Total pages in book: 222
Estimated words: 210715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1054(@200wpm)___ 843(@250wpm)___ 702(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 210715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1054(@200wpm)___ 843(@250wpm)___ 702(@300wpm)
“Thank you, Lady Maggie,” my escort murmured.
When the older knight had asked me for my name as he reviewed my invitation, I had introduced myself as Marigold.
The guard raised his head. The light from the ballroom illuminated his features. His skin was rich brown, his dark hair was cut short, and his eyes were light gray. Matheo.
How was he here? Why?
“Are you all right?” I squeezed his arm.
“I’m well,” he told me. “I’ve been watching you. I’ve met Tillmar.”
He’s been farseeing to keep an eye on me. How did he know who I was? Never mind, that wasn’t important right now. “The warning notes! That was you.”
“Yes.”
He’d been trying to help this entire time.
“Hreban doesn’t know who you are or what you look like,” Matheo murmured. “He thinks the Butcher took a noblewoman off the street to satisfy his urges and her family rescued her, killing him. Lord and Lady Bors visited him and threatened him over Velpor’s death. He knows the Conquerors are watching him, and he’s wary. He still wants to silence you, but he will bide his time.”
“You mustn’t escort the Sun Margrave on the day of the High Court. There will be a killer . . .”
“I know,” he said. “That’s why I have to do it. It’s my duty to keep the Sun Margrave safe.”
“Matheo—”
“My father would not want me to run. I will do what I must. It is my responsibility.”
Ahead, the ballroom glittered, framed by the arched doorway. We had run out of hallway.
“Matheo . . .”
“Thank you, from the bottom of my heart,” he whispered. “I will be forever grateful.”
He stepped aside, bowed, turned, and walked back the way he came.
Damn it.
Another person appeared at the far end of the hallway, escorted by a different guard. I had to go into the room, or I would cause a traffic jam.
I took a deep breath and strode forward, quiet, unassuming, slipping into the ballroom in anonymous silence, just another noble in a lovely dress. In front of me, bright light spilled onto the crowd from enchanted chandeliers: men in their best doublets, women in gowns of every color, hair ornaments glinting, jewels shining, voices murmuring to the echoes of the fading music. Some people wore their crests in plain view, like me. Others didn’t bother because they were well known.
The last notes of a fast melody faded out. The opening dance had just ended. Perfect.
The who’s who of Rellas mingled around me. The ocean of monsters, Everard murmured in my memory. Truer words had never been spoken. In these stormy waters, I was prey. I needed to get my thirty seconds of spotlight out of the way and then I would fade into the background.
The music had died. The next dance would begin in ten minutes.
I took a deep breath and stepped forward to the front of the gathering loosely ringing the dance floor. The floor didn’t crack under my feet and swallow me up. So far so good.
I scanned people’s faces. Where is he?
A clump of red and silver—Wynand Bors holding court directly across from me. He was easy to spot. He stood five foot five, but he weighed about two hundred pounds, all of it bone, sinew, and muscle. He was enormously strong, and he’d been known to pick up taller opponents in full armor and throw them if they pissed him off enough. His doublet mimicked armor, as if his tailor had tried to reproduce a cuirass with cloth and leather. A bright red cloak dripped from his left pauldron in artful pleats.
To the right of Bors, a group of people in copper, cobalt, and gray watched the crowd with flat expressions. The Yolentas’ faction. Dreantia Yolenta stood with her two sons and her daughter, who sat in a wheelchair. The resemblance between them was unmistakable. All four had the same squarish faces, the same arrogant bend to their eyebrows, and the same rare shade of ash-brown hair. No DNA test needed.
No sign of her niece, though. She was the only blond of the lot.
I looked to the left of the Yolentas. Scarlet, gold, and black. Ulmar Hreban.
I didn’t jerk. I stayed calm.
He had the same look he had worn on his face in the Garden. The pale woman next to him was his wife. Her black and red gown was beautifully tailored, and her dark hair was studded with jewels. She was about ten years younger than Hreban, which put her in her early thirties, but there was something petulant about her expression. She was like the most popular girl at school who was forced to attend someone else’s party, and not being the star was eating at her.
Everybody under the sun was in the damn ballroom except for Everard. Had he been poisoned?
I took a tiny step forward, trying to move past a large man next to me to take a look at the rest of the dance floor to my right.