Category: writing

Twelve

Once they reached the bottom of the stairs, Caius drew her onward, out of the shadows beneath the gallery and out to the floor. He wore gloves the same as she did, though his were of thin leather while hers were silk. Eyes turned toward them, raked over them as they emerged from the shadows and moved toward the floor, the crowds parting slowly to allow them to continue on.

The orchestra in the corner played a few notes, a few chords, clearly on the tail end of warming up, then followed it with a quick tune, as if to make sure that they were truly ready to play. The conductor seemed pleased enough after making a few more minor tweaks. By then, Elaine and Caius had made it nearly to the center of the inner half of the floor, a circle widening slowly around them even as all eyes remained glued to them.

Caius turned toward her, smiling a sad, almost shy smile. “It’s all right,” he whispered, shifting his grip on her hand. “Don’t think about them. They don’t matter.”

“Then what does?” she asked, her voice barely audible.

“This,” he said, then bowed to kiss her knuckles lightly. By reflex, she dropped into a curtsey, managing a faint, only half-terrified smile.

The orchestra struck a cord as they both straightened and Caius reached to settle a hand on her waist even as she, out of sheer reflex, rested her free hand on his shoulder. He smiled at her and she smiled back, a fresh blush creeping across her cheeks.

“Are you sure about this?” she asked in a whisper.

“Of course,” he said.

Then the music really started and suddenly, they were dancing.

Her skirts swirled around them as the moved through the circle of open space that the crowds had formed around them, crowds that she noticed less and less as she focused on him, on his face and expression, on his gaze. He was staring at her as if studying her, memorizing a woman he’d only just met but never wanted to forget.

It was a silly and romantic thought and Elaine wanted to hate herself for it but there was a tiny piece that wanted to cling to it much more than hate it. Maybe it would just be a single dance, but just then, a single dance was all that mattered.

“What are you thinking?” Caius asked about halfway through the song. He was still smiling, still watching her face as he guided her through complicated steps and spins, moving across the floor as if this was what he’d been born to do. There was lightness to his expression now, though, one that hadn’t been there when they’d been up on the balcony before.

Could it actually be that he was somehow enjoying this as much as she was?

“I just—” she stopped, smiled, and shook her head. “I was just thinking how nice this is and how wonderful you are.”

His smile turned rueful, but his eyes crinkled at the edges—it was a real smile, not something for show, not a mask that he wore to hide what he actually felt or thought. There were the faint beginnings of a blush high in his cheeks as he shook his head. “I’m not wonderful,” he breathed, drawing her closer, close enough he could whisper in her ear, close enough that it drew one or two scandalized gasps from the crowd surrounding them. “But thank you for thinking so.”

He spun her, then, and she laughed aloud, his laughter joining hers as she came back to him, their hands clasping more tightly, their bodies closer together, moving as one through the remaining paces of the dance. Caius was flushed by the end, when he stepped back enough to bow to her and she dropped into a curtsey.

“May I have the pleasure of another?” he asked softly as they both straightened again.

“I would be delighted,” Elaine said, grinning.

“Good.” There was something boyish and charming in his smile and her heart soared higher than she thought possible. It was just a dance and just a smile but for some reason both meant more than anything else had in a long time.

She didn’t know what it meant, but she knew it meant something. Eventually, she’d figure out what.

But that would be for later, for now, Caius had asked her to dance again, and she decided that she would dance all night with him if he wanted to.

All he had to do was ask.

By their fifth turn on the floor, the pair was no longer alone. The room had finally begun to settle, and some people had drifted out while others had joined them in dancing, still more clustering in knots of conversation off to the sides, usually nearer to the refreshment tables.

She and Caius didn’t talk much as they danced, just watched each other, each getting a feel through movement and gesture rather than words. Elaine’s heart pounded in her chest, not from exertion, but excitement.

This had not been what she’d expected out of her evening, not by any stretch of her admittedly overactive imagination.

“Another?” he asked in a murmur as she returned to his arms after another spin. Elaine smiled.

“Yes, that—”

She caught movement from the corner of her eye and stiffened. Whether it was her sudden tense or the look on her face or something else, his gaze flicked sideways, but a hair too late. A figure slammed into them, sending Elaine skidding back before she could catch herself. She heard Caius grunt, saw his hand snap out.

