The Cogsmith's Daughter (Desertera #1)(33)

The mask maker attempted to get King Archon’s attention, but the king waved him away and followed Aya. “Flowers? A typical choice for a lady.”

“Oh, I would never wear one of these things.” Aya flicked one of the petals. “Much too showy. I just like to study the ones I have never seen in person before.”

Trick number three from Dellwyn: deny any assumptions about your character. Once a man thinks he has you figured out, he will lose all interest and move onto the next plaything. Aya guessed this must be especially true of King Archon with the way he disposed of his wives.

Pity. She had actually thought the flower masks to be gorgeous.

“Which ones are you considering, then?” The king stepped closer.

Aya gave a demure smile, placing one of the floral masks over her face. “If I tell you which one I shall wear, won’t that defeat the purpose of the masquerade?”

“I suppose you are correct. I will have to identify you by other means.” The king returned her smile, letting his cold eyes roam down her figure.

Aya felt a jolt in the center of her chest, and her muscles grew tense. She focused on keeping her face frozen. “You can try.”

The mask maker returned with a different mask, and this time, King Archon followed him back to the ottoman. After a few more minutes, the king paid the mask maker and made to leave. “Good luck finding your mask, Miss Wellman.” The king’s gaze took one final sweep over her. “I hope it suits you.”

“I have no doubt that it will, Your Majesty. Good day.”

When King Archon turned, Aya rolled her eyes and returned to browsing the masks. That seemed to have gone well—better than last time, at least. She didn’t really care to analyze or dwell. She had a mission.

“I apologize for the wait, miss,” the mask maker said.

“Do not give it a thought.” Aya turned to him and smiled. “I know as well as anyone that we must all yield to our king.”

The old man studied Aya, stroking his beard. “I have not dressed your face before. I never forget a face.”

“You haven’t. I am new to the palace. Lord Varick recently took me in as his ward.” Aya watched the old man’s face for some sign of judgment, but he remained only thoughtful and pleasant.

“Ah, that explains it then.” He smiled. “What is your name?”

“Aya. Aya Wellman.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Miss Wellman. My name is Abrim.” Abrim stretched out his arms. “Welcome to my humble shop.”

“Thank you.” Aya gave a small curtsy.

“All right. Now that we have the pleasantries out of the way,” Abrim began, rubbing his hands together, “how would you like a mask for the ball?”

Aya grinned. “I would like one very much.”

Abrim took Aya’s hand and led her over to the ottoman. She sat down, and he gave it a gentle shove. The ottoman twirled lazily, allowing Aya to take in each section of the masks.

“When you see something you like, I shall stop. Of course, if you begin to feel dizzy or ill, I would appreciate the notice.”

Aya nodded. She watched the sections unfold before her—masks of solid colors, masks painted like the sky, masks mirroring real human faces. When the ottoman turned her to the animal section, Aya asked Abrim to stop. Her eyes had spied a friendly face. She pointed to the one she liked, and Abrim brought it to her. He helped her place it over her face and fasten it in the back. He held up a looking glass for her inspection.

Much to Aya’s delight, she saw a smiling frog face, much like Charlie’s, staring back at her. Her green eyes looked radiant against the bronze, and Aya thought they were the perfect swampy color to imitate the drawings of real frogs her father had shown her.

“It is fun,” Abrim said. “But what a shame to cover so much of your pretty face.”

Before Aya could answer, another voice cut in. “I agree.”

Aya turned around to see Willem leaning against the shop’s doorframe. Hidden behind her mask, Aya could allow herself to smirk as she took in the sight of him—his tall, lean frame, his sharp gray suit, his warm hazel eyes. If it weren’t for the protection of the mask, her entire face would probably have been as red as her toga.

“Good to see you again, Willem.”

“And you, Aya.” Willem bit his lip to keep himself from smiling too widely.

“You recognize me?” Aya lifted her chin. “Even in the guise of a frog?”

“Of course.” Willem chuckled. “I don’t know that I will ever forget those emerald eyes of yours.”

Mask or no mask, Aya’s skin most certainly matched her toga now.

“I’m glad to see that you are planning to attend the ball.” Willem stepped into the shop.

Aya crossed her arms. “Did you fear that I would back out of our agreement?”

“No, I trust you.” Willem held up his hands. “Perhaps I should have said that I’m simply glad to see you again. And though I cannot see your whole face, you seem to be in much better spirits this time.”

“Yes, I am. Thank you.”

Abrim walked over to Willem, taking a long look up at his face. Aya assumed the old man must be growing hard of sight, or maybe he simply wanted a better look at Willem’s face to outfit it for a mask.