Some people walked through the streets nearly naked, covered only in scantily used body paint. There were designs painted across their chests, their legs, their stomachs. Others lined the sides of the road, shouting. They all had blades on their belts and drinks in their hands.
Everyone was wearing masks.
Her own was tight to her face, but she reached to put her hair behind her ear, just for an excuse to touch its edge, to be sure her mask was secure. Grim had thrown the mask and a scrap of fabric at her the second he had appeared in her room.
“Today’s the longest night of the year. There’s a celebration at Creetan’s Crag. During the day, obviously.”
She had caught it and frowned. “Masks?”
“Everyone wears them.”
Isla had scowled as she let the dress unravel in front of her. “Does everyone wear this?” It was black and gave her Wildling clothing competition for impropriety. It hung by two thin straps that looked one wrong move away from snapping, had the lowest-cut bodice she had ever seen and a slit so high, there was very little fabric in the middle holding it all together.
Grim didn’t meet her eyes. “Most people do choose to wear little clothing, yes. At least, at celebrations like this. Some just wear paint.” He stared at her then, an eyebrow raised. “Would you prefer I get a pot of ink and a brush?”
That had sent her behind her dressing curtain without another complaint. She didn’t have a full-length mirror in there, so it wasn’t until she was in front of him that she saw herself clearly.
Her breasts were pressed together and spilling over the top. The slit was so high, she’d had to forgo underclothes altogether.
Grim stared at her and looked, more than anything, horrified.
“Do I look Nightshade?” she asked, a note of panic in her voice. She smeared bright paint across her lips, the same way she had the first time she had met him, which seemed to be a Nightshade fashion. Then she put on her mask. He hadn’t answered, so she turned back to him, only to find his eyes still on her. “Hmm?”
“It’ll do,” he had said gruffly and extended his hand.
Now, as they walked through Creetan’s Crag, Grim looked straight ahead. Even if he wasn’t looking at her, others were. She felt their gazes on her and resisted the urge to press her hand against the slit, to ensure it didn’t expose more than her leg.
Grim seemed more on edge than usual. He couldn’t use his powers, on the off chance that the sword was close by. They’d had to portal far away and walk for nearly an hour as a precaution.
“How does it feel?” she whispered.
He looked over at her. “How does what feel?”
“Not being the scary, all-powerful Nightshade ruler anymore. In a crowd like this.”
Grim gave her a look. “I could still kill everyone here with my sword.”
“Not me.”
His eyes were back on the street. “Are you forgetting the results of our duel?”
“I didn’t hate you as much as I do now. I’m sure that very fact would help me win.”
“Is that so?”
“Absolutely.”
Speaking of the crowd . . . “How do you know a celebration like this will draw him out?” The mysterious thief. The one with the snake who had been seen nearby.
“I don’t. But if he is here, all this . . . distraction will be useful.”
Distraction was one word for it.
Thousands of people made currents through the streets and filled each shop to the brim, so much so that she watched someone fall through an open window in a bar and land right in a pile of vomit.
Demonstrations, shows, and betting rounds were going on. Cards were being played. By the sounds coming from alleyways, every type of desire was being fulfilled.
“We know he has a snake. How else are we supposed to find him?” She looked over at him. “Do you know how to get information without cutting off hands?”
Grim glanced over at her. Not a minute later, he stopped in front of a woman. She had five drinks in her hands and looked about to take the order of a group of people sitting outside a bar.
Isla watched the woman’s entire face change as she took him in. His wide shoulders, his height. Her expression went from annoyed to curious in an instant. Even from a few steps down the street, she couldn’t hear what they were saying over the music and drunken jeers. The woman was saying something, and then she placed a hand on his arm, and he let her. Something uncomfortable that she didn’t want to name curled in her stomach.
When Grim returned, he looked far too smug. “I know where to find him.”
Isla didn’t give him the satisfaction of looking surprised or impressed. “Good. Lead the way.”
They didn’t have to walk far. Minutes later, they entered a massive tent. “That’s him.” The him was a man wearing his shirt completely open, revealing a muscular chest. He had pale skin, hair cut close to his head, and, most remarkable of all, a viper wrapped around his shoulders.
The thief was with a group of people—his collaborators, no doubt—sitting front row at a very . . . interesting show.
People with fabric draped over them—and little else underneath—danced in front of bright lights, turning the sheets they held completely sheer. Every inch of their bodies was visible. Some wore nothing underneath; others wore limited underclothes. The man was watching them intensely, elbows on his knees.
All right. There he was. Somehow, they would have to get information from him. “He seems preoccupied. How are we—”
Grim looked from the dancers to Isla. Then back again.
She scoffed. “Absolutely not, you cursed demon—”
He shrugged a shoulder. “Then we’ll find another way. I just thought, you being a temptress and all, you could use your powers, since I’m unable to use mine.”
Powers. She was supposed to be a cursed hearteater, able to tempt a person with a single look. Capable of bringing anyone to their knees with her seduction. Somehow he hadn’t seemed to notice her powerlessness, beyond a few pointed statements. He couldn’t find out she didn’t have ability. What if that was why he was working with her in the first place? Would he rescind his offer to help her during the Centennial?
Roaring began filling her ears. They hadn’t found the skin gloves. She and Celeste needed him. Her people needed her. They were suffering.
“Can’t you just torture the information out of him?” she asked. Suddenly, that option sounded a lot more appealing.
Grim looked amused. “Of course I can, Hearteater. But one of the most infamous thieves, one of the only people who knows about the sword, turning up dead in such a violent fashion? It would be suspicious . . .” He shrugged a shoulder. “I suppose, if you are unable to actually use your powers—”
“Of course I can,” she said quickly.
Grim looked unconvinced. “It’s fine. We’ll find another—”
“No.” She was suddenly intent on wiping that look off his face. She reached back into her dress and shoved her starstick at him. “Take this from me, and you’ll see my other Wildling curses in action,” she said.
Then she turned on her heel, toward the tent behind the stage.
All her previous bravado was gone. She had traded one of the girls in the show a ruby from her necklace in exchange for her extra set of clothing. Now, she stood just offstage, trembling. Her chest was covered only by a thick strip of black fabric. Her other parts were covered only by a skirt that truly had not earned that description, for it barely concealed anything.