Lightning coursed from his fingertips through the man he’d grabbed with a murmured word, his eyes gleaming. The man made a sound that was not quite a cry and slumped, eyes rolling back into his head. Caius’s gaze lit on her and he took two steps before dropping to one knee.

It was at that point that she became painfully aware of the screams around them.

What the hell is going on?

Then she saw the knife and realized what was going on.

“Oh hell,” she breathed, coming two steps forward and kneeling in front of Caius, getting beneath him she he wouldn’t hit the floor. A knife protruded from his back on the right hand side, below his rubs and blood was already starting to slowly seep through his shirt and doublet, staining silver and white a deep crimson.

Caius leaned into her, forehead pressing against her shoulder, his lips moving, forming words she could only barely hear.

“Get out of here,” he whispered, the words almost inaudible. “There could be another.”

Screw that.

“You’re hurt,” she said firmly. “I am not going anywhere.”

One of his hands clutched at her arm, fingers wrapping around it for a moment before he shivered slightly and his hand fell away, as if his strength was fading. Slowly, carefully, Elaine eased him down to the floor, looking around quickly even as she reached for the dagger and the scarlet stain surrounding it. A few people had moved closer, almost forming a perimeter around her and Caius and the would-be assassin who lay unconscious a few feet away, still twitching occasionally with residual energy.

She didn’t recognize any of the people surrounding them, but she did recognize the looks on their faces—horror, determination, helplessness. She took a deep breath, her fingers exploring the sopping fabric around the dagger in Caius’s back even as she focused on two of the people surrounding them. “You,” she said to a woman dressed in navy and gray, “find Lord Dravenwood and bring him here—quickly.” Her gaze shifted to a man in green and brown. “You, come here and help me.”

The woman nodded and turned, vanishing into the crowds. Even as she left and the man in green and brown left the circle, others fell in to close the gaps they’d left behind, the protective circle becoming a little tighter around them. The man in green and brown crouched next to Caius, looking at her.

“Just tell me what you need me to do,” he said quietly.

Elaine nodded, carefully splaying her hands around the dagger, not caring how much blood she got on her hands as long as she was able to help him. “When I tell you,” she said, her voice steady, “pull the dagger out. Don’t hesitate, one smooth motion, straight out the way it went in.”

The man nodded. “What are you going to do?”

“Hopefully put his kidney back together again before he loses too much blood,” she muttered, steadying herself. Her focus narrowed down to the wound, to the arteries and veins that had been severed, the ones that she could sense the deeper she looked using a healer’s magic—her magic. The dagger was keeping pressure on some of the worst of it all—the assassin must have hoped that it’d be pulled out right away, so that Caius would bleed out before anyone could help him. She took an extra second to plan, to figure out what to address first, then cleared her throat. Her fingertips glowed faintly, the green of evergreens and early summer grass all at once.

“Okay,” she said. “On my count.”

“All right.”

“Three.” Her focus narrowed further until the room started to fall away. The man in brown and green wrapped his hands around the dagger, ready to pull it on her signal. “Two.” She drew a little more power, ready to start pouring it into Caius’s wound as soon as the dagger was out of the way. “Go.”

The man in brown and green pulled the dagger free, as quickly and smoothly as she’d hoped he would. Even before the tip cleared the wound, she was at work, mending the worst of the damage in those first few seconds, both hands pressed hard against the wound to staunch the bleeding. Her magic poured into the wound, knitting artery and vein with thin threads of magic, of power. With practiced skill, she tied off each small spell, part of the greater whole designed to save his life.

Time passed, but all she was aware of was her work and the fact that Caius, though unconscious, was still breathing. So completely focused on healing, she didn’t hear the ripple that went through the crowds, the sudden silence in the air, the tension that rose a notch or three.

She heard Acalon’s voice, though, as he reached the edge of the circle. “Who’s responsible for this?”

“That one,” someone said, pointing to the man on the floor behind Elaine, the one that had gotten a nasty jolt courtesy of Caius after the initial attack.

“Take him into custody,” Ascalon said, his tone one of command. There was a faint thread of anger and something else beneath it, though.

Fear?

“We’ll get our answers from him once he’s conscious,” Ascalon continued, then turned to look at the crowd still milling around. For a second, he seemed on the verge of saying something further, then exhaled and moved closer to Elaine and his wounded brother, dropping to a knee beside them.

“Is he stable enough to move?” The question came as a murmur in her ear. Elaine took a deep breath and nodded.

