Page 74 of Ruby & Onyx

“Just… Radya,” I correct her.

“Ohhh, don’t be modest! My mother is from Umbra! She told us all about the legend of –”

“Radya, come meet some of my friends.” Liliana interlaces her arm with mine and tugs me away. I flash an apologetic smile to the woman, trying to lessen the hurt etched on her face. I want to go back to her to hear what she has to say, but Liliana won’t loosen her grip.

She pulls me toward a plump man who decided to forgo the mask altogether. Instead, he wears a wig that adds half a foot to his stature. Even still, I have to hunch over to hear him.

“What an honor it is to meet you!” He shoves his hand out toward me. Clunky golden rings rest on each finger, each one spreading his fingers wide in a way that looks uncomfortable. One of them is adorned with a ruby.

Before I can respond, a woman shoves her way into our conversation, elbowing the plump man right in the gut. “You’re just as beautiful as I imagined!”

“I, uh, thank you.” The heat in my cheeks starts to burn so fiercely that I consider dunking my whole head into an ice bucket.

“Would you mind your business, Annie?” The man says to the woman, pointing his finger an inch from her face.

She slaps the finger out of the way, careful to avoid any rings. “This is just like you to ruin something innocent. I was just paying a compliment to our guest of honor!”

“Francis, Annie, play nice,” Liliana interjects.

“She can’t allow me to speak to another woman without turning into a jealous maniac!” He yells as the pinkness in his ruddy cheeks deepens. Clearly, this quarrel goes far beyond this interaction.

“You just like to think that you’re the center of the universe! You can do what you want, sleep with whomever you want, and spend what you want! But anything I do just for myself must be done out of malice!” The heat between these two is palpable and very much not my business. I turn to Liliana and discretely nod my head away from the couple, hoping that she understands the unspoken plea.

“Our guest of honor appears to need a drink. It was so nice speaking to you both, but we’ll be on our way.” The couple fails to hear Liliana over their continued squabbling, so we slip away unnoticed. When we can no longer hear the traces of their argument, Liliana says, “The problem with open invitations is that not everyone behaves appropriately, given their company.”

Another person shoves their way in front of me and begins droning on about the music. I politely agree, nodding my head, while actively scanning the crowd for Guylita. Or a drink. Whichever comes first.

Liliana finally intervenes and brings the conversation to an end. But we achieve only two steps before another guest eagerly blocks our path. This pattern continues for the better part of three songs, and we barely reach the room’s center. Masks of every kind float by, each uniquely crafted of different materials, but none of them resemble a doll. My heart sinks.

What if she decided not to come?

“I need to excuse myself for a moment,” I say to Liliana once the music quiets enough for me to speak in a relatively normal voice.

Her eyebrows raise in question. “Everything okay?”

“Yes, I’m just feeling a little overwhelmed. I’m going to go get a drink.” Looking down at my arms, I notice the red splotches dotting my skin. I’d be willing to bet that a mirror would reveal identical marks across my neck and face.

“Wonderful, I’m quite parched, as well.” She begins to stride toward the bar, appearing a little too eager to keep me company. Is she babysitting me?

“No!” I shout, gritting my teeth. “Let me get you a drink. What would you like?”

“Whiskey neat,” she says reluctantly. I can feel her eyes burning a hole in my back as I walk away. My gaze remains fixed on the floor, hoping to deter any more social interactions on the way to the bar.

Several people crowd around the bar, and I try to place myself inconspicuously behind them in line. But as soon as the woman ahead of me looks over her shoulder, she gushes, sending compliments flying my way. Soon, the whole line starts to do the same. Screw the drink. I nod to each of them, smiling and saying thank you while slowly backing away.

I hate this.

I turn and search for an escape. But as I scan the room, someone taps me on the shoulder. The touch surprises me. Like a bolt of lightning, it skitters over my skin and ignites a fire in my blood. I turn around to face the person responsible.

He’s at least a half foot taller than me and dressed in an unusual style. While the rest of the guests wear their finest clothes, be it finely tailored gowns or colorful doublets, he is wearing riding clothes. His boots are muddy and worn as if he walked here through the woods. I try to get a look at his face, but his silver mask covers every inch and leaves only slits for his eyes. Can he breathe beneath it?

“For the guest of honor.” He extends a glass of bubbly toward me, bending down into a slight bow.

“You might be my hero.” As I take the glass, I notice the wear on his leather riding gloves. How far did this man travel to be here?

“Not a fan of crowds?” His deep voice strokes like a feather and goosebumps crawl across my skin in response. What is happening?

“Is it that obvious?” Ugh, of course, it’s obvious. I thank the gods for the mask that covers my blushing cheeks.

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