Changeling (Sorcery and Society Book 1)(65)

“Yes, clearly, no one in the room likes you,” Alicia said, solemnly, in stark contrast to her bright mask. “You have no support. You are making a terrible impression.”

“No one likes a sarcastic sprite,” I told her.

“I’ve found that’s not the case,” Alicia said, shaking her glittering head.

Owen cleared his throat in an almost delicate gesture. “I am sorry, ladies, you remember my cousin, Owen Winter. He’s interested in horrid cats that swipe at unsuspecting ladies’ ankles from under furniture.” I giggled as he nudged me in my ribs with his elbow. “Owen, this is Ivy Cowell, who can construct or de-construct iron-clad wards at her whim. She is exceedingly forgiving, even when I accidentally fling arrows at her on the belomancy range. And this is Alicia McCray, who has managed to pack the sarcasm of three Guardian matrons in to one tiny body. In the last two minutes of observing you, she has recorded all of your weaknesses and will use them against you.”

“It’s true,” Alicia said. “You should stop biting your nails; when you are nervous, it’s a terrible habit.”

Owen’s eyes went wide, and he tucked his left hand into his jacket pocket, before he burst out laughing. “Well, now I know why my cousin is so eager to return to school.” He bent over each of the girls’ hands while they offered him a curtsy. “I see she’s found kindred spirits.”

“Very nice to meet you,” Ivy said, gesturing toward his mask. “That’s a lovely representation of the Winter raven. Very… feathery.”

“Thank you, and your costume is very… leafy. What is it, exactly?” he asked Ivy.

“I am the spirit of autumn,” Ivy sighed, giving me the brief squeeze and waving an exasperated hand at her unflattering gown. “Sometimes, I really hate my mother’s seamstress.”

Alicia asked her, “Have you set accidental fires when you’ve visited the dress shop?”

“You know, I think I liked you better when you were silent,” Ivy told her, pursing her lips.

Alicia giggled, and bounced on her toes. Owen grinned at their banter. It had to be a refreshing change, I supposed, from the prim and perfect manner in which girls normally behaved in front of him.

“It’s not that bad,” Owen tried to tell her. “The foliage is, er, really quite lovely.”

“Thank you for trying,” she told him, blowing a stray curl out of her face.

But even with the newfound spirit that had helped Ivy sass us, she seemed to wilt as Callista approached, dressed in a scandalously cut Queen of Hearts costume, and pointed openly as Ivy’s costume, whilst snickering to Rosemarie. Callista threw a meaningful wink towards Owen. Simultaneously, Alicia and I circled our arms through Ivy’s, but Owen surprised me by doing more to defend her than we ever could.

“Would you care for a dance, Miss Cowell?” he asked suddenly, turning and offering her his hand.

Ivy’s mouth fell open, but she recovered quickly. “Ye-yes, thank you. That would be lovely.”

Owen smiled and led her out to the dance-floor and led her in a gentle quadrille. Ivy glowed as she moved, showing more grace than she ever had in our dance classes at school. Across the room, I saw her grandmother, Mrs. Dalrymple, watching Ivy with perplexed expression. She nodded to me. I curtsied.

“That was very kind of your cousin,” Alicia noted.

“Yes, well, Owen, doesn’t do anything with just one motive.” I nodded to Callista, who was giving Ivy and Owen a sour look from the sidelines. “Asking Ivy to dance means that he doesn’t have to dodge Callista. Or any of the more dangerous females present. And it earns his mother some cache with Mrs. Dalrymple, who is watching from the settee, very pleased. Overall, it’s a coup for Ivy and Owen. Very clever of him.”

“Underhanded sneakiness? In a Winter? Surely, you jest,” she gasped.

I laughed, but it was covered by the tinkling silver of Alicia’s giggles.

“Well, isn’t that the loveliest sound in the world?”

I turned to find a tall boy I recognized as Gavin, even wearing a golden mask with plaster flames threading into his dark hair. He grinned at his sister. “The elusive Miss Reed.”

I couldn’t help but grimace, the tiniest bit, and I forgot to curtsy. It was not my best moment, re-introduction-wise. He reached for my hand anyway and bowed over it without actually kissing my skin, which I appreciated. “The effusive Mr. McCray.”

“I believe I’ve been promised a dance,” he said.

“Did I promise?” I asked, even as I took his offered hand. I couldn’t help but notice that the dragonfly on my palms seemed to flutter its wings, sending a thrill of warmth that ran up my arm to my heart. Gavin stopped, staring down at our joined hands with an expression of surprise. The dance was a Schottische, a slower polka-type dance meant to help encourage harmony between warring families. I couldn’t help but appreciate the hint Mrs. Winter was giving to her guests, “behave in my home or be thrown out of it.” Unlike the waltz, which had put me in constant eye contact with Owen, the Schottische was danced side-by-side, with Gavin’s arm around my waist. And while I’d been reasonably comfortable, standing so close to my “cousin,” dancing with Gavin had heat prickling under my arms. I worried that he would be able to feel how sweaty my palms were against his.