Wicked as She Wants (43 page)

With a firm and steady hand, Casper twirled me out and drew me near, a cocky smile on his face. His other hand caught my waist in a move both formal and tender, and I let him lead me through the dance, guiding me through the steps with a Bludman’s born grace. With such a large floor, it was easy to stay far from the altar and never brush by another couple. In my mother’s time, everyone had always gravitated toward the Tsarina, hoping for a benevolent word when skirts accidentally brushed or an especially fine gown caught her eye. This time, they hovered around Ravenna, uncertain and fearful but drawn, deep down, to the most dangerous predator in the area. I didn’t want to see it, so I concentrated on Casper.

He was nothing short of magnificent. Had I seen this man from across this very clearing, I would have sought him like a magnet to true north, like lightning to the tallest tree. The intensity of his gaze coupled with the humor in his mouth. The firm cut of his jaw and the soft waves of his hair. The wide shoulders that made the ridiculous jacket into artwork, and the fine figure that made the tight breeches a study of planes and curves. All I missed was the feel of his hands, his dark gloves the only thing between us and possible
discovery. I hoped no one else had looked closely enough to notice they weren’t a Bludman’s claws.

“You’re more beautiful than your portrait,” he murmured in my ear.

“You can’t even see my face.”

“I don’t have to.”

He spun me out and back, the heavy skirt swirling around my ankles. When he caught me close, I smelled his scent rising with the promise of snow, a strange mix of sun and darkness, sandalwood and fir trees, old wood and new blud. The dancers around us became as inconsequential as ashes in a storm, fluttery bits of nothing. Our eyes were caught and burning, our feet moving like leaves on the wind. I didn’t realize the song was over until he had spun me out and bowed.

Taking my hand, he led me toward a table of treats tended by low-ranking blud servants. I looked down, hoping they wouldn’t recognize me but knowing that it was expected for us to partake and that every drop of blood made me stronger.

Casper had no way of knowing all of the clever and indulgent ways to enjoy a Bludman’s feast, so I took up a curl of candied tangerine dipped in blood sugar and held it to his lips. His mouth twitched, and his eyes narrowed, but he knew better than to reject it.

“That is so very weird,” he said, chewing. “I like it, and I hate it. But it’s familiar.”

I popped a piece into my mouth and tried to imagine what it would be like, tasting it for the first time. The tart, bright twist of the orange coupled with the waxy blood and the crystalline coating. But I couldn’t tease it apart. I had always loved this taste, just as I had always lived this life in my body.

“Are you happy?” I asked him before my brain caught up with my mouth.

“I exist as I am, and that is enough. If no other in the world be aware I sit content.”

“Bah. A ball is no place for your philosophies, Master . . .” I trailed off. Sterling was a Pinky name, the sort of overtly pleasant thing they had adopted when they had begun to take over the parts of the world where Bludmen were considered monsters. His name had to be powerful, careless, cruel. “Master Scathing,” I said, liking the flavor of it in my mouth.

“That won’t . . . I’m not . . .”

“Sniveling? Strafing? Starving? Savage?”

For just a moment there, he was human again, and struggling. Then, as if shaking off water, he suddenly seemed a foot taller and a foot wider, his eyes filled with thunder and staring over my shoulder at some new threat.

“Would the lady care to dance?”

I turned, mouth open in surprise, to find one of the two dandies I had recognized earlier. Dancing with him was the last thing on Sang that I wanted to do, and yet to deny him would have caused even more aggravation. I forced a smile and nodded, and he took my hand carefully, as if it might suddenly turn in his grasp like a snake. I tried to recall his name and failed.

The next dance was, damnably, a slow one. I placed my hand on his shoulder in the correct place, and he looked at it as if I planned on ripping a hole in his perfectly tailored violet jacket. His other hand landed lightly on my hip, as if I were a piece of furniture instead of a person, and he began to move me mechanically around the floor, whisking me ever farther away from my only ally. The last thing I saw as we passed behind the blood altar was
the second dandy sidling up to Casper in a coat the same orange as the sick sunset after a storm.

