Page 62 of The Rook

The unmistakable figure of Pyre, dressed in the resplendent, deep claret outfit Tempest had initially seen him trying on weeks ago in his cave in the forest. His golden fox mask covered the top part of his face, and he paused as he caught sight of her, his goblet of wine hovering near his lips in his hand. A slow smile curved his lips, and his amber eyes seemed to glow behind his mask. Her steps slowed, and her heart beat a little faster.

Calm down.

He set his goblet down on a nearby table and excused himself from his company, the crowd parting for him as he made his way over to her. She took his arm when he proffered it to her, eyeing his costume and then her own. The color gradient they made together—white to silver to blue to lilac, toclaret to crimson to gold—it became clear to Tempest why the Jester had picked this specific dress for her to wear.

“You are a vision,” he murmured into her ear, a mischievous look on his face that told Tempest he very much enjoyed the attention they were gathering.

“Will I ruin the vision if I open my mouth to speak?” she asked, feeling just as mischievous as Pyre himself. There was something infectious about the night, and her dress, and the masked ball-goers, that made Tempest feel distinctly like another person.

You’re not. Get yourself together. Focus on allies.

Pyre snickered, his lips touching the shell of her ear. “That entirely depends on what you say, Tempest.”

He led her farther into the masquerade hall, which was full of elaborately dressed people, strange masks, and heartbreakingly beautiful music played by a string quartet on a central plinth. Soft lantern light glittered off decorations all around the vast, cavernous hall, from silvered candlesticks, crystal chandeliers, and ensconced torches alike.

There were spices on the air—vanilla and cinnamon and something floral beneath them—that Tempest eagerly breathed in. When a passing servant handed her a spindly glass filled with a pale gold, sparkling liquid, she gladly accepted, if only to do something with her hands. Drinking was not on her list of things to do. She needed her wits about her.

“Why am I a wolf?” she asked Pyre as they circled about the room, stopping here and there for him to say his hellos and to introduce Tempest to the guests she had not met before.

“Is it not obvious?”

“True,” she murmured, taking a delicate sip of her champagne. A wolf mask was a fitting symbol of her status asHound. A wolf among sheep. “But you always have an alternate reason.”

He shrugged. “The mask has been in my possession for a while. When I met you—the first time I met you in the tavern—I thought your face was perfect for it. I cannot really explain it; but it was meant for you.”

“I’m sure Brine won’t appreciate the dog being a wolf for the night,” she remarked with a wry grin.

“Oh, you and I both know that he likes you more than he lets on.” Pyre chuckled. “You’re a part of his pack now whether he’ll admit it or not.”

A flicker of guilt licked Tempest’s stomach, and she was reminded of her actual goal for the evening. She had to work out who might rally behind her… and tell Pyre about her intention to marry King Destin. Though she had convinced herself before that he could find out second hand, now that she was level-headed and no longer sick, she knew it wasn’t the right decision. Pyre might be sneaky and underhanded, but she couldn’t be that way. Even to him.

She allowed Pyre to essentially show her off to all the factions, using the introductions as an opportunity to put names to voices and masks. But, as they wandered, her skin began to prickle. It felt like her time was short.

“What is it?” he asked after almost an hour of snatched conversations and throwaway comments.

She shook her slightly. “I… Pyre, you told me this masquerade was about securing support. About maintaining goodwill between factions for the war.”

He cocked his head to one side. “Your point being?”

“It seems as if everyone is alreadypreparedfor war,” she said, waving around them. “Everyone is behind you—that was clearas day to me. There is no support to gather. They’re all… ready.”

“Dance with me,” he murmured, pulling her toward the dance floor before she had the chance to refuse.

“You really are like two completely different people,” she said, studying his jaw as he took one of her hands in his. She gingerly placed her other hand on his shoulder. When he slid a hand around her waist to the small of her back, Tempest shivered in an entirely pleasant way. Rot it.

Pyre’s fingers roamed just a little higher up her back, a knowing smile on his lips, clearly enjoying her reaction. “I could say the same about you, you know,” he replied as they began dancing, quickly becoming one with the rhythm of the music. Tempest had never been one for dancing before, but it always came naturally. She chalked it up to swordplay. It was essentially the same thing.Except for the killing.

“I am notliterallytwo people though, am I?” she countered, raising an eyebrow that Pyre could not see behind her mask.

He laughed easily. “I suppose not. But still; when you fly into a rage you are rather different than your usual self, Temp.”

“What can I say? You bring out the best in me.”

“I can think of a far better way to channel that energy than merelyfighting,” he said, his tone dripping with insinuation, before his lips caressed her skin. For a moment, she closed her eyes, and a small sigh caught in her throat. This was the banter she remembered, the Pyre she had grown to like, and thought was her friend.

This Pyre isn’t real.

She stiffened, and her eyes snapped open; the magic broken. Dancing with him like this was a mistake. Flirting with him was dangerous. He’d already proven he couldn’t be trusted to tellthe truth, nor not to hurt her. If she let herself, she could lose everything to him. That couldn’t happen. Too much was at stake.

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