for a short while. There was more mischief than malice in the emotion, though beneath it all ran a river of intent. It flavoured Akilina’s laugh, but lay deep enough that without touching her skin, Belinda couldn’t read its meaning. “You watched us all very carefully during dinner,” Akilina accused good-naturedly. “You must have come to some conclusions. Besides the beards.”
“You laugh much more easily than rumour has it, my lady,” Belinda said with absolute honesty. “The stories one hears of Khazar are all of dark and dour people, as if the long winter days have pressed the joy out of you. And you don’t dress as I’d imagined. I think of somber colours when I think of Khazar, but—” She broke off briefly to gesture at Akilina’s gown, so deep a red as to be heart’s blood. “And the guards with their bristly hats and broad shoulders all done in such blues, with the yellow epaulettes. The eye wishes to drink your clothing down. It’s wonderful,” she added with a girlish enthusiasm more heartfelt than she expected, and almost laughed at herself. The serving maid role she’d played at Gregori’s manor had never cared for the colours or costumes of the men and women she was surrounded with, and nor should she have; for Rosa those things were merely part of the patchwork of life. Beatrice’s observations and excitement were charming, in a dangerous way.
“Perhaps I’ll have a dress made for you. Your skin is very fair, and would look well in a strong tone.” Akilina’s offer masked a ploy so deliberate Belinda didn’t need the witchpower to uncover it. A gift to the prince’s paramour was a way to draw his attention without being unbearably obvious. Belinda glanced at the amber of her current gown and arched an eyebrow at Akilina, who threw her head back and laughed again.
“That was not an insult,” she promised. “You know what looks good on you. Forgive me, my lady, if you think I’m that crude.”
“I believe I hold the prize for crudity this evening, my lady,” Belinda said diplomatically. “I would be delighted with a Khazarian-style gown, if your kindness extends so far. And perhaps I can introduce you to Eliza, who sets fashion here in Lutetia.”
“The extraordinary woman at the far end of the table,” Akilina said without hesitation. “She is a friend of his highness’s, da?”
“Da,” Belinda echoed, deliberately awkward. “That’s one of the two Khazarian words I know. The other is nit.” She made the word into a scrape in her throat, forcing it into unfamiliarity, and Akilina’s laughter rose again.
“Nyet,” she corrected. “Your Gallic is very good, so you do know how to make the nasal sounds. Nyet,” she repeated, and Belinda imitated her again, retaining the I rather than the proper pronunciation. Viktor was somewhere behind them in the ranks of guards, and she had no intention of making her voice any more familiar to him than it must be.
“I’ll practise,” she promised. “Gallic didn’t come easily to me. I fear I have little gift for language.”
“What are your gifts, then?” Akilina asked lightly, but ice slid in beneath the question. Belinda flickered an empty smile down the hall, thinking of the answers she couldn’t give. Loyalty. A talent for death. An ability to belong wherever she stopped moving, at least long enough to wreak mayhem and move on. And most freshly, of course, the witchpower, a gift she barely allowed herself to consider in Akilina’s presence. She had no sense of indomitable will from the woman as she had from Javier, no recognition of power shared, but caution was a better path to follow when it came to a magic that could see her burned at the stake.
“Passion, I suppose,” she murmured. “But even that burns out in time.” She was not speaking of herself, and she knew it; so, too, did Akilina. The black-haired woman exhaled a short breath of satisfaction and squeezed Belinda’s arm again.
“At least you have the intelligence to see that,” she said magnanimously. “Intelligence sees us further in life than either passion or beauty, Beatrice. Remember that, and you’ll do well.”
Belinda all but bobbed a curtsey even as she remained on Akilina’s arm, then slowed at a cross-hall and looked around, suddenly cheerful. “Now, tell me, Lady Akilina, shall I leave you to wander the palace halls all night, or do you know where you are?”
* * * *
“Rosa.”
There was no too-quick heartbeat of betrayal this time; Belinda had expected