“Is there something I can help you with, Miss Farrow? I could feel your eyes boring into me from across the ballroom.” Fate stepped forward, the burnished amber of the walls casting a glow on the floor that reminded Signa of a late autumn sunset, almost as though they were dancing upon fallen maple leaves. Yet there was no gentle crunch beneath her footsteps; no settling of her mind and easing of her chest that came from autumn’s stillness. Signa mirrored her partner as he lifted one hand to the air, their palms nearly touching as they circled each other as if on either side of a looking glass.
Heat seared between the open space of their palms, jolts of static prickling her fingertips. Signa kept a straight face despite it all. From the low swell of music to the sunset lighting, everything about Fate was a performance she refused to acknowledge. “Whatever your issue is with me, my cousin has no part of this.”
“On the contrary,” he said, and Signa noticed for the first time that there was the hint of an accent in his voice. It wasn’t like any she’d heard before, but something old and strange and almost guttural. “Because of your insistence that she live, your cousin has now defied her fate three times over. Three times, she was meant to die.”
Signa’s throat squeezed tight as she realized that the room’s chattering had ceased. Gone was the low sweep of autumn as winter’s silent chill leached in. There were no whispers or laughter, nor even the soft tinking of glassware. While those around her continued to dance, their movements had sharpened, every one of them as precise as the next and perfectly coordinated. Pretty faces smiled at no one, their unblinking eyes filling with tears that streaked down their cheeks and onto grinning lips. They were little more than puppets and Fate their puppeteer, twisting and twirling and bending them to his every whim.
Everywhere Signa looked there were signs of Fate’s power. From the palace and the golden threads spun around it, to his control over so many beings at once. It was an effortless power—one he didn’t even seem to consider as he spun Signa across the dance floor.
“Free them.” While her command was firm, Signa was careful not to let emotion slip in. It wouldn’t do to give Fate anything more to hold over her, though something in his gleaming eyes told her that he already knew how deeply his power bothered her.
“You must have many questions for me,” he said. “Promise me another dance, and I’ll answer whatever you wish me to.”
She had to stop her brows from shooting up. Fate was baiting her, yes, but if there was even a possibility that he was being sincere…
“Anything?” she pressed, scrutinizing his every movement.
“Within reason. Though you must first promise to stop your glaring.”
She forced her gaze away from him.
“And your scowling.”
“Very well.” It was Blythe that Signa thought of as she blocked out the image of hollow faces spinning beside her. “I agree to one more dance.”
Dazzling was the only word to describe the smile that spread slowly across Fate’s lips. He made the tiniest motion with his free hand, fingers barely shifting, and suddenly laughter filled the air. There were whispers again, and chatter all around as the dance ended and partners separated in search of the next name on their dance cards. All the while, Fate kept a firm hold of Signa.
He was so indiscreet that Signa could only hope her cheeks did not flush as quiet gasps and tittering laughter rose behind her. First Blythe, and now her. She could only imagine what Byron must be thinking, though wasn’t it he who had suggested that Marjorie sleep with Elijah to stop him mourning his late wife? Perhaps he believed this was exactly the sort of play that Signa should be making.
“Thank you for that,” she admonished, earning only a grin from Fate as music reverberated through the ballroom once more. It wasn’t a proper waltz but rather an old tune that sounded like something from another time. Something that made her feel as though they should be dancing barefoot in a forest glade rather than a dimly lit ballroom.
Fate was close enough that Signa smelled the wisteria on his clothing, mild and sweet. He drew the first step, leading her through the dance with practiced grace.
“You were right. I do have questions, many of them,” she said, trying to sound less anxious than she felt.
To her surprise, Fate’s touch was firm but careful, and he watched Signa’s face as though she were a puzzle in need of solving. She suspected that her own face looked the same.
“So long as there’s music and we are dancing, you may ask them.” His voice was gentler than she expected.