The lights had dimmed in the ballroom, ladies taking seats on the banquettes scattered around the room, gentlemen standing behind them with gla.s.ses of dark wine in their hands. Sabine spotted me the moment I entered the room, politely breaking off her conversation with an old woman who was dripping with rubies before strolling in my direction, looking for all the world as if she belonged among these people.

"I was wondering where you'd got off to," she said, taking my arm. "The masque's about to begin. Don't you see how they've turned down the lamps, and how you can hear the actors moving behind the curtains..." She blathered on for a few minutes more until those near to us lost interest and stopped eavesdropping, and then she said, "Marie came in only moments before you, and she does not look pleased. Either the evening is not going as planned, or," she lifted one eyebrow, "the plans are not to her liking."

I eyed Lady du Chastelier over the top of Sabine's blonde curls. She stood next to her husband, her expression studiously neutral, and though she nodded occasionally at the man speaking to them, it was clear she wasn't listening. Her eyes swept the room, her face tightening ever so slightly as she noted Sabine and me, before returning to the conversation. I wondered how hard she'd fight to keep a.n.u.shka's secret safe. I did not want to harm her, but if it meant saving my people, I'd do it anyway.

"Everyone believes she's upset that Lord Aiden seems set to miss the masque that was commissioned in his honor it's all anyone will talk about. Besides you."

"He'll make an appearance shortly," I muttered, but I could barely think for the tension threatening to split my skull. "Something's happened. Cecile's seen or learned of something, and whatever it is, it's driven her nearly to the brink. I don't think we can wait to find her after the performance we need to know what's happened now."

"Did she give you a name?"

I shook my head. Genevieve?

"Where is she?"

"Not far." I stared at the set as though with effort I might see through it. "In one of the rooms just beyond the ballroom. I need to find her."

Sabine tugged sharply on my arm. "You can't. The point of this is to lure her in, and if you go to Cecile, you'll be doing the exact opposite." Her eyes went to the stage. "Besides, Genevieve will be onstage in moments, and she is the one who needs your protection. I'll go find Cecile. No one will think it strange to find me back there."

It was my turn to hold her back. "They know you're involved," I said. "Be careful."

I watched her blonde curls bob through the crowd and disappear behind the curtains just as the lights onstage dimmed. Fred chose that moment to reenter the ballroom, a frown on his face as he went over to stand at Marie's elbow, his posture a remarkably good imitation of the choleric Lord Aiden.

Everything was silent but for the odd cough, the rustle of clothing, and the soft whisper of the curtain rising up to the ceiling. The lamps near the stage brightened, and there was a collective gasp from the audience.

The set was cast in the blacks, greys, and reds of some sort of underworld, shadowy figures in monstrous shapes painted against the backdrop and some sort of effect with the lighting making it seem as though flames danced across the stage. Music flooded the hall, dark and sharp and filled with echoing discord, but that was not the cause of the reaction.

Genevieve de Troyes perched on a faux-rock outcropping some six feet up in the air like some dark chimaera from another world. Costumed as Vice, she wore a black gown slashed with crimson, ebony-feathered wings stretched out to either side, and a cruel beaked mask obscuring her face. One hand was braced against the outcropping, and the other reached toward the audience. Both were encased in talon-tipped gloves, the metal winking dangerously.

She was beautiful and terrifying and altogether unnerving, but when she began to sing, everyone leaned toward her as though they were puppets attached to strings and she was their master.

Her song taunted the audience, invited them to partake in all manner of wickedness, captivated their thoughts, and rendered them gla.s.s-eyed and staring. Girls costumed as the sins danced on the stage beneath her, but I might well have been the only one to notice. Everyone, from the servants standing near the lamps to the Regent sitting in his high-backed chair, was captivated. No. They were compelled.

My unease returned, crawling up my spine. Enthralled as they were, anything could happen and I doubted any of the humans would notice. I shifted so that my back was pressed against the wall, watching for any sign of motion. Nothing. I glanced back at the stage, starting when I realized her eyes were directly on me. Instinctively, I fell still, mimicking the expressions of those around me, but I knew I had been caught out. But by who? Cecile's mother, or someone far more dangerous to my kind?

