The Duchess of the Shallows (19 page)

"Have you seen her, then?" said one woman in a green-and-brown shimmering sheath. Her hair had been dyed black and done up in ropy strands so she resembled a marsh hag, a creature who crept out at night to steal the breath of small children.

"Lady Agalia?" replied her companion, who was equally hag-like in red, although under that costume she might have been as beautiful as Lorelei. "No, poor dear. I think she must be feeling under the weather."

"I'm hardly surprised. Her husband's costume is enough to make anyone feel ill. And that throne!" The two women cackled, sounding almost like real marsh hags.

"This food is gods-sent, though," said the red hag, taking a bite of herbed bread. Duchess smiled. "Speaking of the gods, have you found this Anassa of yours?"

The green hag lifted a flute of purple wine. "She's hardly mine, dear; in fact, I'm sure I don't know who she is. Curious that she'd dress so close to the real cult style, though. One might have thought she was an actual facet."

"That comes a bit close to heresy, don't you think?"

"I suppose. Though it's one thing to be a heretic of Anassa," the green hag replied, pointing with her glass at the baron, "and another to play Ventaris as a pompous, fat fool." They went off into another gale of laughter, and Duchess moved away before they noticed her eavesdropping. The ballroom was filling rapidly, and the costumes were many and varied. Here a wood imp challenged a water fairy to a drinking contest, and there an underdemon watched a ghost and a spirit dragon play some game involving coins flipped from bent elbows. Three goat-headed men were lustily attacking the roast Duchess had carried, while a dancing spider devoured the pear tarts as if they might suddenly vanish.

Duchess was so distracted by the array of costumes that she didn't notice the god of the moon until she crashed into him. Sar was only a lesser power, but he had enough heft to knock her inelegantly to the floor. Before Duchess could stammer out an apology, he reached out to help her back to her feet, and it was only then that she recognized Lysander. He looked amazing in a silver half-mask and a black robe that revealed more than it hid, but she was careful not to show she recognized him. Behind him was an older gentleman dressed in the pearly white costume of Sar's opposite, Sav. She assumed this was Stephan.

"My goodness, I'm sorry," Lysander was saying. He began dusting her off. "I'm afraid I've dirtied that lovely little dress, and before I've even had one drink." He turned halfway to Stephan. "If I'm to start knocking over young girls, I'd better get drunk first and have an excuse. Is that brandy over there from the Territories, do you think?" Stephan turned to look in that direction, and just like that Lysander slid his small tool kit into the pocket of her dress. The movement was so smooth Duchess barely felt it. Ventaris only knew how he'd smuggled the thing into the estate; even from here she could see that the door guards were subjecting the guests to careful scrutiny. Still no Brutes, she noticed, but she imagined Eusbius would want to keep them out of view, at least on this night.

"Pardons, m'lord," she replied. Part of her wanted to slip away to the kitchens before she attracted more attention, but something had hold of her. She placed one hand on Lysander's and the other over her heart. "Perhaps m'lord can make it up to me later." She flicked her eyes towards the staircase and made a wicked smile.

If Lysander's expression was gold, Stephan's was diamond, and more than worth everything she'd gone through today. She gave him a final wink and returned to the kitchen, where she found Malia just finishing up a tray for Lady Agalia. Marta was nowhere to be seen, and the boys who'd carried the food were still in the ballroom, carrying drinks, straightening costumes, and being ogled by the partnered and unaccompanied alike. For the first time since Duchess had arrived that day, the kitchen was quiet.

"Shall I take this up to the lady?" Duchess asked, trying not to let her tension show. Now that she had the lock picks, there was no reason to delay. She'd come for a dagger, and it was time to get it.

Malia nodded and handed her the tray. "Go upstairs and take the first door on the right. That's the lady's day room. But keep a civil tongue in your head, and don't stand about while she eats. She hates that. Just wait outside the door. If she's not there," she added, looking more kindly than she had all day, "you can watch the party from the balcony. The dancing will start soon, you'll like that." She shooed Duchess away and moved off to the pantry, muttering something about Ahmed.

