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And one of her very last. She tried not to think about that.

“A masked gala seems so very whimsical for Filomara, do you not agree?” Melissande asked as she adjusted a confection of lace and blue velvet over her face. The holes were so large that you could clearly make out the shape and color of her eyes, which pretty much ruined any chance she had of keeping her identity a secret. She had also chosen to wear a dress of dark blue—her favorite color—in a distinctively Coziquela style. Anyone who had ever met her would instantly know who she was. Corene figured that was the point.

“I do agree!” exclaimed Liramelli, who had gone to some trouble to disguise herself. Her delicate mask was formed of silk and feathers, and it covered her whole face, with only small slits in places to allow her to see and breathe. She had even wrapped a dark scarf over her fair hair and commissioned high-heeled shoes so that people wouldn’t recognize her by her height or coloring. “Yesterday I heard Garameno and Jiramondi mocking the whole idea of it—saying that because Steff was the unknown heir, everybody else had to arrive in disguise. That’s much more subtle than Filomara usually is.”

“Maybe it wasn’t her idea,” Corene suggested. She stood in front of the mirror, making minute adjustments to her costume. Unlike Melissande, she wanted to blend in, so she had worn traditional Malinquese colors and fabrics, just cut in a looser and more fashionable style. Her jacket and trousers were deep gray, shot through with bits of crimson; her mask was attached to a hood that covered her telltale red hair.

“It might have been Lorian’s idea,” Liramelli said doubtfully. “I know he doesn’t seem like a very
festive
person, but he’s very proprietary about the palace. Anytime Filomara entertains on a grand scale, he feels like it’s a reflection of him personally, and so he often picks the food and the decorations.”

“Then I shall have to find him tonight and kiss his dour face,” Melissande said. The idea made them all burst into laughter.

Though if anyone would kiss Lorian and find the experience interesting, Corene thought, it would be Melissande.

Finally they were ready—finally the windows showed them dark skies above and tantalizing firelit shapes below—finally it was time for the dinner that would precede the gala. Corene followed Melissande and Liramelli into the hallway, to find Steff, Foley, and Nelson already gathered. Heedless of their party clothes, they were seated on the floor and playing a three-handed game of penta.

“The sweela prime is a cheater,” Foley remarked as he gathered the cards and tossed them inside his room.

Nelson laughed and came to his feet. “It’s not my fault I can tell when you’re excited about a hand and when you’re bluffing,” he said.

“I would so much like to have that ability!” Melissande exclaimed. “To know when someone is being truthful or telling a lie.”

“He has other skills you’d like just as much,” Corene said. She was trying not to stare at Foley when he stood up. She hadn’t realized that he, too, would dress in party finery, but she supposed that would allow him to trail closely behind her all night without anyone knowing who he was. In addition to the well-tailored Malinquese jacket and trousers, he’d acquired a quarter-face mask, which was just now dangling around his neck, ready to be tied in place. The dark colors and severe style suited him immensely. He looked taller, more powerful, a little dangerous. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Melissande appraise him and then look Corene’s way with a smile. Corene refused to look directly in the other girl’s direction.

“What kind of skills?” Liramelli asked.

“He can control fire.”

“Really? Oh, that
is
most impressive,” Melissande said. She held out her hands, clad in lace gloves so sheer they were scarcely more than blue threads tied around her palms. “Show me. Put a flame at my fingertips.”

Nelson grinned. “I can’t call fire from nowhere,” he said. “I can just make it behave.”

“Even in Malinqua?” Steff asked. “For some reason I always thought the powers of the primes didn’t extend beyond the Welchin border.”

Nelson’s grin widened. “Well, I haven’t had much chance to experiment since I set foot in Palminera,” he drawled, making Corene instantly suspect that he had. “But I think I could do a trick or two if I needed to.”

“That might make the party even more exciting,” Melissande said.

Nelson took her arm and set off down the hall. “I’ll see what I can do.”

A buffet dinner was laid out in an oppressively ornate dining hall that Corene had not been in the whole time she’d been in Malinqua. Maybe two hundred people were inside, milling aimlessly around. These were the very elite of Malinquese society, Corene knew—the titled nobles, the wealthy landowners, the political darlings—reveling in the privilege of being invited to this most exclusive of events. Simultaneous celebrations were going on all over the city this night, but the
very finest food, music, and entertainment would be found here at the palace, and this was the place where
everyone
wanted to be.

Unfortunately, Corene had only met a handful of them during her stay, and the disguises prevented her from recognizing any of them now. Five minutes after she entered the room, she took an unwary step away from her own party and instantly lost track of Nelson and the others. She stood there a moment, wondering what she should do. A tap on her shoulder made her turn around hopefully to find Jiramondi right behind her. His own mask was barely a strip of silk across his eyes, and he was dressed in his usual style, so it wasn’t hard to recognize him.

“You don’t have to tell me if I’m right, but you look like the Welchin princess,” he greeted her. “And you look a little lost.”

“Coming to a dinner in disguise sounded much more fun before I thought about walking into a room full of strangers,” she said. “How did you know it was me?”

He grinned. “I recognized Foley behind you.”

That made her laugh. “So what’s the procedure here? I see food and I see tables, but it doesn’t look like there are formal seating arrangements.”

“No, since we’re all in disguise, it would ruin the fun to know who your tablemates are,” Jiramondi explained. “You’re supposed to fill your plate at the buffet then sit down next to some random stranger and start flirting madly.”

“You don’t sound particularly pleased by the notion.”

“I hate events like this,” he said. “Bad enough when I can see people’s faces and gauge how they react to me. But here! Everyone a potential foe and no way of knowing! It’s awful.”

She glanced around the room. “I don’t see Garameno.”

“No, he hates masked dinners even more than I do. Because, of course, he
can’t
blend in. He’ll come down later for the outdoor festivities, though.”

“When do those start?”

“Soon,” he said, taking her arm. He guided her toward a sideboard piled with dozens of appetizing dishes. “So let’s eat something now and recruit our strength.”

They’d finished their first plates of food and were considering returning to the buffet for more when there was a huge
boom
from outside the palace. Even before its reverberations faded, people were laughing and jumping to their feet, streaming toward the doors.

“Now we move to the courtyard,” Jiramondi said. “Though there will be food available inside all night, and music in two of the salons, for people who want to come in and rest.”

“Excellent,” she said. “Let’s go explore the marvels outside.”

Indeed, the courtyard outside the palace had been transformed into a wonderland, far more magical than it had appeared yesterday when all the underlying supports were visible. Strolling through the displays, her hand tucked inside Jiramondi’s elbow, Corene couldn’t stop exclaiming at the lovely sights. Strings of white lights were wrapped around shrubs, trees, ornamental stands, the false walls of the replica labyrinth—everything—throwing the whole area under a spell of enchantment. In one bend of the maze, performers juggled lit torches and waltzed with mannequins made of fire. In another, acrobats dangled from invisible wires, appearing to somersault and pirouette above the crowd with only air to support them. The boats sailing on the counterfeit sea were bedecked with colorful lanterns that made it seem as if the water was dancing with fairy lights.

“This is exquisite!” Corene said.

“Much more appealing than I thought it would be when it was first described to me,” Jiramondi agreed.

She looked over her shoulder to make sure Foley was getting a chance to enjoy all the delights. “Isn’t this amazing?”

“Most impressive,” he replied.

She turned her attention back to the vista before her and declared, “I want to see
everything
.”

They continued on their perambulations, seeing new wonders at every bend in the path: the woman twisting her body into impossible shapes, the man making scarves and birds and even a child disappear and reappear at will, the couple using some kind of glittering fire to paint streaks of color in the air. As they moved from station to station, they were serenaded by different musicians, each one far enough from the others that their offerings did not overlap. Here were three young
girls singing in high sweet harmony; here, five men producing amazing sounds from strings and bows. Corene was mesmerized by the circle of drummers, their hands flying with unbelievable speed over the taut skin of their instruments, their insistent rhythms vying with her heart for the pace that would drive her pulse.