The song ended, and motion returned to the hall. One by one the girls sashayed to the front of the stage to proclaim their sins' names, and then cymbals crashed and a drum roll thundered through the room. A young man dressed as a devil sprang out onto the stage and began to sing and dance with the girls in a seductive twist of limbs, while Vice watched from above. The rhythm of the music changed, the girls swinging wildly on each other's arms as Vice and the demon sang of their plot to capture Virtue and her maidens and steal their souls.

Still there was no sign of Sabine.

I ground my teeth in frustration, knowing that Genevieve's half of the performance would soon be complete, and I was supposed to go backstage under a veil of magic to keep an eye on her while Cecile performed. But I did not want to lose track of Marie. She was the only person who knew a.n.u.shka's ident.i.ty with certainty, and I mentally weighed the risks of letting either woman out of my sight.

The final chords of music drifted through the room, and the lights dimmed. Where was Sabine?

Indecision still racking me, I began making my way through the tightly packed n.o.bles toward the stage. My priority needed to be Genevieve, not keeping Marie within my grasp. If anything happened to Cecile's mother because I deviated from the plan in pursuit of my own interests, she'd never forgive me. Then the choice was rendered moot as the curtains to one side parted and Genevieve stepped into the ballroom.

Fifty-Four.

Cecile

The music of the first half echoed through the ballroom, an eerie and haunting accompaniment to my mother's voice. No, not my mother's voice: a.n.u.shka's. I knew it was fact, but my mind seemed set on rejecting the truth, on holding me back from the actions I needed to take.

"Cecile!"

At the sound of the hissed whisper of my name, I turned between my escorts to see Sabine standing only a few paces away. She was dressed in an elaborate evening gown, her hair pinned up and jewels hanging from her ears, and I realized she must have come with Tristan. She started toward me, but one of the guards hurried to intercept her.

"Mademoiselle de Troyes is not to be troubled until after she performs," he said under his breath, pushing her back toward the curtain.

Sabine could warn Tristan; could keep him within the crowded ballroom until I had the chance to explain the truth to him, to temper his reaction. "I want to speak to her."

The guard held me back, shaking his head. "After."

Only then did I realize the music had ceased, and that the grinning courtiers vying for Lord Aiden were pouring off the stage. A hand with spiked fingertips closed over my shoulder, and I turned around to see the wicked mask hiding my mother's face. a.n.u.shka's face.

"Are you ready, darling?"

The King's compulsion swiftly and violently took hold. My hands whipped up and caught hold of her wrists with a grip I hadn't known I'd possessed. Kill her!

a.n.u.shka's jaw tightened beneath the mask, and she tried to pull away from me. "A touch of nerves, I see."

My mind grappled with ways I might kill her, but without a weapon, the guards would stop me before I had a chance. But they couldn't stop Tristan. With a wicked sense of glee, I felt his name rise up in my mind, along with the vision of her dead at my feet.

But it wouldn't end there. It would be chaos. The guards would attack Tristan, and how many would die? I needed to get her alone, and knowing that she planned to kill me tonight, that shouldn't be hard.

I forced my hands to relax and fall away from her wrists. "Dreadfully nervous." I swallowed. "Will you watch me, Mama? Out front where I can see you?"

With one hand, she removed the horrid mask from her face and then smiled. "Of course, dearest. I wouldn't miss it for the world."

I watched her walk to the curtain, before turning to see if there was any chance of speaking to Sabine. But there was no sign of her or the guard who had kept us apart. I prayed that she'd make her way back to Tristan, and that I could get through the next ten minutes of performance with nothing happening. Then I'd go to him, tell him the truth, and hope that...

I shoved the thought aside. Plunking my bottom down on the swing, I arranged my skirts and took a firm grip on the ropes. Then I nodded once to the men who would lift me up. The lights on the stage dimmed, music began to play and I was rising up into the air. The beam supporting the swing rotated me out onto the stage, and once they'd lowered me down a few feet, I kicked my legs to set the swing rocking gently back and forth. On my cue, I began to sing and the lamps were turned up. The audience murmured in appreciation at the stage designed to look like a paradise in the sky in blue, gold, and white.