“You seem rather familiar, my dear. Have we chanced to meet?”

His voice was cultured, affected, and soft. I peered into his face as if trying to place him, and the waxed and curled tips of his mustache twitched. “I don’t believe so,” I said in the clipped accent of Sangland.

“You’ve been to the Sugar Snow Ball, surely.”

“This is my first time.”

“But that dress! Your seamstress is a treat. You must give me her address. In Muscovy, I suppose?” His eyes were quite large behind the slip of the mask, the black around them exaggerated. He was staring at me strangely, not as if I were a woman he found attractive, because that was impossible. And yet there was an odd, anxious hunger that I couldn’t place.

“You have been fooled, sir. It is secondhand, I am ashamed to say.”

“Is there a tag? A tailor’s mark? I simply must know. The beading is exquisite. It’s the very image of the debutante gown worn by dear, sweet Princess Ahnastasia, may Aztarte have mercy on her soul. Although the color is just a bit different.”

“Mmm,” I murmured, nearly tripping over his exaggeratedly long shoes.

“Where do you hail from, darling? Your accent is rather exotic.”

“Sangland. London.”

“Divine town. I dote upon it severely. Tell me, have you ever been to the opera there?”

“Never.”

His hand clenched ever so slightly on my waist, and he looked over my shoulder too quickly. I tried to follow his gaze, but he spun me into a crowd, and I couldn’t see back to where Casper had been, beside the table.

“And is your mask from there as well?”

“A gift from my aunt, for the ball.”

“Hiding so much.” The hand on my waist rose between us, the talon on his thumb raking my chin right under the mask. “Tell me, snowbird. Is your face as beautiful as your dress?”

Thank heavens the Sugar Snow hadn’t started yet. My reaction would have plunged the country into anarchy. I jerked back from his claws and stumbled out of his arms, one hand holding the mask to my face before he could pry it off. His mouth curled up slowly, mimicking his mustache, and I spun away to shoulder through the other dancers and return to Casper. The space around the table was empty, with no sign of Casper or the other dandy. The Sugar Snow was close, and the air was tense and expectant, humming with magic. It was almost time.

With a silent hiss, I accepted a flute of champagne-infused blood from a waiting servant and held it up to my mask. I couldn’t get it down without making a mess of one sort or another, so I set it on the table and selected a chilled vial of blood slush from a waiting cauldron. Shaking with silent fury and fear, I tossed it back through the mouth hole of my mask as I sought Casper in the crowd.

When I finally found him, the iced blood went heavy in my stomach.

He was dancing with Ravenna.

38

Perhaps Casper led the dance, but it was clear who was in power. They danced slowly, Ravenna’s mouth close enough to rip out his jugular as she whispered into his ear. They spun enough for me to see his face, and he was ashen, pale with barely restrained fury. The song ended, but she didn’t let go of the hand she had held while dancing. Instead, she dragged him toward the blud altar, and they stood before it together.

“People of Freesia!” she shouted, and everyone crowded around. The scent of the coming Sugar Snow was heavy in the air, the moon obscured by misty clouds that swirled against the indigo like milk in blood.

“My friends, I have great news. Our Sugar Snow is doubly blessed this year. We have with us the greatest musician in all of Sang. The Maestro himself, Casper Sterling!” Polite applause and whispering broke out, and Casper let out a great, shuddering breath. “He has been recently bludded, although he won’t reveal the circumstances. For once, an abomination is a welcome member of our ranks. My people, do we wish to hear the Snowsong played by the world’s most talented harpsichordist?”

The applause after that was deafening. It had been
a lean few years, and any advantage was welcome. One famous and talented man commanding the instrument he knew best was a better gamble than an entire orchestra when it came to flawless playing and timing.

