We strolled off through the ball, leaving our improbable glass tower behind us. I tried without much success to force my muscles to relax, my speeding heart to slow down. Our fellow revellers parted before us, plumed hats dipping and mountainous skirts swaying, giving way to the combined presence of a Witch Lord and a Cornaro. The sea of fantastical gowns and rainbow-hued jackets closed again behind us with a growing murmur, passed behind fluttering fans and discreetly lifted palms, as gossip ran through the crowd faster than spilled wine.
I know, I wanted to tell them. I’m fairly shocked, myself.
“What shall we talk about?” I asked. “War and diplomacy? Magical theory? That elderly gentleman’s outrageous codpiece?”
Kathe glanced at the garment in question and then lifted a hand to cover a cough. “Well, that’s … ambitious. But no, I have an idea. Let’s play another game. We’ll take turns saying two things about ourselves, one truth and one lie. The other person has to guess which is which.”
I supposed it was too much to hope he’d want to talk about magical theory. “I think my cousins played this game in Callamorne when we were younger,” I said. It had usually ended with them punching each other.
“It’s an old Vaskandran game.” Kathe stopped by a broad, round column of caramel-veined marble, the first of a row of them holding up the vast and distant ceiling of the main hall.
This was the pounding heart of the celebration. Half the Assembly seemed to be packed into the center of the great room, swirling on the dance floor in ensembles themed after everything from a basket of fruit (the bodice appeared to be trimmed with real grapes) to a fiery phoenix (complete with a fluttering train of scarlet and gold ribbons). The troupe of musicians played with more than enough life and passion to keep everyone dancing; I had little doubt they’d win a patronage from their efforts tonight. Chairs and small tables lined the edges of the room, populated by those exhausted from dancing or more inclined toward conversation, and dozens of servers kept up an efficient circuit of the room with trays of food and drink. This spot Kathe had chosen might well be the quietest in the main ballroom: not close enough to the center to get swept up in the dancing, but distanced enough from the chairs to avoid interruption by a well-meaning acquaintance seeking to join us.
He leaned against the column, long and wiry, his feathered cloak ruffling up around his shoulders. “I’ll begin.”
“All right.” I stepped in closer, to hear him better over the murmuring crowd. It wasn’t often one got the chance to learn personal details about a Witch Lord, after all.
“Let’s see …” His face lit with an idea. “I don’t have any brothers. I love my brothers.”
“The first must be the lie, and the second the truth,” I said immediately. “You do have brothers, and you love them. After all, you can’t fail to love brothers you don’t possess.”
Kathe clicked his tongue, a scolding sound. “Not quite. I feel no love for my dead brothers, despite no longer having them. Your turn.”
I stared at his composed face, his mocking half smile, and his unsettling yellow-ringed eyes. His irises were gray beneath the mage mark, almost pale enough to fade into the whites and disappear.
Was he such a monster he’d felt no affection for the brothers he’d lost? Or had they been the monsters, and he was well rid of them? For all I knew, baby Witch Lords murdered each other in the cradle to determine who would inherit their parents’ domain.
“I don’t suppose you’ll explain that further?” I asked.
He cocked his head. “That depends. Do you want to fully explain all of your answers?”
“Perhaps not.” I swallowed. “All right, my turn. I, ah …” Curse it, I had to think of something clever. “I never met my father’s father. I’ve never seen my father’s father.”
Kathe raised his brows. “Unless you’re older than you look, the first must be the lie. I happen to know your paternal grandfather died when your father was a child. How is it that you’ve seen him?”
My spine prickled. It wasn’t entirely strange someone might know about my grandfather, since he after all had become King of Callamorne when he married my grandmother. But Kathe had responded so quickly, without thinking through the chain of royal lineages and political marriages to get there, as if the knowledge had already been at the forefront of his mind.
This game was far less creepy when I played it with my cousins.
“His portrait,” I said. “I see it every time I visit my grandmother.”
“Of course.” Kathe nodded. “You have so much art in the Empire. I admit I’m jealous. Very well, my turn.”
He reached out and snagged a little cake from a passing tray without looking; the server, who hadn’t seen him, jumped in surprise and scuttled off through the crowd, eyes wide. It seemed word had passed among the servants about the Witch Lord.
If Kathe noticed, he didn’t care. “Let’s see,” he said. “Here you go: I don’t hold grudges. I take care of my own.”
He popped the cake in his mouth and waited, eyes sparkling, for my response.
I gave it more thought this time. The Raverran assumption was that Witch Lords cared for no one and abused their own people. That was certainly true of Ruven, the only other Vaskandran royalty I knew. And Kathe seemed too impulsive to nurse a steady grudge. But the way he’d spoken about the Lady of Thorns suggested bad blood between them and a certain intensity lurked in the shadows of his eyes, belying his light tone and casual stance.
“I think you do hold grudges,” I said.
He chuckled. “All crows do. Well done. Your turn.”
I tried to focus, over the laughter and chatter and music around me. The lady with the finches in her hair passed by, coiffure twittering; on the dance floor, I spied Zaira dancing a gavotte with a young baron.
This game mattered. If I lost Kathe’s interest, I might lose his alliance. But everything I could think of was either too boring (I prefer Muscati’s theories of artifice to Da Bardi’s; I like coffee) or too easy to guess (I’ve killed a man with my hands; I’ve killed a man with a word). It was hard to think with him watching me, the corner of his mouth crooked with amusement.
There was one interesting detail about me he might not guess, but it risked revealing a secret. He might be my ally for now, but I had no desire for him to know my greatest weakness.
He raised an eyebrow. “Well?”
One thing was already clear. With Kathe, if I played it safe, I lost the game.
“I was poisoned earlier tonight,” I said. “There’s poison in my veins right now.”
He lifted his eyebrows. “You lead a dramatic life, I see.”
“The Serene City is many things, but never dull. Do you have a guess?”
He tilted his head. “You were poisoned, but got a cure. The second statement is the lie.”
“No.”
He blinked. “No?”
“You guessed wrong.” I licked my dry lips. “Your turn.”
Kathe straightened from his casual slouch against the pillar, a puzzled frown pinching his brows, as if I were a strange new creature and he couldn’t decide whether I might be dangerous or perhaps edible. “Curious,” he said. “I don’t suppose you’re going to explain.”