that faded into rose gold at the base. More of those climbing vines twined about brass lattices connecting the columns, their frilled petals fluttering down like drops of sunlight. The rim of a turquoise-tiled reflecting pool skirted the pavilion’s marble base like a moat, and more bands of turquoise tile ringed the pavilion like ripples in a pond.
Thankfully, stands of palms and cypress also offered shelter from the sun, which had passed noon an hour ago but refused to lessen its onslaught. A few Peacock gentry were milling about, but Tavin and Rhusana weren’t in sight, and Fie had no doubt the rest of the nobility were waiting to be fashionably late.
At least the plain gown they’d stuffed her into was made of light, gauzy silk. Both Khoda and Yula had insisted on it. Even though Peacock witches frequently glamoured their own outfits, they dressed in a base garment of the same cut so no one would reach for a sleeve and find bare skin instead.
“That’s all part of the Peacock game,” Khoda had remarked with a roll of his eyes. “It doesn’t have to be real. It just has to be real enough.”
She’d made sure to give Khoda a particularly unfortunate face when she glamoured a Sparrow attendant’s disguise for him.
Neither he nor Jasimir looked to be among the Sparrows Fie could see, but it was hard to focus with Niemi berating her with every step. Glide, you lumbering cow! Sway!
Fie clenched her fists and tried to glide. Instead she nearly tripped on her own hem.
Hopeless, the dead girl scoffed. And you thought you could be me.
I know, Fie spat back, that I’m better. Now show me what to do.
Niemi’s spark stayed spitefully silent. Fie fetched up against a cypress, seemingly to escape the sun.
I’ll embarrass you, Fie thought. I’m wearing your face, after all, taking your name, so they’ll think you’re the one—
Rage flushed from Niemi’s sulking spark. Fie felt her back straighten, her chin lift, then she was walking like she was suspended from a wire, graceful and smooth. The skirt of her glamour-gown trailed behind her, smooth as a lily on a pond, a cobalt blue color Khoda claimed the Sakars favored.
It’s only until you can sit somewhere seemly, hissed the Peacock girl. She marched Fie over to a wrought-bronze bench within the pavilion and plunked her down, only to stand her up again as a cry rang through the gardens.
“Her Majesty, Queen Rhusana! His Highness, Prince Jasimir!”
“Canape, Your Ladyship?” a familiar voice asked, dry. When Fie turned, she found the grizzled, drooping face she’d glamoured on to Khoda. He swung his tray to her, head down, and muttered, “Eat while you can. Try not to stuff your face.”
She took a delicate pastry, looked Khoda in the eye, and deliberately shoved it into her mouth while the rest of the garden’s attention was on Rhusana and Tavin. Niemi’s spark sniffed with disgust. Khoda wrinkled his nose at her, bowed, and swept away to bestow pastries closer to Jasimir. It was a risk bringing the prince here, but Khoda’s people had seeded rumors of Jasimir fleeing to the Shattered Bay overnight. Rhusana had already taken the bait, flooding the docks with guards; as far as she knew, he was halfway across the Sea of Beasts at this very moment, never to return.
“… condolences for Karostei.”
Fie’s head snapped round to find the speaker. Two Peacock lords stood nearby, and she recognized one: the man who had spoken for Rhusana from under his mantle of embroidered oleanders the night before.
He wore pale green today, but the subtle pattern of oleander blossoms had been wrought about his cuffs. Once could have been coincidence. Twice was a choice.
The other man was shaking his head mournfully, stroking a salt-and-pepper beard in a way that, with a sharp pang, reminded Fie too keenly of Pa. “It’s a disaster,” he sighed. “The high magistrate ordered an aid effort, so we’ll lose half the regional taxes for this moon just to rebuild it. They won’t even use the same land.”
“Old-fashioned superstition,” the Oleander lord murmured. “The king died of the plague, and here we stand. The Crows burned the whole town?”
“Even the walls. Their headman was supposed to weather it out. Supposedly they … overruled him.”
Khoda would tell her not to get involved. Pa would tell her not to get involved. Men like that had already decided what the way of it was, and until they paid for shutting out the truth, they wouldn’t change