned it with his com. My heart stumbled when the guard stared at his device for what felt like forever. Finally, he waved us forward with a smile. “Enjoy the party. Remember the rules.”
We walked through the body scanner one at a time and von Hasenberg tech proved its worth as we made it through without setting off the alarms. Of course, if we passed the scanners with weapons, then others had, too, so it was more about leveling the field than having a firm advantage.
A guard looked through my clutch, which held nothing more than a makeup kit and my com, then handed it to me with a nod.
Ian fell back behind my right shoulder. I climbed the stairs slowly, with measured steps—shoulders back, chin up, public persona firmly in place. This world belonged to me and others were merely allowed to live in it.
That really should be the House von Hasenberg motto. Or House Rockhurst or House Yamado. In fact, every High House thought it owned the universe.
The ballroom’s walls were draped in soft fabric, and glittering crystal chandeliers illuminated a crowd of nearly two hundred. Most of the guests and their guards were masked, but a few brave souls were showing their faces for all to see. I recognized a few people both from the lower houses and from outside the Consortium entirely.
“Keep an eye out for Riccardo,” I murmured to Ian. We were both miked and wearing tiny, hidden earpieces. The number of signals flying through the air was enough to give me an immediate headache. People chatted politely in small groups, but behind the scenes, their coms were working overtime, transmitting recordings and looking up data.
Around the edges of the room, curtained alcoves offered glimpses of the evening’s more adventurous entertainments. Naked bodies writhed under—or over—mostly clothed guests; a gorgeous, naked brunette was being lovingly tied with silken rope by a masked woman;