Duchess returned to the ballroom, which was now thronged with costumed nobility and their guests. She craned her neck, looking for Lysander, and spied him on the dance floor. He and Stephan were dancing close together; scandalously close, if the cackling of the hags was any indication. A circle formed to watch them, and when the song ended, one voice soared above the applause and roars of approval.

"Simply marvelous, Stephan!" rang out a voice in the silence that followed. The speaker was a man dressed in purple, with his face and hands powdered white and his hair teased into a cloud. Duchess imagined he was supposed to be a spirit or revenant of some kind, but the effect made him look rather more like a plum tart topped in whipped cream. "And such a clever costume! Pairs are so hard to do well, aren't they? So difficult to pull off
believably
." Stephan began some mumbled response, but the man went on as if he'd heard nothing. "I wonder if your companion is as, ah,
untouched
, as the real Sar?" In the myths, Sar and Sav, though lovers, never fully came together and thus never consummated their affections. They chased each other eternally across the face of the moon, bringing darkness and light each in turn.

"Your Sar smells of the Shallows to me," tittered the woman on his arm, looking scarcely older than Duchess. She was dressed as a matching ghoul, although her tiara was clearly gold-painted tin and the fabric of her costume was not nearly as fine. "And I doubt he's a virgin." She looked at Lysander disdainfully. "
Vir-gin
. You do know what a virgin is, don't you sweetie?"

From the way she said
sweetie
Duchess sensed she was not as highborn as the man whose arm she held, and Lysander must have guessed the same. "Indeed I do know what a virgin is, my lady," he replied gaily. "And if
you
find yourself confused, I suggest you look in a mirror in, say … twenty years."

There was a moment of shocked silence, and then the gathered crowd, including the revenant, burst into gales of laughter. The ghoul-woman shot Lysander a glare of pure rage, but before she could reply the musicians struck up a tune and the dancing resumed. Duchess marveled at Lysander's cleverness; someone of his station could never openly mock a noble, but a common companion was fair game.

She caught his eye and motioned faintly towards the stairs, but she dared make no clearer signal, uncertain in this crowd who might be watching. In response, Lysander leaned into Stephan's ear and whispered something. Stephan laughed, and they approached a young lady dressed as a minor sea goddess on the edge of the crowd. Each taking one hand, they spun her in a circle, no longer a duo but a trio. They danced for a bit before Lysander slipped away, leaving Stephan and his new partner to continue on their own. Then he threaded his way towards her, snatching a piece of roast from the food tables as he passed. Duchess watched him admiringly; no one would guess he was moving purposefully towards
her. It was the first time she'd seen Lysander in a situation like this, and he was better than she'd expected. She had set down the tray and was pretending to arrange the tableware Malia had given her, and Lysander fiddled with his mask. For the moment, they had relative privacy.

"I'm heading upstairs," she said, not looking at him. "Dinner for the lady. I'm going to try sneaking to where they caught Brenn, near the third floor." She frowned at the tray as if vexed. "I might need a distraction. Meet me upstairs in a few minutes." She broke off as a cat spirit approached, and Lysander turned casually away to pick at the remains of the roast. He gave no sign that he had heard her, but she knew he'd gotten every word. He snatched a bottle of wine from a table and slipped into the crowd with the practiced ease of someone who attended parties for a living.

* * *

The stairs were wide and richly carpeted, and she seemed to climb forever to reach the second floor. The whole house seemed centered on the ballroom, and almost the entire second-floor hallway overlooked it. From what Brenn had told Lysander, she'd need to turn right and go all the way around, past two balconies, to reach the stairs that led to the third floor and the baron's gallery. She felt a thrill of fear at the thought of the guards who lurked upstairs. They'd nearly drowned the last trespasser, who was an invited guest; what would they do to a kitchen girl turned thief? She pushed the thoughts from her mind and followed Malia's directions to Agalia's day room, which she would have to pass anyway to get to the third floor. Hopefully, the lady would have no need of her during dinner, which would give Duchess that much more time to steal the dagger and make off before the alarm was raised.

Malia would no doubt have warned her to go directly to the day room, but Duchess had no intention of heading directly anywhere. She scouted the halls as far as she dared in either direction, pasting a confused look on her face as if lost. She saw neither guards nor guests, but from what Lysander told her, by the party's end there would be people hanging drunk from the balconies and chandelier. She hoped to be well away by that time. She supposed that a real member of the Grey would have tried the doors and pilfered the rooms, but she was terrified of discovery. Better to stick to the plan; she was taking risk enough as it was.

