Zaira glanced across the ballroom to where Marcello stood, talking business with one of the soldiers on duty. “Have you told Captain Loverboy yet?”
My ears warmed. “It would hardly be appropriate to run and tell him directly after accepting the Crow Lord’s courtship proposal. And besides, Marcello and I aren’t … Well, he’s only a friend.”
Zaira delivered me a witheringly skeptical look.
“All right,” I admitted, grimacing. “I’m putting it off.”
“He’s not going to like it.”
“Well, we were never courting, so he doesn’t have to,” I snapped. “I told him we couldn’t court for precisely this reason. It’s not my fault if he didn’t listen.”
Zaira’s face spread to a knowing grin. “Oh, I don’t see how he could ever have gotten the wrong idea, given how you keep giving him these long meaningful glances and staring after him like a moon-eyed maiden.”
Now my entire face burned. “I shouldn’t be doing that.”
“But you dooooooooo,” Zaira sang.
At that moment, like a gift from the Graces, Terika appeared through the crowd.
She wore a gown in all the colors of the sea, and a crown of shells and pearls sat on her honey-brown hair. Her Falconer, Lienne, escorted her, somehow resembling an indulgent aunt even in her uniform; few would guess she could best most of the Mews with a rapier. Terika’s eyes sparkled with mischief as she laughed at something Lienne said.
Zaira stared at her as if she’d never seen her before. “Hells have mercy. We need to take her to more fancy parties.”
“That can be arranged.” I didn’t try to rein in my smile; this was exactly why I’d gotten Terika an invitation. “You should ask her to dance.”
Zaira glared at me. “Why would I do that?”
I blinked. “Aren’t you courting?”
“No,” Zaira said. “What made you think we were courting?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” I tapped my chin. “You’re together all the time. You flirt shamelessly. You like each other a great deal. You were just staring at her like she was the Grace of Love incarnate …”
“You can be friends with someone and like how they look and flirt with them and not be courting.”
“I suppose.” It seemed best to concede the point, given what I’d just said about Marcello. “But why? I’m fairly certain she wants to court you.”
Zaira scowled. “Because we’re Falcons, you idiot.”
I stared at her blankly.
Zaira threw up her hands. “Because we don’t have our own lives, or our own futures. Because I’ll be damned to the Nine Hells before I tie myself to the Mews that way. Maybe even because you might have noticed that everyone I care about tends to burn to death.”
“Not anymore,” I said softly.
Zaira turned her wrist; the red crystals gleamed in the golden wirework of her jess like beads of blood. “True. Not anymore. That’s the one good thing about this cursed chain you gave me.”
“I can’t say you’re wrong about the difficulties,” I admitted. “But she cares about you.”
Zaira groaned. “Feelings again. You know my opinion on feelings.”
I nudged Zaira’s ribs. “She’s beautiful. And smart. And funny. And puts up with you, which has to be a rare quality.”
“She’s too good for me,” Zaira said dourly.
“She’s also coming up behind you.”
Zaira spun to face Terika, her back rigid, petals fluttering as her skirts swirled.
“Zaira!” Terika greeted her gleefully. “Did you see the Marquis of Valisia’s doublet? His entire chest is on display, down to his navel, and I swear he’s oiled it.”
Zaira glanced around. “Oh, I can’t miss that. Where?”
“He was dancing with Lady Brame, last I saw him.”
Zaira cleared her throat. “If the view on the dance floor is that good, I suppose we’d better go take a closer look.”
Terika laughed. “I thought you’d never ask. Come on!”
She grabbed Zaira’s hand and pulled her off toward the dance floor, grinning. Zaira threw one last glare over her shoulder at me that sent a message clear as a printed page: If you say anything, I will set you on fire.
I waved, laughing, and watched them for a moment, a smile stretching my cheeks. Zaira didn’t know any courtly dances, but she didn’t seem to care much either. Their skirts spun together in a mesmerizing swirl of colors, and with each little touch Zaira’s steely guard visibly relaxed.
She made bawdy comments about people we saw in the street all the time, and flirted with whole crowds at once at parties; but with Terika, Zaira seemed almost shy. I accepted a glass of wine from a passing tray and lifted it in a toast, silently wishing Terika luck.
Then the air around me seemed to go warm and soft, and I suddenly became aware of Marcello at my side.
“They’re good for each other,” he murmured, smiling across the ballroom at the two Falcons.
He stood close enough that in another world, where my only consideration for courtship was how much I liked a man, I could have snaked an arm around his waist.
“They are,” I agreed. But the peace of the moment was gone. Dread of what I had to tell him sat in my stomach like a stone.
He turned to face me, lifting wistful eyebrows. “I don’t suppose we could join them? Or have you still not gotten in your requisite number of politically mandated prior dances?”
“Marcello,” I blurted, “I’m courting a Witch Lord.”
He blinked. “What?”
Grace of Love forgive me. Those eyes. “It’s political, of course. It just happened. I … I’m sorry.”
His face hardened from bewilderment to anger. “We can’t let them do this to you. Who arranged this madness?”
“I did.” Too many people pressed around us, skirts rustling, glasses clinking, forced laughter rising to the frescoed ceiling in the shadows above. I dropped my voice until I wasn’t sure he could hear it, between the noise of the crowd and the faint tinkling music of my shell pendant. “Marcello, I set up the courtship. To help win the war, or perhaps even avoid it. It was my decision.”
He stared uncomprehendingly. “With a Witch Lord? But Amalia, they’re mad tyrants! Why would you do that?”
This was going to be as hard as I’d thought. I grabbed a couple of wineglasses from a passing tray, shoved one into his hand, and steered him by the elbow to the least crowded corner I could find. No one stared openly, but I could feel eyes on us. I opened a wider space between us.
“This is how I can fight,” I told him, my voice low and urgent. “This is a weapon in my arsenal, to protect Raverra and all the Serene Empire. I’m doing it to save lives, Marcello.”
“But … Courtship …” He took a swallow of wine, then glowered at his glass. “I’m used to the idea I might have to kill an adversary to protect the Empire. It seems worse, somehow, to have to kiss one.”
“It’s for show, to present a sign of alliance to the Witch Lords preparing to invade us. I doubt there’ll be actual kissing involved.”