Page 54 of Bloodgrove

He could barely reconcile the masked, fragile figure from that first evening with the strong woman before him now.

“I am giving you one final way out. Do you want to leave? I will put you on the train the day after tomorrow, once the full moon has passed, and you can forget everything that happened here.”

No, she was not fragile. She was neither spoiled nor naïve. She stood firm, the head of her family, an invisible crown resting upon her head.

“What was the mask for on the first night?” he asked instead of all the other questions.

Elodie raised an eyebrow in surprise, and for a moment, he thought she would dismiss him with a brief answer. “The ritual that brought you through the barrier and paid for your ticket demanded a high price. I had to give and therefore drink a great deal of blood. I was at the end of my strength and had half lost my mind. It took everything I had not to jump you and drain the last drop from your body. The mask would have prevented it if I lost control.”

Will nodded slowly. He should leave. He should accept her offer. If she had been willing to give so much to bring him here, her plans extended far beyond a new ballroom. She had assigned him a role in her play, and he would not understand it until the curtain fell.

But he could not leave. What awaited him in the Capitol if he returned empty-handed? His future, his reputation, and his dreams all depended upon this commission. He had to see it through. He could not fail again.

Perhaps he could return to his parents’ village and become a fisherman like his father. The sea had called to him since childhood. But what he could not leave behind were those storm-filled eyes, that hard and stubborn gaze. Elodie would haunt his dreams like the Albatross, only there would be no release from her, merely lonely nights and colorless days. Because he had seen someone truly burn for something. How could anyone ever return from that? How could he turn his back on such a beacon? No, he could not go back to his old life after knowing Elodie.

And in the depths of this city, he sensed that something else was waiting for him. That he had taken one step closer to his destiny when he stepped off the train.

“I cannot,” he said at last, tasting poison on his tongue. “I am trapped here as you are. I am powerless to change anything and must watch while you lead me to the cliff so you can push me into the abyss. And if I remain, I am not allowed to complain, because it was my choice. Because you offered me a way out.” He shook his head, unable to look at her. He admired and despised her in the same breath. “That is cruel.”

“If you stopped pitying yourself and finally began using all that potential you are so terribly afraid of, perhaps you would not be so pathetically helpless! You are a damned mage. Start acting like one!” she snarled before sweeping from the room.

Will nearly abandoned everything then and there, packed his suitcases, and fled.

He would have, if he had not known somewhere deep inside that she was right.

Chapter 29

The October full moon was celebrated with a masquerade ball. For the first time, the guests revealed their true faces, their laughter sounding like the howls of animals, the scrape of shoes across marble like unsheathed claws.

Will watched them from his quiet balcony on the second floor, sipping his water and wishing it were alcohol. But tonight, he intended to remain alert.

A strange sound, like metal hitting metal, made him pause and glance over his shoulder. A black monstrosity approached through the dim corridor. A knight encased entirely in black steel, from the tip of his helmet to the buckles of his boots, strolled towards him. His attention rested so intensely on Will that he thought he could feel it like a touch, although the visor concealed the eyes.

Will recognized the man nonetheless, as though a cord had suddenly drawn taut between them, connecting his chest to the knight’s breastplate. There was only one man who could retain the grace of a dandy even in a suit of armor.

“Mr. Arcos.” Will leaned against the balustrade. Behind him, the drop stretched many meters below, and he could almost feel the heat of the ballroom guests against his bare back. Perhaps he had learned nothing after all. So exposed, he seemed almost to challenge the guests to cut him open and subjugate him with his own blood. But as Elodie had said, he was a mage, and he had a powerful ally.

“Mr. Frank.” Mr. Arcos stopped several paces away and looked Will over from head to toe. “An angel of vengeance.”

Will imagined himself through Mr. Arcos’s eyes. Against the red-lit abyss, his figure was made entirely of white and gold. Six wings fanned out behind him, like the angels that held up the Capitol’s skyscrapers, the tips of their white feathers dipped in golden powder. White leather straps crossed his bare chest, supporting the magnificent wings and allowing them to shift with every movement of his shoulder blades. Pearls had been woven into his silver hair, with more hanging from his ears and from the golden chains around his neck. His loose silk trousers sat low on his hips.

Will would have liked to be a better man, but he had chosen the costume out of spite. He wanted to remind the people of Bloodgrove where he came from, that he was not like them. Elodie had helped him, delighted by the idea.

He had not allowed himself to imagine how Mr. Arcos might react to him. But now, as he studied the expanse of exquisitely worked steel, his breath caught. Mr. Arcos was a nightmare made flesh, and Will wondered whether this was his true face after all—cold and impassive, forged in fire until no emotion remained.

“An angel of vengeance?” Will’s voice sounded far too unsteady.

Mr. Arcos hummed in agreement and strolled closer until he closed a steel claw around Will’s chin. The pointed tips pressed into his skin and forced his head back so the man could examine him more closely. It was too dark to see through the slits in the visor. Only the red glow from the dance floor reflected along its edges.

Will had no idea whether Mr. Arcos was once again drunk enough to permit himself such an intimate touch or whether he simply felt secure behind his mask.

Will melted anyway, savoring the hard grip.

“You remind me of the angels from the opera. Do you know the ones I mean? How your angels descended upon Bloodgrove, struck us down, and banished us to the hell in which we live today.”

“That is not what our angels are like,” Will managed, though the angle of his neck was becoming almost painful. “They brought progress upon their wings. They lifted us from the swamp in which you choose to wallow.”

“Is that what you think of us?” A gloved thumb stroked Will’s cheek, glittering with golden powder.