As she approached the door to the day room, she heard the murmur of low conversation from a balcony around the corner and pulled up short. A few daring guests, most likely evaluating the structural integrity of the balustrade for later acrobatics. If they didn't leave soon she'd have to pass them when she moved to the third floor. She'd leave the meal for Agalia before she tried it, so she wouldn't have to worry about rattling the tray as she sneaked by.

The day room was elegant in a simple way, with paintings of woodland scenes, a thick carpet that depicted entwined roses, and warm wooden paneling. There were more tall windows here, black with night, a large hearth containing a bright fire, and a scattering of chairs, sofas and small tables. One of these tables was outfitted with a white cloth and a small bell, for her use to signal the lady that her meal had arrived. A closed door next to the hearth no doubt gave access to the lady's personal chambers.
Duchess purposefully made a bit of noise as she placed the tray on the covered table, then lightly rang the bell.
Per Malia's instructions, she did not linger but slipped back into the hall and waited a few moments, listening at the door. There was no sign that Agalia had entered the day room, and Duchess dared to hope that the lady was napping or disinclined to eat. In either case, it was time to move.

The speakers were still on the balcony, so she crept quietly along, hoping to slip by unnoticed. Anyone who lived in the Shallows knew how to move quietly when necessary, and Duchess was better than most, so she was reasonably confident her passage would go unmarked. She kept an eye on the balcony as she passed and saw there were two people there, standing at the balustrade. One was the young man in the fox spirit costume, leaning over the rail, looking down on the party below.
Dorian, the baron's stepson, she imagined. She tried to make out if he was as beautiful as Lorelei had claimed, but under the mask he could have been a young god or a cave troll.
His hair was as glorious as Lysander's, that much she could plainly see.

The woman was tall and graceful and wore a pale blue dress with a plunging neckline that revealed enough to make Duchess feel like a breastless girl. She looked like a facet of Anassa, most likely the same one the hags had discussed, although her mask was different than those she had seen on the priestesses. Their masks had only a right eye, whereas this woman’s mask had also a left, and above them both spread a fan of peacock feathers. Duchess had never heard a real facet speak, but this one laughed and chatted freely, and in her long, delicate hand she held a flute of wine.

"I can't believe my mother married that toad," said the fox spirit.

"Why did she?" Anassa's voice was richly toned, and hinted at thinly veiled amusement. She toyed with the wine glass in her hand, and Duchess took the opportunity to creep along. A few more feet and she'd be safely past.

The man sounded not sullen but pained, as if he did not mind the question but hated the answer. "Everyone knows why. We needed the money. Father left us with next to nothing, and it was either this or take up a trade." Duchess was less than sympathetic, given how she had spent the last eight years.

"Why do you stay, then? You're a man grown, you needn't have come to the city."

"You ask bold questions, my lady, I must say." He turned from the balcony to face her. Duchess froze, but he was focused only on the facet, if that was what she was. "I have never known anyone like you. No, I needn't have come, but I've always wanted to live in the city, and at the time I thought it might be worth it." He shrugged and turned back to the railing, and Duchess edged forward. "I still wonder."

Duchess had very nearly slipped past when the woman turned her head and looked straight at her, unsurprised, as if she had expected to find a serving girl sneaking about. Duchess' heart leaped; would the woman call her out, summon a guard? She stood stock-still, terrified, pinned by the masked woman's stare.

The woman spoke to Dorian, all the while looking directly at Duchess. "So then you use him, yes? As he uses your mother, and as she uses him in turn. Sometimes we use tools, and sometimes we
are
tools. There is no shame in it, not in Rodaas." She laughed, and then raised the glass to Duchess in a toast. "In this city we are all pieces moved by another hand. All that matters is how far across the board we go." Duchess started; hadn’t Minette said something similar? Dorian did not reply, and after a sip from the glass Anassa turned her back on Duchess and joined him at the balustrade. The spell seemed broken, and Duchess moved along, unnerved. The woman had not raised the alarm, but she might change her mind. It was time to get that dagger and get out before anything else went wrong.