“Yes. Yes, that should be fine. Better, probably—certainly more comfortable.”

Ascalon nodded and squeezed her shoulder, straightening. “You there, get the hall cleared. I think we’ve all had more than enough excitement for the night.” He glanced toward Joslyn and motioned her over. “Scarlet, help me with him.”

Elaine blinked. “Wait—”

“You said it was safe,” Ascalon said, moving to start lifting Caius from the floor. “Is it?”

“I mean, yes, but be careful.” Elaine swallowed hard. “It’s not fully healed.”

“Never is,” Ascalon said grimly as he lifted his brother. Scarlet rushed to help. Elaine watched, heart in her throat. Caius’s face was pale as death. Had she somehow miscalculated when she’d asked for the dagger to be pulled out? Had she hesitated too long?

Stop. Stop. You never second-guess yourself like this. It’s fine. You did fine. He’ll be okay.

Elaine took a ragged breath and followed Ascalon and Scarlet as they began to carry Caius away. Behind them, several people were starting to clear the hall, Caius’s guests slowly trickling out the doors at the head of the room even as Ascalon and Scarlet carried Caius toward the back of it. Elaine chewed her lower lip, hurrying to keep up. Even carrying Caius, somehow the pair still moved faster than she did.

“What happened?” Ascalon asked as they ducked through a hidden door beneath one of the galleries and into a hallway. “Don’t leave anything out.”

“I didn’t see much,” Elaine admitted. “We were dancing. It was getting near to the end of the song and he asked me if I wanted to dance another and I said yes. Then someone came out of the crowd—the man you saw on the ground—and ran right into Lord Caius. We lost our grip on each other and the next thing I saw was Caius grabbing him and channeling lightning into him. Then he dropped him and started moving toward me, but he didn’t make it. When he went down on one knee was when I saw the dagger. The bastard stabbed him and gods only know why.”

“Do you think he made someone angry?” Scarlet asked quietly as they rushed through corridors, heading deeper into Weatherstone’s keep. Suddenly they were on a winding staircase heading upward. Elaine swallowed hard again, this time against the bile rising in her throat.

“He told me to get away,” she said, her voice barely audible. “That there might be more. He was—” she stopped before she could say scared. Was that really what it had been? “—concerned.”

“Caius has some enemies, that’s for certain,” Ascalon muttered as they continued upwards. Elaine lost track of the distance, but it felt like those stairs went on forever. She kept her gaze on the spot of crimson on Caius’s back, trying to gauge if it was any worse.

She couldn’t know if it was or not with her magic unless she was touching him.

“But would one of them have made a move this ballsy?” Scarlet pressed. “This feels all kinds of wrong, Ascalon.”

“Damn straight,” he muttered.

They reached the top of the stairs. A small landing awaited them there, one with a door set several feet back from the end of the steps. Ascalon made a beeline toward that door and opened it without breaking stride, moving inside with his brother still in tow. Beyond the door was a small study, and beyond that study was a bedroom, visible through the half-open door at the far end of the room. They headed there, Caius giving no indication of waking even as Ascalon laid him on the bed and started undressing him.

“Then what does it mean?” Elaine asked quietly as she knelt against the edge of the bed, taking one of Caius’s hands between both of hers. Her eyes slid shut as she mouthed the words to a diagnostic spell, assessing his condition a little more closely than she’d been able to downstairs. It was heartening to find him relatively stable, if suffering a little from blood loss and the obvious trauma. At least he didn’t seem to be in shock despite his pallor and unconsciousness.

“I don’t know,” Ascalon said, his voice soft. “But we’ll find out. Trust in that—somehow, we’re going to find out and someone’s going to pay for this. This sort of act—“ his voice hitched. “This sort of act doesn’t go unanswered.”

“Is he all right, Isolde?” Scarlet asked. “Will he be?”

Elaine nodded quickly. “Yes. As long as he takes it easy and rests, I think so.” She exhaled a sigh of relief, then let go of Caius’s hand, moving to start unlacing his boots so Ascalon could concentrate on other parts. “I just—I don’t understand why someone would want to do this to him.”

“People do stupid, wrong-headed shit all the time,” Ascalon muttered, gently lifting his brother to strip off his ruined tunic and the shirt beneath. “I’ll have some bandages sent up so you can bind everything, Isolde. Assuming that you’re willing.”

