Siege and Storm (Shadow and Bone #2)(48)

I thanked the maid and, before I left my room, snapped up the black velvet pouch that had come in the box with my kefta. I slipped it into my pocket, checked to make sure the fetter was hidden by my sleeve, then headed downstairs.

Talk over dinner centered around the latest plays, the possible whereabouts of the Darkling, and happenings in Os Alta. The city had been swamped with refugees. Newcomers were being turned away at the gate, and there were rumors of food riots in the lower town. It seemed impossibly far away from this sparkling place.

The Count and his wife, a plump lady with graying curls and alarmingly displayed cleavage, set a lavish table. We ate cold soup from jeweled cups shaped like pumpkins, roasted lamb slathered with currant jelly, mushrooms baked in cream, and a dish I only picked at that I later learned was brandied cuckoo. Each plate and glass was edged in silver and bore the Minkoff crest. But most impressive was the centerpiece that ran the length of the table: a living miniature forest rendered in elaborate detail, complete with groves of tiny pines, a climbing trumpet vine with blossoms no bigger than a fingernail, and a little hut that hid the salt cellar.

I sat between Nikolai and Colonel Raevsky, listening as the noble guests laughed and chattered and raised toast after toast to the young prince’s return and the Sun Summoner’s health. I’d asked Mal to join us, but he’d refused, choosing instead to patrol the grounds with Tamar and Tolya. Hard as I tried to keep my mind on the conversation, I kept glancing at the terrace, hoping to catch sight of him.

Nikolai must have noticed, because he whispered, “You don’t have to pay attention, but you do have to look like you’re paying attention.”

I did my best, though I didn’t have much to say. Even dressed in a glittering kefta and seated beside a prince, I was still a peasant from a no-name town. I didn’t belong with these people, and I didn’t really want to. Still, I gave a silent prayer of thanks that Ana Kuya had taught her orphans how to sit at table and which fork to use to eat snails.

After dinner, we were herded into a parlor where the Count and Countess sang a duet accompanied by their daughter on the harp. Dessert was laid on the side table: honey mousse, a walnut and melon compote, and a tower of pastries covered in clouds of spun sugar that wasn’t meant to be eaten so much as ogled. There was more wine, more gossip. I was asked to summon light, and I cast a warm glow over the coffered ceiling to enthusiastic applause. When some of the guests sat down to play cards, I pleaded a headache and quietly made my escape.

Nikolai caught me at the doors to the terrace. “You should stay,” he said. “This is good practice for the monotony of court.”

“Saints need their rest.”

“Are you planning to sleep under a rosebush?” he asked, glancing down toward the garden.

“I’ve been a good little dancing bear, Nikolai. I’ve done all my tricks, and now it’s time for me to say goodnight.”

Nikolai sighed. “Maybe I just wish I could go with you. The Countess kept squeezing my knee under the table at dinner, and I hate playing cards.”

“I thought you were the consummate politician.”

“I told you I have trouble keeping still.”

“Then you’ll just have to ask the Countess to dance,” I said with a grin, and slipped out into the night air.

As I descended the terrace steps, I looked back over my shoulder. Nikolai still hovered in the doorway. He wore full military dress, a pale blue sash across his chest. The light from the parlor glinted off his medals and gilded the edges of his golden hair. He was playing the role of the polished prince tonight. But standing there, he just looked like a lonely boy who didn’t want to return to a party by himself.

I turned and took the curving staircase down to the sunken garden.

It didn’t take me long to find Mal. He was leaning against the trunk of a large oak, scanning the manicured grounds.

“Anyone lurking in the dark?” I asked.

“Just me.”

I settled beside him against the trunk. “You should have joined us at dinner.”

Mal snorted. “No thank you. From what I could see, you looked positively miserable, and Nikolai didn’t look much happier. Besides,” he added with a glance at my kefta, “whatever would I have worn?”

“Do you hate it?”

“It’s lovely. A perfect addition to your trousseau.” Before I could even roll my eyes, he snagged hold of my hand. “I didn’t mean that,” he said. “You look beautiful. I’ve been wanting to say so since I first saw you tonight.”

I flushed. “Thanks. Using my power every day helps.”

“You were beautiful back in Cofton with jurda pollen in your brows.”

I tugged self-consciously at a strand of my hair. “This place reminds me of Keramzin,” I said.

“A little. It’s a lot fussier. What exactly is the point of teeny tiny fruit?”

“It’s for people with teeny tiny hands. Makes them feel better about themselves.”

He laughed, a real laugh. I reached into my pocket and fished around inside the black velvet pouch.

“I have something for you,” I said.

“What is it?”

I held out my closed fist.

“Guess,” I said. It was a game we’d played as children.

“Obviously, it’s a sweater.”