Two throne-like chairs sat in the front and center of the crowd of n.o.bles, and on them were seated the Regent and Lady Marie. Lord Aiden stood at his mother's shoulder, expression grim. I let my eyes drift slowly over the room, keeping my face soft, kind, and benevolent as the skirt of my costume tickled against my bare feet. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see my mother slowly making her way along the wall, nodding and greeting those who spoke to her as she went. But where was Tristan?

I finally spotted him standing in the shadows, his eyes tracking my mother's progress from the far side of the room. He made no move to go to her, but I felt no comfort. I was playing this too close and risking everything by keeping him in the dark, but what choice did I have? My mother reached the door at the far right of the room and leaned against the wall, crossing her arms and watching. Not your mother, a.n.u.shka!

Tearing my eyes away from her, I glanced down. Below me, the courtiers came out onto the stage and began to dance an intricate pattern. The girls of my company drifted amongst them, lending their voices as harmony to my own. They twirled and danced, and I sang a song designed to be lovely and pleasing without distracting too much from the would-be wives trying to catch Lord Aiden's attention.

The music ended, and I ceased my swinging, leaning forward slightly as though deeply intent on what my subjects were about to do. Each of the girls danced forward and named her virtue, curtseying deeply to Lord Aiden, who dutifully nodded at each of them. If I hadn't been so blasted terrified about what was to come, the whole spectacle might have been a comedy. Except I knew one of these girls was destined to become Marie's successor, her life dedicated to protecting the woman I was supposed to kill.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw motion from Tristan's side of the room. I wanted to turn my head and look, but I dared not. Instead I smiled and nodded as each of the girls took their turn, cursing the very idea that there was so much virtue in the world. Finally they had all finished and returned to their partners. The music struck up, I lifted my head to resume swinging, and I saw Sabine standing by the doors closest to the stage. But she wasn't watching me. Instead, she was facing toward the rear of the room, eyes fixed on my mother, her posture rigid.

Too late, I remembered Sabine had also seen the mask in Catherine's memory. And it had clearly made an impression.

It was only all my practice and training that got the first line of the song through my numb lips as she began to pick her way toward Tristan. My gloves felt sodden with sweat between my palms and the ropes, logic telling me not to react, but instinct demanding I leap off my swing and stop her.

Julian sprang onto the stage below me, dancing circles around the girls as he tried to tempt away their virtues, but they all spurned him, and he and I dueled until he scampered offstage. Only one more short song to praise the victory and strength of the girls, and then it would be over.

I sang louder than I should, wishing I could feel the triumph of music. But there was no winning in my situation, no choice that wouldn't have painful consequences. No matter what I did, I was destined to lose. And it would happen in minutes. Sabine had only a few more people to navigate around before she reached Tristan and told him the truth. Then he'd try to kill my mother, and there'd be only one way to stop him.

Why should you stop him, the promise whispered. She's a murderer.

She's my mother.

He'll never forgive you...

You don't know that.

You gave your word...

The ballroom blurred as I warred my internal argument, then sharpened into focus as Sabine stopped in her tracks, and though the music was too loud for me to hear, the curses were clear on her lips. Spinning on her heel, she ignored the appalled expressions on people's faces and pushed her way back to the exit. My voice wavered as my eyes jerked to where Tristan had been standing moments before, catching only a flash of him as he bolted through another exit.

Panic flooded through my veins, and, not caring if all the audience noticed, I twisted on the swing, my eyes searching, searching for sight of my mother.

She was gone.

Fifty-Five.

Tristan

Genevieve ambled her way along the far side of the ballroom, expression unconcerned as she paused to greet guests, the chatter of the room loud to compensate for the grinding noise of the rotating set. She cast a backward glance at the stage when the lights dimmed, and my eyes went with hers in time to watch the curtain lift, revealing Cecile sitting on a swing high above the stage.

She was lovely. Even with the thousand concerns running through my head, I couldn't help but notice that. She wore a white silk gown that revealed an exceptional amount of pale skin, all of which shimmered with gold dust. Her long crimson hair hung amongst the feathers trailing down her back, and both swayed with the motion of the swing.