She blinked at him, startled. “Of course I’m willing,” she said. “I’d hate to leave the job half-done. There’s a part of me that wants to stay until he wakes up, but I’m thinking that might not be until morning.”

“Like as not,” Ascalon murmured, staring at his brother for a few seconds. “Thank you for everything tonight. You have—you have no idea how much it’s meant.”

Elaine gave him a faint, warm smile. “You don’t have to thank me,” she said quietly. “But I appreciate it all the same.” She took a deep breath, then, and exhaled it slowly. “Frankly, sorting out who did this and why? That will be all the thanks I need.”

“Those are answers I intend to get,” Ascalon promised. “You can rest assured of that.”

“Good,” Elaine said, softly, simply. “That’s all I ask.”

That, and that whatever bastards decided that Caius needed a dagger in the back pay for their poor judgement—one way or another.

Eleven

Elaine’s head jerked up and she stared at Caius for a few seconds, heart lodged in her throat. He was laughing. She’d just said things that she probably shouldn’t but somehow—

—did he think it was funny?

Oh my god, he thinks it’s funny.

He took a step forward, smiling ruefully and she felt her blush growing deeper, her cheeks hot.

“I’m sorry,” she blurted, not quite sure what else to say.

Way to sound stupid.

“Don’t be,” he said, still smiling. “I needed that—more badly than you realize, in fact.” He reached for her hand and she let him take it, watching as he lifted her gloved fingers up to his lips so he could kiss the back of her hand. “Caius Horatio.”

“I-Isolde Caomhánach.”

“It’s my pleasure and honor, then, Isolde Caomhánach. You’re Lady Arenvale aren’t you?”

She nodded almost convulsively. “I am, yes.” He hadn’t let go of her hand. In a way, despite the sudden attack of nerves, she wasn’t sure she wanted him to. “I—I’m sorry to have seemed so elusive. It wasn’t my intention to cause any offense.”

He blinked, then laughed a little. “You mean with your absence at these sorts of things in the past? Consider it forgiven. I find them a bit trying myself, so the fact that you’ve missed them isn’t something I’ll hold against you.”

“That’s a relief.” She smiled at him and he smiled back, the expression reaching eyes the color of leaves that had just begun to turn from green to burnished gold with the coming of autumn. They sparkled with something she couldn’t name—not quite mischief, not quite interest, but something akin to each and still wholly different.

Caius took a deep breath, still watching her. “May—may I request the honor of a dance tonight?”

She blinked at him, a shiver racing through her. “A dance?”

There was that crooked smile again. “I promise not to step on your toes too much.”

Elaine laughed nervously. “It’s not my toes that I’m concerned with. I’m sure you dance wonderfully.”

“The feeling is mutual.”

It took a second for her to catch his implication—that he supposed that both of them danced just fine—and as soon as she did, she found herself blushing again. She glanced down toward the hem of her gown only to find him tilting her chin back up with his free hand, the other still firmly occupying hers.

“There’s no need for that,” he whispered, searching her face. “It’s all right. My brother speaks highly of Scarlet and any close friend of hers must certainly be someone I should meet and make a friend of.”

Elaine found herself blushing again but managed a tiny shy but pleased smile. “I think my lord flatters me.”

“I only try to speak the truth,” Caius said, and deep down, she somehow knew he meant it. “So. May I have the pleasure of a dance? The first one, perhaps?”

Elaine nodded, not quite trusting herself to speak right away. It took a moment before she managed, “Yes. Yes, of course. But…” she glanced out toward the railing, a dubious look on her face. “Will there still be a chance for that? The crowd’s a bit restless and I didn’t think the orchestra was ready.”

“I imagine they will be by the time we reach the floor,” Caius said. “As for the crowds, they’ll settle soon enough. They always do.” He squeezed her fingers, then released them so he could offer her his arm. “Shall we, then, Lady Arenvale?”

“I would be delighted, m’lord.”

Caius smiled at her, inclining his head, and led her down the hidden stairway that had been the way she came.

Ascalon watched his brother escort Isolde to the stairs, only looking away as they disappeared into the gloom. Scarlet’s hand tightened around his and he exhaled, leaning his shoulder into hers and slumping slightly.

“What’s wrong?” She whispered, letting go to wrap both of her arms around him. “Is it this Sapphire Crown business?”

He shook his head. “No,” he said in a hoarse whisper. “No, I wish it was that. Come on. We need to talk.” He hesitated. “I need to talk.”

