She could almost picture his true face beneath the glamour, and that hurt most of all.
Tonight would not be fine. It would end well for only one of them, and they were about to find out who.
Fie didn’t need Niemi’s help to keep that to herself as they passed a lovely golden sculpture of Ambra seated on a tiger, holding a banner aloft. She almost sneered at it before remembering a certain degree of reverence was expected.
Particularly under the eye of the queen. Even now, Fie could feel the prickles on the back of her neck. Rhusana was in fine form tonight, her white tiger collared in diamonds that matched her own headdress, more diamonds covering its unfurled glittering wings. A gem-embroidered veil trailed behind her, the full length of a man. Two pale braids secured her headdress, and four more fell at each side of her face, nearly touching the floor. White gold leaf had been pressed into intricate patterns framing her eyes like a mask, and her gown was wrought of thousands of gilded feathers, diamonds fastened at the tips of each. Curiously, she’d had the sleeves and bodice embroidered with fine black thread.
Tavin caught Fie sneaking one more glance at the queen. His mouth quirked. He leaned in and said under his breath, “Apart from the fact that she’s wearing enough money to buy Sabor twice over, you know what the worst part of that outfit is?”
“What?” Fie couldn’t help asking.
“They didn’t really think that headdress through. She has to walk through most doors sideways.”
Fie let out the most ungraceful snort she’d produced in the entirety of her near-seventeen years.
“Shh!” Tavin said, but he was laughing too.
The other partygoers cast sidelong looks their way, clearly vexed that not everyone was as miserable as they. Lord Urasa’s lip curled in particular, and he turned back to his conversation partner with an open sneer.
Then Fie saw who he was speaking with: none other than Rhusana’s accomplice in overtaking Draga’s camp, Lord Geramir.
Geramir was frowning at her. She saw him mouth “Who?” to Urasa.
Fie fanned herself faster. “When does the ball begin again?” she asked Tavin, trying not to squeak. The last time she’d seen Geramir, she’d told him the only Sakar child was dead. If she was lucky, he would have forgotten.
“Quarter hour or so, if we stick to schedule,” he said, then followed her gaze to Lord Geramir.
This time, she clearly heard the name “Sakar” from Lord Urasa’s lips. Then she heard Geramir repeat it, even louder.
Tavin tensed at her side. “It’s awful in here. Would you like to get some fresh air?”
“Y-yes.”
Then Tavin was steering them through the crowd, past portraits of dead kings and the swords of dead queens. Out of the corner of her eye, Fie saw Geramir heading straight for Queen Rhusana.
Khoda was going to kill her. Maybe it was still salvageable—she could just tell Tavin she needed the privy, change her glamour, melt into the crowd and hold to her part of the plan anyway.
Maybe that was better. He’d never know the girl he’d been carving kindnesses for in this wretched place had been his downfall all along.
They had just stepped out into a side garden, the sunlight just beginning to steep to gold, when a voice rang out at their backs. “Prince Jasimir.”
Tavin stopped, and they both turned. A Sparrow attendant was standing in the doorway, a thin smile on his face. On his uniform was the richly embroidered insignia of the queen.
“Her Majesty wishes to speak with you,” the attendant said. “And Lady Sakar.”
Tavin took a deep breath. “I’m afraid you’ll have to try the guest wing for Lady Sakar. She was feeling poorly, so my friend here, Lady Markahn, has stepped in.”
Fie stared at him, then wrenched her expression into a look of mild surprise.
“I see.” The attendant bowed and turned to the side, sweeping an arm toward the doorway. “We’ll send someone for her, then. In the meantime, Her Majesty awaits.”
Tavin unwound his arm from Fie’s and turned to her.
“I’ll … see you in the Hall of the Dawn,” Fie blurted out. “In fifteen minutes, right?”
He raised a hand that trembled and briefly, lightly, touched her face, gazing at her as if to memorize every scrap of this moment.
It made Fie want to scream.
Then he leaned in to plant a kiss on her cheek. His lips moved against her skin, breathing barely loud enough to hear: