The Cogsmith's Daughter (Desertera #1)(40)
Queen Zedara smiled. “Lord Varick, with that silver tongue of yours, you should have dressed as a fox.”
Lord Varick chuckled before turning his attention to King Archon. “Your Majesty, you, on the other hand, look as vicious as any lion in the mythical savanna.”
“Roar,” King Archon joked.
Once again, Lord Varick was spot on. King Archon did look menacing. Instead of the lizard mask, he had chosen an ancient creature often associated with royalty: the lion. Aya had heard tales of lions, and it seemed so cruel to her that nature might once have taken something as sweet and companionable as a cat and turned it into a ferocious monarch. The king’s mask covered his entire face—a mane of horsehair concealed his head, and a fang-filled sneer hid his mouth. Only King Archon’s blue eyes protruded, but they alone were enough to chill her blood.
Aya took a deep breath before speaking. “Your Highness, you are as gorgeous as ever. You make every woman in this ballroom bubble over with envy.”
Queen Zedara shifted, crossing her ankles. “You scrub up well yourself, Miss Wellman. Enjoy the party.”
“Thank you.” Aya breathed deeply to contain the blush the queen’s curtness threatened to create. She turned to the king, using every ounce of her willpower to look him directly in the eyes. “Your Majesty, you look well. Will Prince Lionel be joining us this evening?”
“Oh, he is already out there in the crowd.” King Archon waved his hand over the gathered nobles. “Undoubtedly, he has already found a lovely young lady to court for the evening.”
“To be young and unattached, eh, Your Majesty?” Lord Varick jested.
“Humph.” King Archon dismissed Lord Varick’s comment with a shrug before turning back to Aya. “Miss Wellman, how do you like my final mask selection?”
“It seems quite fitting. A kingly pride animal for a proud king.”
King Archon cocked his head. “Better than the lizard?”
Queen Zedara’s head snapped to face her husband before slowly turning to stare down at Aya. Aya did her best to avoid the queen’s glare. If the queen began to suspect something was brewing between Aya and the king, the entire operation could be compromised. Personally, Aya hoped Queen Zedara would jump to conclusions, fill with rage, and kill King Archon in his sleep. Then Aya wouldn’t have to put up with the torture of letting her father’s murderer grope her—with his eyes or his hands.
Aya dared a smirk. “I think the lion is much more representative of the face you want your kingdom to see.”
“Good. As my wife said, you are stunning tonight, Miss Wellman. Please, enjoy your evening, and perhaps we shall meet on the dance floor.”
Aya forced her eyes to widen. “I hope not too soon.”
“Oh?” King Archon sat up straighter.
“My first dance has been claimed.” Aya batted her eyelashes. “I am bound to my partner by my womanly honor, and I would hate to have to deny my king.”
King Archon leaned forward on his throne, as if he might ask who had reserved Aya’s dance, but Queen Zedara set her hand on his, and he reclined. “You heard Miss Wellman, darling. Best let her find her dance partner.”
King Archon nodded, his blue eyes glowing behind his mask. “Indeed.”
Aya curtsied, Lord Varick bowed, and they wove their way through the throng of dancers to the drink table. Once they each had a glass of wine in hand, Aya turned to Varick. “You were quiet just then.”
“I was happy to let you lead. And you were brilliant. That bit about your first dance being reserved was genius. I thought Archon would jump from his seat with jealousy. Now you just have to find a lucky chap to play your suitor.”
“That part wasn’t a lie,” Aya admitted, knowing full well her next statements would be. She shrugged. “I met a nice man in the mask shop after the king left. He asked for a dance, and I thought it might make the king jealous.”
Lord Varick took a sip of his wine. Aya wished she could see through his goggles to discern whether his eyes shone with pride or irritation. “Clever thinking, Miss Aya. But do not let yourself get distracted from the mission. You can do all the fraternizing you like once it is finished. In the meantime, you are claimed by the king.”
It was Aya’s turn to stall her response with a drink. “Yes, I know. As I said, this man is merely a convenient device to aid our plan.”
Lord Varick took Aya’s glass from her hand. “Well then, you’d better go find your shiny new cog and get him turning in our little machine.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Aya had no idea how to begin searching for Willem in the bustling crowd of noblemen and women, but she welcomed the opportunity to escape the gaze of Lord Varick’s un-seeable eyes. Those beady black orbs were intimidating enough on their own without the dark, thick-paned goggles to add to their obscurity.
As she wandered away from Lord Varick, Aya decided the best tactic for finding Willem would be to circulate on the periphery of the dance floor. She moved slowly, avoiding the swirl of dancers, taking great pains to seem occupied with observing the intricate patterns of the dances. No one stopped to talk to her or ask her for a dance. This was fine with Aya, as she truly did like observing the colorful crowd.
The orchestra music wafted through the ballroom, and Aya stepped in time with it. Musicians stood against the back wall playing ancient instruments—some with metal bodies and brassy sounds, others with wooden bodies and long whines. Up to this point, Aya’s only experience with music had been the small parties thrown in Portside, where merchants would beat on makeshift drums and the beer brewer would bring over his bitterest batches, the ones he couldn’t sell to the nobles, and everyone would drink and dance a jig. As joyful as this night looked, in comparison to the gatherings at Portside, the masquerade felt foolish, forced.