She blinked and leaned closer, her lips next to his ear. “Out of character?”

Ascalon nodded, squeezing his eyes shut.

“The study?” She asked quietly, and he nodded again.

“That should be fine. Cay probably won’t notice I’m gone right away and if he comes looking after his turn on the floor with Isolde…” his voice trailed away as he found he really wasn’t she he cared if Caius came looking or not.

Scarlet squeezed him gently, then let go, moving along the rear wall of the gallery to a well-hidden door, one Ascalon and his brother had used on more than one occasion to make a quiet escape from the festivities, usually when one or both of them needed a few moments’ peace. A few seconds later, he and Scarlet were through that door and moving down the corridor beyond, the sounds of the gala fading the further they went. With each step, it got a little easier to breathe, though his heart just got heavier.

But he needed to talk to someone and there was no one he’d rather bare his soul to than her.

His grip on her fingers tightened as they reached the study. She was the one to open the door and ease it open, the space quiet and small, tucked deep into Weatherstone’s maze of rooms. It was his study, not Caius’s, his place to come and hide when he needed it—only rarely at that. Of the two of them, Caius was far more likely to need solitude and peace in the heart of everything. Ascalon, by contrast, usually sought others to distract himself.

This time, though, he knew it wouldn’t work—not the same way it always did.

At least he had Scarlet.

Ascalon moved toward an easy chair tucked in the corner near a fireplace, wood stacked on the grate, waiting for a spark. He stared at those logs for a moment, wondering if maybe he should light them, wondering if it would be wise to do it. Scarlet closed and locked the door behind them, lingering near it and watching him for a few silent moments.

Finally, she cleared her throat. “Ascalon, what’s wrong?”

He exhaled quietly, then crouched to start a fire in the fireplace, using the motions to buy himself time to gather his thoughts. He could feel the weight of her stair, heard the sound of her footsteps, muted against the thick rug, as she approached him. She sat down in front of the fireplace, watching him as he tried to coax the logs into catching.

“Talk to me,” she whispered.

For a second, he closed his eyes, exhaling, shoulders slumping. Scarlet reached out and squeezed his shoulder, a comforting gesture, one he needed more than he cared to admit.

The logs caught and he shifted them slightly, letting go of the tinder he’d used to get them going. He rocked back, half sat, half fell into a sitting position next to her. For a few seconds more, he stared at the slowly growing fire. Scarlet inched closer and wrapped her arms around him.

“Ascalon,” she whispered.

“Jason,” he said. “Tonight, right now, I need to be Jason.”

She was silent for a couple of heartbeats, then her voice came softly. “Okay. You know, that’s the first time you’ve ever told me your name.”

“I know,” he said, then swallowed hard. “It was something I should have done a long time ago and I’m sorry I didn’t do it sooner.”

“It’s okay,” she said, resting her cheek against his shoulder, following his gaze to the fire. “Sometimes it’s easier to just not talk about things like that. It lets us maintain distance—some kind of distance.”

“Easier to pretend that something isn’t something that it is.”

The whispered words were met by more silence. He closed his eyes, hoping that he hadn’t somehow scared her away by saying it. Her arms stayed around him, though, her cheek still rested against his shoulder.

“Joslyn,” she said, just when he thought she wouldn’t say anything. “But most people call me Joss. Easier, a little more informal.”

“Joslyn,” he echoed in a whisper, then exhaled, leaning his head against hers. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” she asked. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for. You said what both of us were thinking. I’m not stupid and neither are you. I think we both knew that there was something that we weren’t facing. That’s not why I’m here right now, though, is it? There’s something else bothering you that has nothing to do with us.”

“It might have a little to do with us,” he said, reaching up to wrap his hand around one of hers. “I found out today that a friend from the service died. It’s one of those things that sometimes hits harder than you think it’s going to.”

“Oh, shit,” she breathed. “Asc—Jason, I’m sorry. Was it—were you—?”

“We weren’t especially close, no,” he said. “Hung out off-duty, had a few drinks with some other people. We were just friends. Sometimes the senselessness of it all hits you, though. She was a chopper pilot. Her whole crew died with her.”

“Damn.” Scarlet turned her face to press her forehead against his shoulder. Ascalon closed his eyes again. “Was there anyone else?” she asked in a bare whisper. “Did anyone survive?”

