Rise of Fire (Reign of Shadows #2)(26)

I was ushered onto a bench. Princess Maris made the introductions and then slipped away, moving to the head table that was elevated upon a dais—where the important people dined. The distance between that table and me told me how low I ranked on the social hierarchy.

I tracked Maris’s progress, marking the soft tread of her footsteps ringing hollowly up the wood steps and across the raised platform. Once she settled into a chair, I turned my attention to those around me, listening carefully over the music to all the voices, marking each individual and trying to follow the anecdotes swirling on the air like a tangle of threads in the cavernous echoing space.

One woman complained because she hadn’t been able to find her hand mirror and suspected her maid, that “lazy, shiftless girl,” had taken it. The gentleman across from her assured her that a mirror wasn’t necessary, as she looked ravishing. The lady laughed coyly and I knotted my hands in my lap, wondering at this place and these shallow people who acted as if there were no hungry monsters at the gates.

It was a large table, seating at least fifty, maybe more. I wasn’t certain of the exact number, and that was something that troubled me. I was blind but had never felt impaired, never lost or floundering. Until now. Multiple conversations rolled on all around me. I focused on keeping track of them, even when it made my head hurt.

Outside there was a rhythm, a cadence in the soft chirps of insects, the yips of giant bats, the ebb and flow of wind through dying trees. And Them, the dwellers, sending out their eerie calls. They could be relied upon, too. In here there was only the unknown, the machinations of people my gut told me not to trust.

After the initial introduction with Gandal, we exchanged a few pleasantries before he ignored me in favor of the lady to his right. The princess was wrong. I wasn’t nearly as appealing as she proclaimed. My conversational skills were perhaps even worse than I’d thought. Or it was simply that I was unimportant—a nobody even for the son of a physician.

I folded my clammy hands together in my lap. The aroma of well-seasoned meat was more pronounced than ever, and my mouth watered. I had never smelled so much food. Surely we would eat soon.

“I almost did not recognize you.”

I started at the warm voice sliding near my ear. A voice that I instantly recognized. I should have heard him coming. My pulse sputtered in alarm at my throat. This place was ruining me, eliminating my edge. Before I knew it, if I wasn’t careful, I would be as weak as all of them.

“It’s astounding what a little soap can do, Prince Chasan,” I rejoined, rubbing at the goose bumps that puckered the skin of my arm.

He chuckled. “Indeed. Do I not smell better, too?”

I opened my mouth and shut it, stopping myself from pointing out that he had not smelled foul to begin with. “I can’t claim to have a strong sense of smell, Your Highness,” I lied.

“No?” His body sank down on the bench to my left and I started a little, concerned that he meant to stay beside me. I didn’t want his attention. I wanted him gone.

I wanted to be gone.

I felt Gandal at my right lean forward, his clothes rustling on his seat as he anxiously peered around me at the prince. “Greetings, Your Highness; good evening to you,” Gandal said.

The prince ignored him and continued assessing me. I didn’t have to see to know. I felt his stare like a breathing, living thing working its way over my face and down my body. I resisted the urge to lift a hand to shield my face.

“You have the most extraordinary eyes, Luna.” I tensed at the compliment.

“Th-Thank you,” I stammered, motioning toward the dais. “Are you not expected to sit there?” Perla and Sivo had regaled me with enough of my parents’ life before the eclipse for me to know rudimentary household protocol.

“I am quite content here.” The prince leaned back, his weight creaking the wooden bench as he settled his palms along the edge.

Heat burned my cheeks. I could feel the unsubtle glances from others.

I let his words sink in, turning them over, wondering if there was a double meaning there. I couldn’t decide. My anxiety only grew as he continued to stare at me. I lowered my head, hoping that he would take the action as shyness. I didn’t want to face him. Not this close. Not in this brightly lit room. I might give myself away.

“Can you not look me in the face?” he queried. “Have I said something to offend you?”

“No.” I shook my head. “This place is . . . different. I can’t relax. Any moment I feel as though dwellers will storm the hall. I know your defenses are impregnable—”

“Nothing is impregnable.”

“Not very comforting as I sit here without a weapon and wearing a dress that would hamper my movements should I need to run.”

“You can always use your cutlery.”

The idea of defending myself with spoon and fork almost made me smile.

“Ah, I see I’ve amused you,” he added.

His words killed my almost smile. “Not at all.”

A deep thumping struck the floor several times, a signal that reverberated through the room. The musicians ceased to play. A hush fell over the crowd. No one stirred. Even the smelly hounds near the great hearth stopped swishing their tails.

Looking up, I leaned slightly to the left, asking the prince, “What is that?”

“They’re heralding my father’s arrival.”