Then again, no one had ever heard the Snowsong, aside from the Bludmen who came to this ball every year. It wasn’t written, it wasn’t public, and it was considered a great secret. How he was going to oblige Ravenna and her court without inciting tragedy was beyond me. At least, he had managed to avoid telling her about me; if she had known, I would have been in a fight for my life already. I focused on uncurling my claws and trying to appear as normal and innocent as possible.

As I watched Ravenna lead Casper to the grand white harpsichord under the stairs, a cold hand grasped my wrist.

“May I—”

“I’ll sit this one out,” I hissed, trying to snatch my wrist back and failing.

“You won’t.”

It was the dandy. Or dandies. One on either side of me. Their twin smiles, smug and sure, told me they knew more than I wanted them to. They each grasped one of my arms, and when I struggled, the one in violet produced a metal instrument like the one filled with seawater that had been carried by the assassin on the train.

“It’s considered a patriotic duty to dance the Snowsong,” one said, and the other nodded and added, “Not dancing is often repaid with a good beheading.”

I bared my teeth and felt the rush of the hunt flood my veins. I’d rip out their hearts and stomp on their fancy jackets if they didn’t loose my wrists.

“Oh, I don’t think we want to behead this one, boys.”

They spun me around, and I was face-to-face with my enemy at last. Ravenna grinned, a mad look in her dark eyes. My brother, Alex, was nowhere to be seen.

I took a deep breath and held her stare, my wrists caught by the dandies.

“Nothing to say to your queen? Bow to me, then, little peacock.”

The anger built inside me, but I was as still as a statue, as still as the blud altar, as still as the high white moon.

Her smile curled up, the bloodred lips mocking me. “Remove her mask.”

One of the dandies untied the strings, and the proud peacock’s face shattered on the stone. The night air was cool and welcome on my heated skin, but Ravenna’s furious cackle of triumph stole the moment of relief. Her jugular pulsed as she threw back her head, and a rush of hunger and anger made me shiver. Nothing smelled so sweet as the enemy’s blud. With my wrists pinned, I was helpless to exact my revenge. But I was so close.

I sought Casper across the clearing and found him sitting at the harpsichord. For a fraction of a heartbeat, I smiled to know he was in the place he best belonged, but then reality crushed me again. One of the musicians was scribbling on a piece of paper, and Casper was miming notes on the harpsichord. Should he miss a note or time it wrong, it would mess up the dance, and the company would tear him limb from limb as a sacrifice to Aztarte. It was a clever gamble on Ravenna’s part, as if she had known that worry for Casper was the only thing that could leave me unbalanced.

“Ahnastasia,” Ravenna said, one claw tracing my cheek
and leaving a hot line behind. “You’ve run me a pretty chase, princess.”

I shrugged. She silently snarled and stepped closer, close enough for me to smell an unnatural scent rising from her skin, something I couldn’t quite place.

Across the clearing, a trill rang out from the harpsichord. Four notes. The calling of the dancers.

“May I have this dance?” Ravenna asked with a mocking bow.

And I had to accept, because as much as I needed to kill her, my country needed a well-danced ritual and a perfectly fallen Sugar Snow. And she knew it, damn her. I inclined my head just the tiniest bit, and she held out her arm, as a man would. The dandies loosed me, and I let her lead me to my place at the head of the line. She stood across from me as we waited among hundreds of others, tense and excited, for the first notes to ring out.

It was always beautiful, that song. I could so easily picture Casper’s nimble fingers on the keyboard, stroking the ivory keys with an intimacy and strength I knew all too well. As the first notes leaped into the air, I turned to bow to the gentleman on my other side, finding the dandy in the purple coat waiting with a mocking smile. I was trapped among the three of them, but I held my head high and danced with the grace and beauty expected of the crown princess. Whenever it came time to promenade with Ravenna, I had to stop myself from hissing at her damning and flippant power, her grasp stronger than that of any man who had ever led me while dancing. She was all but daring me to ruin my country, her feet stretching to trip me at every opportunity. Keeping up gracefully was a pretty little revenge. Casper played the song perfectly, as if
he had written it himself. I was half shocked, half gratified at his success.