“Yeah,” he murmured. “Yeah, someone did—a few. One of them I knew pretty well.”

“Was it bad?”

“Bad enough,” he murmured. “I’m not sure how bad. It’s one of those things, you know? It just hits and you don’t know why and you don’t know when but sometimes it just hits like a sucker-punch to the gut and you don’t know what you’re going to do or how you’re going to pull yourself out of the tailspin it throws you into.” He took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly. “Cay was trying to get me to talk before we got started tonight and I told him it wasn’t anything that he needed to worry about.”

“But he knew something was wrong.”

He nodded. “He always knows. It’s like he’s got a sixth sense for it. There’s not much you can hide from him.” He straightened slightly and looked down at her just as she looked up at him. “He asked me the other day about you and I.”

“What did you tell him?” she asked.

“I didn’t,” he said. “I dodged like I always do. It’s not something he needs to worry about.” He studied the lines of her face, throat getting tight for a moment as he wondered how much of it might be echoed in the woman behind the avatar, the person he looked forward to talking to almost every night, the one who always seemed to be there when he needed her. “I love him, but there’s some stuff that I’m not ready to let be his business too, y’know?”

She smiled a little. “My roommate was asking about you, too. I told her I didn’t even know your name.”

“Now you do,” he said. Her smile grew a little wider, one corner of her mouth quirking higher than the other.

“Now I do,” she agreed, then stretched up to kiss him.

He leaned into her kiss, squeezing his eyes shut against tears that suddenly stung his eyes, tears coming from nothing and everything all at once. He wanted to sob, to scream, to wrap himself up in her and never leave. He turned toward her, wrapped his arms around her and drew her tightly against him, swallowing hard as he kept right on kissing her, tamping down the sobs that threatened to tear free of his throat. She reached up, hands caressing his cheeks, fingers running through his hair before they wiped aside the tears that welled up, the tears that wouldn’t stop.

He held on, because all of a sudden, she was the port he needed in a storm, the one that had always been there, the one that he never realized was there, the one he never realized how badly he needed.

In the space of a heartbeat, he knew that she had been the one he’d always needed, always wanted—and probably always would.

He pulled back, breathing raggedly, arms loosening before he reached up to scrub away his tears with the heel of his hand. She watched him, brow furrowing slightly, concern written in every line and curve of her face.

“Jason,” she said softly. “What do you need?”

“You,” he breathed without thinking. “I need you. Here, actually with me. I—I need to feel something real.”

“Then tell me where to go,” she said. “I’ll come.”

It hit him like a truck at top speed and for a second he just stared at her, mouth dry, not sure what to say, how to respond. He swallowed once, then again, finally shaking his head.

“No,” he whispered. “No, I’ll come to you. You have your work and all of that and you can’t just duck away. I can, at least for a little while. They’ll understand. Just—just tell me and I’ll come.”

“Are you sure?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, honestly, I don’t know if I’ve ever been so damned sure about anything in my life.”

“Okay.” She reached up, cradling his face between her hands, wiping away his tears with her thumbs. “Okay.”

Then she told him where he needed to go and he kissed her again.

She held him afterwards for what seemed like a long, long time.

Ten

“Here goes nothing,” Caius murmured to Ascalon. His brother tore his gaze away from Scarlet and Isolde, the smile that had blossomed at the sight of the former fading as he focused on Caius, who stood grave-faced and serious beside him.

Something was wrong and he couldn’t put his finger on it, but in his heart of hearts, he knew there was something—just not what.

“You’ll be fine,” Ascalon said quietly, half a second before the sound of Caius’s majordomo’s staff against the floor rang out, plunging the room into sudden silence.

“His Grace Caius Ezra Tristan Horatio, High Lord of Elfaedil, Master of Weatherstone and the Thornwood, commands your heed.” The majordomo’s voice was clear, firm, and echoed through the space, cutting through the silence like a hot knife through butter. “Turn your eyes to him and listen well.”

Next to Ascalon, Caius winced slightly. His gaze slid sideways for a moment and Ascalon met his eyes.

Hell of a time to get a case of nerves.

“You can do it,” Ascalon mouthed, then stepped back half a step. Caius took a deep breath and stepped toward, wrapping both hands around the railing as he leaned against it, looking out over the assembled guests below.

