Page 42 of House of Embers
“All set,” Fordham said with a nod. “And you?”
She swallowed. Half of this plan relied on her confidence in her new powers, and she hoped that she could pull it off. She worked best under stress—always had.
“I can do it,” she told him. “And I have my backup in place too.”
His eyes shifted to the set of gold bangles that adorned her wrists. She’d hidden her mother’s bracelet in the midst of other similarly styled designs. But she knew which one would give her the edge to open a portal in the event she needed to make a quick escape, since apparently shadow jumping was off the table.
“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” he said.
“Into the viper’s den we go.”
They left their meeting space and stepped up to the entrance to the ballroom. The ball was in full swing. They’d arrived late to give Dozan’s spies time to infiltrate the party and set up a sufficient perimeter. It would be foolish to step inside the room of their enemy and hope for the best. They had come with their weapons raised, ready for a fight.
The door swung wide, and a short woman dressed in the black-and-silver livery of the House of Shadows called out, “His Royal Majesty, King Fordham Ollivier of House Charbonnet, called the House of Shadows, and his betrothed and our future queen, Lady Kerrigan Argon, first of the House of Cruse of House Bryonica.”
A hush fell over the crowd as Fordham stepped forward with Kerrigan at his side. “Now.”
With a breath, she reached deep into her well of magic. It answered with a soft thrum that nearly made her weep every time it was successful. Weeks without her magic made her never take her renewed gift for granted. But this wasn’t her own magic she was reaching for.She crossed the bridge that connected her to Fordham and found the thread of black at his center—the ability that was a closely guarded Ollivier secret. Only the Ollivier line had this power in all of Alandria.
Then, with the crush of the crowd’s eyes on her, she tugged that thread. The shadows in the room listened to her hungry, desperate cry. They answered with relish, leaping to her hands, wrapping around her wrists, and crawling like smoke up her arms.
A gasp rang from the crowd. The nearest group of female Fae scurried backward a few steps away from her, fear written on their carefully made-up faces. They ran into another set of Fae, who took a shocked step backward and braced the terrified women to keep them from fully fleeing.
Fordham took her hand and let the shadows crawl up his arm and pool into his other hand. The pair of them in black and silver, wreathed in Ollivier shadow magic, was a sight to behold. One of terror, based on the faces of those assembled. It was sooner than they’d wanted to display this ability to Fordham’s subjects, but with the threat from Barron and Viviana evident, they’d agreed that this was the easiest show of strength.
The focus of their little display was the heads of the Laurent and Blanchard families, who looked murderous. Viviana’s expression was more petulant and irritated. She was the lesser of two threats. Barron looked like he was going to extend his canines, tear through Kerrigan’s throat, and enjoy watching her blood flood the ballroom.
She smiled at him—a taunt that she couldn’t help but throw in his direction. He’d made his move with this party. She’d made hers. Now it was time to see where the game led.
Barron arched an eyebrow and then took Viviana by the arm and stalked forward. “Welcome,” he boomed with syrupy sweetness that was beyond fake considering the deadly expression still painted on his face. “What a surprise that you chose to attend and with such spectacle.”
“And in such attire,” Viviana added with a wrinkled nose. “Quite a fashion statement.”
“Thanks. It’s all the rage in the capital,” Kerrigan said. “Perhaps I could set you up with my fashion designer back home. He’d really spruce up your wardrobe.”
Viviana looked aghast. “This istheheight of fashion.”
“Oh. Yes. It’s very traditional. It’s just not what’s up-and-coming. It makes sense, what with the Society keeping you from leaving the mountain, that you wouldn’t know what’s in vogue in the city.”
“I don’t needcityfashion.”
“I see,” Kerrigan said as she twirled a shadow around her finger. “That explains the treaty you signed, I guess.”
Viviana gaped at her. “The treaty to keep our people from beingslaughtered? By the Society that you were a part of.”
“Oh, Viviana, I don’t want to talk politics tonight,” Kerrigan said as she fluttered her eyelashes. “We all know that I’m fighting the Society for their terrible treatment of both my people and your people. We’re on the same side, right?”
Barron’s grip on Viviana’s arm tightened until she winced. She smoothed over her features as if she had just realized that everyone was watching them. “Yes, of course.”
Prescott sidled up then, appearing almost as if out of nowhere. For a second, it was as if he were the only person in the room who didn’t sense the tension growing between the heads of the royal houses.
“Are we going to dance?” His voice was pitched too high, and he teetered sideways, nearly knocking into Kerrigan. He laughed drunkenly. “We’ve been waiting for you to begin.”
“Gods, Prescott,” Fordham snarled. “Can’t you keep yourself together?”
Prescott took another long sip of his wine in answer. “I guess not then?”
Fordham’s eyes were deadly as he said, “You’re a mess. Gosomewhere and sober up. It’s a disgrace.” Then he physically pushed Prescott aside to offer his hand to Viviana. “Shall we?”