Only my unique insight into her mind betrayed that she was not content. She briefly tracked her mother's progress before letting her gaze drift across the ballroom to land on me, her mind a twist of nerves, hurt, and... guilt? I smiled at her, but a flash of unease betrayed my expression.

Something was wrong.

Something was not going to plan.

Where was Sabine?

Genevieve had retreated almost to the rear of the ballroom, stopping in the door well of one of the exits and leaning against the wall with her arms crossed. It was too dark to see her expression, but I took advantage of those very same shadows to watch her openly, my ears picking up on every waver in Cecile's voice through a performance I missed almost entirely.

The music rose into a climax, drums beating and cymbals crashing with deafening noise. It would be over in a matter of moments, and then I was sure a.n.u.shka would make her move. But as Cecile's voice rose to the highest note of her range, the door behind Genevieve opened, a hand reaching around to clamp over her mouth. I caught a flash of a blade, but before I could react, her a.s.sailant dragged her out into the corridor.

It was happening.

Ignoring the surprised looks of those around me, I sprinted to the door closest to me, instead of drawing more attention to myself by pushing through the crowded room. The hall was empty, and I ran, knowing I could be around in seconds to the door Genevieve's attacker had taken her through.

"Tristan, wait! It's her!" Sabine's voice floated up from behind me, but I didn't dare pause. I had to find Genevieve before a.n.u.shka had a chance to kill her and vanish. If I failed, the chance of freeing my people might be lost. If I failed, Cecile might never forgive me for letting the witch kill her mother.

The narrow corridor sped by me in a blur, my boots skidding against the floor as I rounded the first corner. Then the second. The music from inside the ballroom was loud even here, but not loud enough to drown out the piercing scream of a woman. Turning down another corridor, I prayed my ears had not deceived me.

Then heeled shoes clattered, and Genevieve de Troyes was running toward me, one gloved hand clutching a bloodied throat. "Help me!" she whimpered. "Please help me!"

Sliding to a stop, I let her through my magic, keeping my eyes on the darkness she had come from, even as she flung her arms around my neck, the steel claws on her gloves making my skin itch. "She attacked me! Oh, G.o.d, I'm bleeding. I'm dying."

There wasn't nearly enough blood for that to be a risk, but I wrapped an arm around the woman to steady her anyway. Not for a minute did I believe a.n.u.shka had let her go so easily. This was a trap. "Who took you?" I demanded. "Was she alone?"

"A woman. She was alone, but she had a knife." Her words were garbled with tears. "She cut me I need help."

Running footsteps came up from behind us, and I whirled around, ready to attack.

But it was only Sabine, her skirts pulled up to her knees. "Tristan," she screamed when she saw us. "Get away from her!"

I looked back over my shoulder, sure an attack was coming, but the hallway was empty.

"It's her!" Sabine slid to a stop a few paces from me. "Genevieve is a.n.u.shka!"

The truth of her words ran through me, and my first instinct was to shove Genevieve away from me, to bind her, to kill her, but then I remembered Cecile's warning: One of our friends is foe. Trust no one. Had she meant Sabine?

I hesitated for a second, and Genevieve spoke. "Well now, this is a vexing development." The steel of her claws bit deep into my neck, the metal burning and blood soaking into my collar. I shoved her away hard enough that she slammed into the wall, but she only laughed and said, "Bind the light."

A vice far tighter than the steel of my father's manacles clamped down on my power. Frozen, I struggled against the binding, but it was like fighting myself. It was fighting myself, because I realized that, just like Cecile had used my own magic to heal me, a.n.u.shka was using it to hold me in check. But that didn't mean I couldn't kill her with my bare hands.

I lunged, but the witch was already moving, dragging Sabine in front of her and holding a pistol to the girl's head. "Now, now, Your Highness," she said. "Do not be so hasty."

She would not hesitate to kill Sabine, and without magic, there was no way to stop her other than acquiescing to her demands. Which was the last thing I wanted to do.

"Do you really believe her life is worth so much to me that I'd let you get away to save it?" I snapped, taking a step forward for every one she dragged Sabine back.