Page 50

The words dhampir and courtesan circled Elarian. The first one reviled her—was proof of everything sacred the vampires had twisted with their accursed hunger. And the second one…Why did it bring a strange thrill to feel the word resting upon her lips?

Elarian sat on the soft, velvet cushion padding the boudoir chair, rubbing her temples as she stared at the letter. Clearly, more than one knife sought to bury itself in Lucan’s heart. Still, she couldn’t count on vampiric politics to end his bloody reign. Not when she had hunted him for nearly a century.

And what better way to ensure her silver found his heart than to lull him into safety dressed as the very thing that had been made to serve him?

Elarian refused to acknowledge what happened in the abandoned chapel the day before.

eighteen

Amaranth Flowers

Lucan prized his patience above every virtue he still possessed from his youth. It had always been a sharper weapon than any blade.

But today, he struggled to contain his composure. The final masquerade preparations seemed to drag on for hours—Anileta was nowhere to be found, and her absence required greater intervention from Lucan than he wished to give. He grumbled as he tasted the bloodwine offerings and chose the servants who would attend the court that evening. Every question grated on his nerves, mind worn thin from weeks of dwelling upon the wild girl in the Evermist and the blade she had become.

At last, Senna came to prepare him for the festivities.

And, if he guessed correctly, his final confrontation with Elarian.

He shivered at the thought.

“Your Highness?”

Lucan blinked. Senna stood waiting beside an open wardrobe, arms already full of embroidered coats. Black. Ivory. Crimson. Deep violet trimmed in gold. The countess had insisted upon the latter months ago, claiming it better suited the evening she had envisioned.

“Not that one,” Lucan said at once, gesturing toward the purple coat.

Senna quietly returned it without question.

“Black.” Lucan took a step forward and held out his arms. “The one with silver. I’m not certain how much longer I can stand to look at gold.”

At that, Senna laughed darkly. “It is a wonder our master’s golden home does not burn his eyes.”

Lucan smiled but did not reply.

Returning to the wardrobe, Senna hung the rejected coats and selected a crisp black one from the very back. Silver threading formed thick swirling patterns over the collar and down the left breast pocket, almost like the limbs of intertwined trees. Turning, Senna set it on the back of the dressing chair. It smelled faintly of cedar and some flower Lucan had forgotten the name of long ago.

After exchanging his tunic and pants for fresh ones—a creamy off-white and deep black—Senna shrugged the coat over Lucan’s shoulders. Practiced hands smoothed the wrinkles around the edges of the silver embroidery.

“The cuffs, sir?”

Lucan regarded the two options Senna presented.

“Anything but those new emerald ones,” he said with a dismissive wave. The man bowed, then quickly sorted through the open drawers until he found a pair of golden cufflinks shaped like tree leaves dotted with tiny sapphires.

Senna finished fastening the final cuff and stepped back. Lucan glanced absently at the blue gemstones glinting against his sleeve.

“Now all that remains is the matter of the mask. The countess sug—”

“It won’t be that one.”

“Then that leaves two options, sir.”

Senna disappeared into an adjoining closet before returning with two masks.

One gleamed beneath the witchlights, gilded filigree crawling across polished ivory—emeralds clustered around the eyes. Sharp horns adorned the full-face mask, twisting into tall spires tipped with hundreds of small rubies. A short snout protruded from the center—a twisted fey creature born of Anileta’s mind.

The second was carved from black lacquer that seemed to drink in the light around it. Delicate bands of cobalt enamel wound across the mask, curling with no distinct pattern and sometimes fanning out like limbs of a tree. Long ribbons of pale rose silk hung from its temples, trimmed with deep crimson.