Page 49 of Shadows of Perl

I awake to darkness and panic. Night has fallen. Beaulah! I’m supposed to meet her. When I pull the door open, a petite woman is standing there; I can hardly see her face over the stack of dresses across her arms.

“I’m Della, your attendant while you’re here. Pleased to meet you.” She curtsies before coming inside. More attendants pile into the room, loaded down with jewelry boxes, shoes, bags, and garments.

“Uh, I’m perfectly capable of dressing myself, thanks.” I reach for a dress, but Della doesn’t let it go.

“Mother insists.”

She’s determined to watch me at every turn. I eye the spot where I shoved my invitations, and thankfully they’re out of sight. I concede, and Della and the other attendants busy themselves all over my room. By the time I’m dressed, I’ve been scrubbed with lavender-infused water and waxed; my hair’s been washed, styled, and coiffed; and a set of jewels heavier than any I’ve ever held lies across my neck. I’m breathless when Della and her crew leave, but I hurry to the mirror.

Every part of me sparkles with darkness. From the black sequin gown that hugs my waist, then flares; to the glamorous smoky eye makeup; to the obsidian earrings pulling at my lobes. I pull my belly button in toward my spine and feel the stirring of my magic deep inside. Cold rushes through my head, and black metal emerges from my sprayed hair until my full diadem arcs above my head. Its rose-colored stones shine. The girl in the mirror is a far cry from the one who hid from her grandmother so many months ago. I hold my chin up, eyeing my diadem once again. I don’t have to hide it here. For the first time in forever, I can be proud of who I am. The time. I should go. But I could stare at this girl in the mirror until the sun rises.

Two steps out my door, I think of Abby. I need to update her the first chance I get.

Using the map Adola left me, I hurry to the cigar lounge, late to meet Beaulah. When I arrive, a smoky sweetness reaches my nose. Adola is waiting outside the doors.

“Aren’t you supposed to be getting me a new room?”

“It’s Trials week. Guests are traveling in from all over. You’re stuck with the room you have.”

I glare at her. “I’m sure you tried your best.”

The doors open and someone who I don’t recall seeing at last night’s party exits. He doesn’t bat an eye in my direction. “Shouldn’t you be at the platforms?” he asks Adola.

“I’m going at the end of the week.” She glances at me.

“Fratis fortunam.” He holds the door for us to enter.

“The heir has days until her own Trials,” I say.

She cuts me an angry look.

“You could let me help you and all would be well.”

“I’d rather fail.”

“You don’t mean that.”

Beaulah waves me over as Adola pushes past me. I make my way around the lively audience; they shimmy to peppy music in fine tuxedos, sparkling dresses, and decadent furs, their necks and knuckles swallowed in jewels. Drinks or cigars are in every hand, and there’s chumminess to everyone’s demeanor. It’s like walking into a room where everyone’s in on the same joke. People compliment my dress as I pass. Several eye my diadem, and the attention covers my skin in prickles.

I keep to the perimeter of the room, and I smile politely at the next string of compliments. Beaulah is seated beside a wall of windows overlooking a balcony and the lawn below. I join her. The open field we crossed earlier is empty except for three raised platforms. Adola doesn’t join us. Instead she gives plastic greetings to everyone and isolates in a corner. I swear, the girl is determined to hate me.

“I hope you weren’t alarmed earlier at the guesthouse,” Beaulah says. “When I couldn’t find you, I was concerned, so I sent Charlie to look for you. You should stay out of the woods. As a precaution.”

“I’m perfectly capable of protecting myself.”

“No one doubts that.” She squeezes my shoulder. “You’re here just in time for the finish.” Beaulah turns her attention to the grandiose view of the grounds below. The commotion in the room settles as more people gather around the window. A bottle of champagne is passed around and glasses fill. One is shoved into my hand as I notice a dark-robed person below, holding up five fingers.

“Five minutes,” someone says.

Beaulah grabs a cigar from a tray. “Watch the tree line.”

Another few minutes pass. The robed figure holds up two fingers.

“What’s happening?” I ask, but Beaulah only leans forward in her seat.

“Gather around,” she announces. “Any moment!”

The dancing music shifts to a soft melody as the crush of bodies bubbling with excitement tightens even more around us. I slide to the edge of my chair—watching for what, I’m not sure.

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