she judged it would achieve her purpose.
"Nonsense," she said, shrugging to try to rearrange the folds at the front. "It's a masquerade, not a formal ball. Give me the accessories."
Dour-faced, Clara helped put on a silver belt and armband, then a headband that was part of the mask. The mask itself was a marvel in silver and pearl, covering both eyes but curving down the left side of her face above and below to make a crescent moon. The goddess Diana's symbol was actually the full moon, but the design was too clever and beautiful to quibble at.
With a smile of excitement, Diana slipped into silver Grecian slippers, and slung the quiver of silver arrows across her back. Then she picked up the white bow.
"Gemini!" Diana exclaimed. "It's real!"
"What is, milady?"
"The bow. When I said I wanted things to be authentic, Mrs. Mannerly took me literally."
Diana had amused herself with archery now and then, and she knew the feel of a good bow. Carefully, she drew this one, and it flexed perfectly. She took out an arrow and found it real, too, painted silver. She nocked it, aiming at a rather sorrowful hermit in a painting on the wall.
"My lady!" Clara screeched.
"Hush! You'll have the household in on us."
"Well, don't you be firing that thing - "
Twang! Diana released the arrow, and it thudded right into the spot she'd aimed for, a branch near the hermit's head. "A very good bow, even though twelve feet is not much of a challenge." She nocked another one, and turned toward the open window. "Perhaps I should fire into the garden to see how far it can shoot."
"My lady!" Clara protested.
Teasing, Diana walked to the window and took aim at the railings, but when Clara pursued, hissing protests, she lowered her weapon.
"Oh, but that was fun," she said. "Like stepping back into comfortable shoes. I tell you, Clara, the shoes are beginning to pinch unendurably."
"Which shoes, milady?" asked the unimaginative maid, snatching bow and arrow from her. "The yellow ones?"
Diana laughed. "Not real shoes. I'm being metaphorical. Ignore me."
As Clara put the weapon in a drawer, the cloudy sky shifted, and the full moon sailed out. Diana looked up at her true symbol, ruling the dark sky, washing the world with pure, pale light. The moon was the place where all things wasted on earth were stored. Misspent time, and squandered wealth. Broken vows, and missed opportunities. Above all, wasted, lost, and squandered love.
No wonder it glowed so brightly tonight, and swelled so huge.
As the clock in the hall of Malloren House struck a quarter to ten, Bryght Malloren sent Portia, carrying the sleeping Francis, up to a hastily prepared bed. He cast a glance at Rothgar, who had greeted their unannounced arrival with mild surprise and complete imperturbability.
"Elf insisted that we make our explorations of the north brief and hurtle back here," Bryght said, indicating to the servants which items needed to go up to their rooms immediately. He looked again at his brother. "Is she right? Is something amiss?"
"Nothing at all," Rothgar said. "I am holding a masquerade tomorrow, however, so your presence is welcome. I assume Elf and Fort went on to Walgrave House."
"He managed to persuade her not to come here at this time of night, but she'll be over first thing in the morning to ferret out your secrets."
"I have no secrets," Rothgar said blandly.
Bryght gave him a look. "Then she'll be delighted to run an entertainment for you again."
"It is already run, but if it amuses her..." Rothgar indicated the corridor that led to his study. "Would you care for a nightcap?"
Bryght organized the last of the luggage and accepted the offer. His brother seemed calm, but that didn't mean a damn thing. He'd be calm if he'd just drunk poison. As soon as the door was shut and he had the wine in hand, he probed with a direct question, "How is Lady Arradale managing at court?"
"Ah," said Rothgar, seeming amused, "I wondered if that was Elf's concern. I believe the court will survive the experience."
Bryght laughed, but said, "She's avoided marriage?"
"Thus far. It has only been four days."
Bryght sipped from his glass and decided to be blunt. "Elf's right. The hair on the back of my neck is stirring. What's going on, Bey?"
His brother didn't so much as twitch. "At present Lady Arradale appears to favor Lord Randolph Somerton, Carlyle's second."
"I don't know him. Will they suit?"
"A charming young man whose father would dearly like