Everywhere they went, someone recognized Jiramondi and stopped to pull him aside. Usually Corene would go on a few paces without him, then stand transfixed at the next sight until he caught up. Foley always followed a few steps behind, never close enough for her to draw him into conversation. While Corene watched the drummers, Jiramondi got caught up in a much longer discussion, but she didn’t mind. She thought she might just stand here and listen for the rest of the night.

“It’s remarkable, isn’t it?” said a voice over her shoulder, and she turned with an automatic smile. The man standing behind her was tall and broad-shouldered, but that was about all she could tell, since any distinguishing features were hidden behind a black mask, black hood, and close-fitting black clothing. He even wore gloves to disguise his hands. She knew him, though; she couldn’t place his voice, but she was certain she’d heard it before.

“I’ve never heard anything like them. Are they from Malinqua?”

“Originally from Berringey, I believe, though living in Palminera now. I heard that the empress found them in the Little Islands.”

“Where all the most interesting items are found.”

He smiled, the whiteness of his teeth breaking the perfect darkness of the mask. “Said by someone not native to this country.”

She laughed. “What gave me away? The fact that after all these ninedays, I still can’t speak the language very well?”

“That was only one factor,” he said, declining to elaborate. “Are you enjoying yourself?”

“Much more than I expected to. Are you?”

“Much more than I expected to,” he echoed. “The empress entertains so rarely—and cares so little about ostentation—that I always expect her celebrations to be stingy and small. But this is so openhanded and expansive that I almost find myself wondering where I am.”

His patterns of speech were teasingly familiar and, for a minute, she thought she could identify him.
Greggorio,
she almost said aloud.
But that wasn’t right. This man had a similar build, but he didn’t move with Greggorio’s innate grace. And he offered observations that would never have occurred to Greggorio at all.

“I suppose that’s the point of a masked event—to make you wonder where you are and who you are and who everyone else is,” she responded. “To make you question the things you thought you knew.”

“An exercise we should all be engaged in all the time anyway,” he said. “Complacency has killed more men than combat.”

It sounded like something Nelson would say. But she was certain this wasn’t the sweela prime.

“I try not to take things for granted,” she said, scanning his covered face, trying to read some recognizable pattern under the opaque fabric.

“It is the human tendency,” he said. “The only ones who are able to overcome it are those who live very precarious lives.”

“As you do?” she asked.

The smile again, briefer this time. “In the extreme.”

She couldn’t think of an answer to that, but she didn’t have to, because Jiramondi joined them then, shaking his head. “No, I
don’t
know how much the empress spent on this extravagant event and if it signals her intention to name Steffanolo as her heir,” he said, clearly still irritated by his most recent conversation. “And if I
did
know either of those things, I wouldn’t share the information with you. Oh. Hello there. Didn’t see you at first.”

This last was directed at the man in the black mask, who nodded at Jiramondi and bowed to Corene. “Enjoy the rest of your evening,” he said, and glided away into darkness.

“Who was that?” Jiramondi asked.

“I couldn’t tell. I thought you might know.”

Jiramondi shook his head, then shrugged. “Mysterious strangers taking bold liberties,” he said. “Another thing to love about a masked gala.”

That made her giggle. She held out her hand and he hooked his elbow around it. “So let’s keep walking and see what else we find.”

They found the fountain that flowed with fiery liqueur—flames dancing on top of the cups of liquid that were being handed out by very careful servants. They found a tiny cottage built entirely of flowers, though they declined to drop on their knees and crawl through it, as
many of the younger guests were doing. They found a man sculpting images from ice and a woman playing a flute and a troupe of actors performing scenes from well-known comedic productions.

They also found another half dozen people who wanted to draw Jiramondi aside and share an observation or air a grievance. Corene guessed he was wishing he’d taken more trouble to disguise himself.
Maybe I’ll suggest that he go back to his quarters and find a hat or a hood that shadows his face,
she thought. But when she looked around to check on him, she couldn’t find him anywhere. The motion of the crowd had pulled her too far away from him, or his latest petitioner had dragged him to some shadowy spot to have an even more private conversation.