She thought of him in that room beneath the Church, telling her to make a barrier around her mind. It’s your head. It’d sounded like something he’d repeated to himself over and over, a lesson long-ingrained.
Lore leaned forward, fingers knotted. “So Jax spared you after killing your father,” she said. “And knowing that this court is full of assholes, I assume that only made them more suspicious of you.”
Gabriel stayed silent for long enough that Lore wondered if he’d decided dissecting his history for her was something he didn’t want to do after all.
“Sometimes,” he murmured finally, “I wish he’d just finished the job.”
A rustle outside, in the hall. Something slid through the crack beneath the door and the floor—a creamy white envelope.
Lore stood, her legs only slightly wine-loose, and picked it up. Remaut, read twirling golden script across the front. She ripped it open, read the letter inside, then brandished it at Gabriel. “It’s an invitation.”
He stood and crossed over to her, frowning. “To what?”
“A masquerade. Hosted by Bastian, in the throne room, at sunset.”
They stared at each other, wearing similar guarded expressions. “Well,” Lore said finally, “I am supposed to get close to him.”
Gabriel grumbled, then took the invitation, reading it for himself. “August hasn’t introduced you to court yet. How does he know we’re here?”
“He might’ve seen me coming into the Citadel,” Lore said, then quickly told Gabriel about spotting Bastian in the garden. She glossed over what he’d been doing there, thoughtful for his monkish sensibilities, but the way he rolled his eyes said he knew without her saying.
“Wonderful,” he muttered. “So your cover might be blown before you even begin.”
“Not necessarily.” The specter of a cell to wait in between raising villagers’ bodies loomed large in her mind still, the reality that would become hers if she couldn’t spy on Bastian. “I’m a good liar; if he asks about what we were doing this morning, I’ll say I had a night on the town and you had to escort me back.”
“I still don’t like that he knows you’re here. It means he’s paying more attention than August thinks. I knew us going to the Consecration was a bad idea.”
It was the closest she’d heard him come to naysaying Anton, and Lore assumed it was the closest he ever did.
Gabriel gave the invitation another once-over, then cast it on the couch. “And what are we supposed to wear to a masquerade?”
A light knock on the door. “Your Grace? I have a delivery. From His Majesty.”
“Gods, I hope it’s dinner,” Lore said, opening the door.
Not dinner. Instead, a rolling cart with two garment bags, hastily brought in by a slight serving girl who looked at Lore with wide, curious eyes. She ducked a curtsy and was gone before they could ask her any questions.
Lore unbuttoned one of the bags and peered inside. “Looks like clothes won’t be a problem.”
Gabriel groaned.
CHAPTER NINE
No transformation cuts more deeply than that of a friend to an enemy.
—Auverrani proverb
I deeply hate this dress.”
Gabriel shot her a sideways glance. His new clothes amounted to a rich-green doublet embroidered over with gold vines and breeches to match, topped with a billowing white shirt whose sleeves could probably hide an entire roast turkey. The refined clothes made the scarred leather of his eye patch stand out, vicious and out of place. “You look nice,” he hedged, though the way his eye darted quickly away somewhat belied the statement.
“I look like a plum pudding.” The long skirt caught beneath one of her heels; Lore swore, kicking it away. “A plum pudding that is apparently meant to be stationary.” Her bodice slipped downward, and Lore yanked it up. “A plum pudding meant to be stationary and possibly eaten.”
“Compared with some of the things the courtiers wear, this is demure.”
Lore itched beneath the domino mask that had come with her costume, a lavender bit of silk speckled with darker purple. “This party should be quite the education for you, then.”
Gabriel scoffed. His costume hadn’t come with a mask, like whoever had sent the clothes wanted his face uncovered. They could only assume it was the Sun Prince’s doing. Not only did Bastian know Gabriel was here, Bastian wanted Gabriel to be seen. Seen and recognized by the court who thought him a traitor, the heir to his father’s sins.