Followed by Fros(59)

I could hear the music as we trailed our way up the broad, winding stairs—engrossing melodies with dozens of harmonies and heavy, methodic percussion. It was the sort of music that could coax life into even a slow-beating heart like mine, the kind you could taste just by breathing. But the minute I entered the throne room, I forgot how to breathe altogether.

How beautiful it was.

Flowers clustered in tall, hip-height urns in the room’s corners and on the windowsills, and sheer fabric not unlike the material of my dress hung in loose, bobbing drapes from the ceiling in carmine and beige. Tables so narrow people could only be seated on one side of them wove around the perimeter of the room, leaving the center of the floor and the throne exposed. Several musicians sat in the open space, and Eyan pointed out the young woman in brown who was playing a flute with two chutes. She could be no older than fourteen, but the way her fingers moved across the instrument’s round holes dizzied me. Such talent for one so young. For anyone!

To my surprise, several braziers also lined the room, though only a few had been lit, wafting off scents of cinnamon and mint. Considering that Zareed was always hot, even in the middle of the night, I could only assume these had been arranged in anticipation of my arrival. Imad had proven himself, once again, a thoughtful man.

I scanned the room for Lo but did not see him anywhere, nor did I see Imad or anyone who looked like his father. Several faces turned my way, and hushed whispers harmonized with the music.

Eyan gestured to the right corner of the room. “If you want—”

“Could I sit somewhere more distant from the others?” I asked. “Maybe outside?”

“Outside you’ll get snowed on,” Eyan said with a snort. Still, he motioned for me to follow him to the balcony, where a heavy canvas had been erected to keep off the snow. It relieved me to see that the tall doors were also edged with thick drapes to dampen the wind, ensuring I could enjoy the festival without ruining it for anyone else. Imad had truly thought of everything. I’d have kissed him for it had the curse allowed it.

The balcony was lined with smaller round tables, many of them unoccupied. I took a seat at a table at the far end of the balcony, with my back to the draperies. I could still see the musicians through the glassless windows ahead of me, and since I was sitting so close to the mountain, I hoped more of the city would be outside the range of my snowstorm. I had chosen the perfect seat, where I could watch everything and everyone without being much of a bother or a spectacle.

“Would you like me to stay?” Eyan asked, peering up the balcony.

“Thank you, but please go enjoy the party. I’m very content.”

He smiled. “My ‘enjoying’ is standing guard at the top of the stairs, but enjoy it I will.”

He bowed flamboyantly—which made two women several tables away laugh—and headed back into the throne room, walking like a man who had ridden a camel for too long.

I watched other guests filter into the throne room until they filled all the tables, though many of the tables on the balcony remained empty. Dancers similar to the ones I had seen outside joined the musicians, and they skipped in a small circle before the throne where Imad had taken a seat, waving their arms in synchronous patterns. I could not see their feet.

The chill spread around me, and a handful of guests moved inside where it was warmer. Before long, a few servants came out to the balcony to light braziers while others began to pass out small plates of yellow rice topped with a green vegetable I did not recognize. I thanked the one who served me, and when I knew no one was watching me, I dared to take a bite. It tasted strange and delicious, salty. The rice turned hard in my mouth as I chewed, but I swallowed without problem.

“How is it?”

I nearly dropped the spoon at the sound of Lo’s voice. Wiping my mouth to make sure I had not missed anything, I stood. “I was wondering where . . . Lo, you look so . . .” What word to say?

His facial hair was coming in again around his mouth and chin, but he had shaved his cheeks clean. Rather than his usual indigo uniform, he wore an umber shirt that wrapped around his torso and was tied with a coral sash, white vine-like embroidery running down his collar, which opened to expose part of his chest. Dark, rust-colored slacks bagged around his thighs and cropped close to his calves.

He looked so . . . handsome.

“Different,” I finished, unsure of the word.

But he didn’t answer right away. He studied me, and my cheeks burned cold. I had nearly forgotten the gorgeous dress Kitora had sewn for me, like something a storybook princess would wear. A head scarf that exposed my neck, sheer fabric over my shoulders, and a high waistline that emphasized my bust.

His eyes flickered back to mine almost too quickly. Thank Mordan I couldn’t blush, for so much blood rushed to my head I thought I would faint.

He cleared his throat and said, “Your food?”

I smiled and moved to tuck away a strand of hair that wasn’t there. “It’s delicious. Are you going to eat?”

“I will,” he answered, shifting the drapery behind me to peek outside. Soft snow flurries fell from the clouds above.

“No guard duty tonight?”

He shook his head and smiled. “Imad insisted I attend the celebration as a guest.”

Twisting, he patted the hilt of a gold knife sticking out from his waistband, resting against the small of his back.