I felt a long way from the music hall now. In a palace, among the swirls of glittering dancers in their gems and fine silks, I was in a new world.
My heart beat in time with the rhythm of the drum, and bodies brushed against mine as they spun. When I turned, I saw that the crowd seemed to be gravitating toward the count. I slipped further in, scanning people’s faces. Maybe I’d see someone who looked too alert, too watchful.
Along with the band, I heard low singing over the music, coming from within the crowd. It was an ancient Albian folk song—one about ravens at the Dark River, and the Blessed Raven King. A song for Albia. For Patriots.
I moved toward the sound.
I took a sip of my drink, trying to look relaxed.
But something was distracting me: the rich thrum of a fallen angel’s cursed magic over the back of my skin, the scent of sandalwood.
I turned to see the angel behind me, the crowd parting for him. He towered over the mortals around him. His hair was long and gold, and he wore a cape of deep blue. His dark eyes pinned me.
“Are you not enjoying yourself in my home?” he asked.
How did he know that? I was sure my expression had looked serene. “Lord Armaros. It’s a lovely home. Beautiful, really.”
“Who did you arrive with?”
The silence rolled out for a minute, then I answered quietly. “The count.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Is that right? Count Saklas? With you?”
Not sure I liked the disdainful tone, but admittedly we were a weird pairing. “I’m his new ama—his secretary. He just hired me.”
A woman with bright red hair and pale skin sidled up to Lord Armaros and wrapped her arms around him. Mortal, like me, with the raven tattoo. “Come play with me.”
He hardly looked at her, holding up a finger instead. “In a moment.”
She pouted and skulked away.
He took a step closer to me, purring, “Why don’t you tell me what you really want to ask me?”
“How do you know I have a question?”
“You have as many questions as I have wives.”
I shrugged, feigning nonchalance. But I had so many questions: Where was Alice? Why are they murdering women?
I had to keep it simple, of course. Not betray too much. And on my mind right now was the question of which of these bastards had signed his name on the wall, next to the body of a woman with her lungs ripped out.
I smiled at him. “Which one of your friends is called Samael?”
Lord Armaros leaned down and brushed my hair off my neck, his fingers curling around the back of my throat. “Little dove. I think you already know who he is. And you’d better be careful. Samael is terror incarnate. If you ever happen to see his true face, your sanity would never recover.”
15
Lila
That warning rippled cold up my spine.
Lord Armaros pulled away from me, straightening to his full height. “Try to enjoy yourself, little dove.”
I took a sip of my champagne, blending unnoticed into the crowd once more. I couldn’t drink too fast. I had to stay sharp here. If I failed to get the information that the count wanted, I’d be well and truly buggered.
The music had changed to a jaunty tune, and the crowd broke into a dance called the Salton—a wild quadrille of shifting partners, with hands and legs swinging in the air. In most circumstances, it was fun as hell.
And perhaps I could use it. It wouldn’t be a bad way to move from one person to another, while still looking like I was enjoying myself.
I dropped the champagne off on a passing waiter’s tray, then caught the eye of a blond man—an Albian bloke with the raven tattoo on his neck. I held out my hand. In the next moment, I was smiling at him, my feet moving fast over the dance floor. Now, my laughter was nearly genuine, and the music compelled me to move.
He spun me around, and I found myself with the next partner, a dark-haired man in a silky shirt. Despite the dancing, I was staying sharp, scanning the crowd for anyone who seemed amiss.
I needed to see a sign, someone who looked nervous, perhaps. Someone lurking around the edges. When my partner spun me on to the next dancer, I quickly ascertained he was too drunk to be useful, swaying, the sweat pouring down his temples. But beyond him—