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PARTIES WERE A LOT of fun. It was all I could do to keep myself from picking easy pockets as I went. Women wore bracelets so loose that the clasp could be pinched off and the whole thing pocketed in a single motion. The men had fancy fasteners on belt pouches that were more decorative than solid. My fingers itched at the thought of slipping them loose.
Whenever I found a crowd of people, a quick sleight of hand trick – a pulled feather from behind an ear or a flower presented to a lady with the flick of a wrist – was enough to dispel curious glances. There were other entertainers here – also masked, and I blended in with them effortlessly.
I’d lost track of Bataar within minutes of arriving and we weren’t supposed to be together, anyway. The more ground we covered, the more likely we would stumble across some useful information. Plus, he claimed I embarrassed him.
“I can almost smell the foreign drifting off you,” he said. “Your accent is as thick as a rug. Try not to speak if you can help it.”
I hadn’t spoken since arriving, schooling myself to disciplined watching and silent entertaining instead.
The Masque, to my utter surprise, was not indoors. For such a frozen landscape, these people sure liked to do things outside. Instead, extra braziers were lit along the boardwalks with something added to the flames that made them blaze blue and green instead of orange. Green and blue lanterns were hung in strings along railings and over rooftops and where the boardwalks joined or crossed. Hot ciders and mulled wines were served in pewter mugs.
Ladies in fur dresses, their masks a riot of color over the monochrome furs, and men in stark white or black masks laughed or chatted together in knots, drifting apart and reforming as the party progressed. Guards in house colors were dotted through the crowd, and to my surprise, some of them wore masks and drank cider, too.
There had been a stopping point on the spiral stairs when I reached this level and no one without a mask was allowed in. No one in shabby clothing was let in, either. Even the servants with the cider wore crisp, clean clothing.
I’d never been in a place like this or to a party like this in my life. Living on the streets was rarely clean and never orderly. Could get used to this, though. The hot cider alone was worth the trouble.
I looked out over the city from my vantage on the boardwalk, turning to watch the moon rise over the horizon, it’s silver beams gilding the harsh lines and jagged planes of the mountain city of Ko’Koren. Puffs of smoke and mist rose up from the heat spots around the city, swirling in silvery patterns between the buildings and around the tangle of stairways and boardwalks and soaring bridges.
I felt an exhilaration just looking over the scene that dwarfed my own personal goals. This place never ceased to stun me. Tiny flakes of snow – barely a sprinkle – began to fall like a silent army invading. I breathed in long and slow, enjoying the cold air as it hit my lungs. As I exhaled, I heard a voice.
I turned my head slightly to listen better, still pretending to admire the beauty below.
“... just think on it, Ye’kut. House Gamni can aid you. Together we could keep House A‘kona from seizing power. They are too strong. Do you see that little gem Apeq shepherds around? They say she is a dignitary from another land. I heard whispers of Baojang.”
“The women of Baojang are fearsome warriors. Your agents may not be feeding you solid information, Ganmi. House Ye’kut would never make such a mistake.”
Had I stumbled upon a conversation between two Exalted Houses just by pausing here for a moment? I glanced toward them to see a man in a brilliant orange brocade coat and white mask – his figure heavy like a once-strong man weighed down by age and another in an emerald green brocade, lithe and short with a black mask. Best to keep my eyes on the city below. Maybe they wouldn’t notice me here.
“If you want to see House Gamni at work, Ye’kut, then keep an eye out. We’ll strip A’kona of his gem before you can blink.”
There was a loud laugh and I was pushed against the railing as a group of young men and women shoved past me. For a few moments, I could hear nothing but their idle chatter and laughter. One of the women’s skirts rustled as she squeezed past me, her laugh as piercing as a hunting bird’s cry. And then they were gone and when I turned around, the walkway was empty.
Bread and butter! I’d lost them.
I scrubbed a hand through my hair, smiling absently at a man who walked by, his gaze piercing through his black mask. I froze when a swirl of silver met my eye. This time, it couldn’t possibly be my imagination. There was something strange going on with those silver-swirling eyes. And what was worse was that the silver didn’t seem to always be there. Sometimes it was, sometimes it wasn’t, and sometimes it burst into a fury of dust and destruction that still haunted my nightmares.
I needed some of that cider. This spying business was stressful work.
I ambled to the nearest barrel where a crisp servant ladled piping hot cider into mugs. I reached out to take a mug from the serving man and froze. Vern Redgers – the serving man from Apeq A’kona’s Jadefire House of Marvels smiled a sly smile at me as he handed me the mug. Silver swirled in his pupils and the cider sloshed in my shaking hand, burning my hand and wrist.
I hissed, shoving the mug of cider back at him and fleeing into the crowd. It was long minutes of dodging and weaving through people before I remembered I was wearing a mask. I stopped, suddenly, face to face with another silver-pupilled face. This time, a golden mask hid his face, but I would recognize the way the man stood anywhere.
Apeq A’kona.
And on his arm, just as the men had said, was Zyla – her buoyant curls barely tamed by the thick red mask-ribbon that held them back and her mask worked with feathers and bright stones to look like the jade-colored fire outside Apeq’s House of Marvels.
I stuttered an apology and slipped back into the crowd, ducking into the first shadow between two buildings that I could find and leaning deep into the darkness of the shadow, my heart pounding like a drum.
Perhaps, Bataar had been right. Perhaps, I was a poor choice for a spy.
I let my eyes close and took in deep, steadying breaths for what felt like minutes until I could still my racing heart.
“Boo.”
The whisper made me jump, banging my head against the low hanging eaves of the roof above me.