“Good evening,” he said, his voice firm and even, carrying to every corner of the space. Ascalon knew it would reach every ear at the same calm, measured level, not too loud nor too quiet, thanks to the simple amplification spell Caius had long ago mastered for occasions such as this. “Welcome to Weatherstone. I am pleased that you all have been able to join us this evening, as the request I am about to make of all of you is one of great solemnity and importance. It is a request to help restore a lost piece of Elfaedil’s legacy, a piece of our history that has been lost for nine hundred years.”

A faint ripple of murmurs flowed through the crowds below, people exchanging glances, whispering to each other. It was the reaction they’d expected, planned for.

Just keep going. You can do this.

“Many of you are familiar with the tale of the Sapphire Crown,” Caius continued, gaze roaming over those assembled in the room below him. “And those of you that are, I beg that you will grant me the forbearance needed so I can tell those who are not.” He paused for half a beat, then forged onward. “The Sapphire Crown was once a part of the regalia of Queen Tiana of Elfaedil, before the Sundering split our world into the lands we know today. Legend says it was an object of great power, forged by the greatest dwenomer smiths of ages past whose techniques are lost to us now in these modern times. Some tales go so far as to stay that the materials that went into its crafting were blessed by the gods themselves. I will admit that I do not know the truth of it, but I know this: nine hundred years ago, the crown was lost during the Sundering. The last known record of it is at the Battle of Nylan in the mountains of Deith, far to the south of where we stand now. It was said to be in the possession of the queen and her retinue at the time of the battle. After that moment, after that battle, we do not know what happened to it, for there is not a single record where it is mentioned since then.”

Caius spread his hands. “Some of you may scoff at me for believing it was not somehow destroyed in the Sundering and I admit that for a long time, I thought the same. But we have heard reports and rumors from the south, from the deep woodlands of the Dravenwood, from the scrub forests that cluster around the skirts of the mountains of Deith.” He paused. “There have also been dreams.”

A fresh ripple ran through the crowd, the murmurings growing louder. Ascalon took half a step forward again, scanning the gathered below with a critical eye.

Something still felt wrong, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.

Caius lifted his hands, waiting for a few moments until the murmurs died away to nothing. He took a deep breath and continued, tone measured, words coming with gravitas that Ascalon had always known his brother was capable of but rarely experienced. “Seers have seen and Dreamers have dreamed, my friends. Something’s changed—something’s awakened—and I have reason to believe it is linked to the reemergence of the Sapphire Crown.”

“So what the hell do you want us to do about it?” a voice called from the crowd. Try as he might, Ascalon couldn’t pinpoint its owner. Caius didn’t seem to care.

The Lord of Elfaedil smiled. “I want you to find it.”

The room erupted.

The cacophony was so much and so sudden it left her head ringing. Elaine looked toward Joslyn, who stood with her jaw clamped shut, gaze trained on Caius above them—and on Ascalon beside him, standing half in the shadows, half not.

“I’m guessing this isn’t the usual sort of reaction,” she hissed at her friend.

Joslyn shook her head slowly. “No. No, it’s not.”

There were too many people talking at once, some amongst themselves, others shouting up toward the Lord of Elfaedil as he stood on the balcony, just watching the crowd, expression not quite concerned, though not quite impassive, either.

Elaine’s jaw tightened. “This is insane,” she said, half to herself and half to Joslyn. “Someone needs to calm this shit down. He’s clearly got more to say.”

“How can you tell?”

“You can’t?” Elaine shook her head and took a deep breath.

It shouldn’t take much, should it?

She was a healer by training, but she still had a few additional tricks up her proverbial sleeve.

Focus.

“Isolde? Isolde, what are you doing?”

Electricity raced up and down her limbs, setting her hair on end. She focused on a spot high above, in the center of the room, well clear of the galleries and the ceiling.

Focus.

“Isolde.”

Three.

Joslyn’s eyes had widened, as if she realized what her friend was about to do. “Don’t.”

Two.

She lifted one hand.

Joslyn seized her other arm, hissing in her ear. “Elaine!”

Release.

Silver-green light shot from her palm to the spot she’d chosen. It arced upward, then started to descend once it reached a point a few feet blow the ceiling. Already she could hear the sound of steel rasping against steel, sounds that she ignored. The bolt of light exploded into a shower of sparks, enough to draw the attention of most of the crowd.

“Enough!” she roared, her voice echoing in sudden startled silence. “Your lord speaks! Be silent and listen for there is more for him to say.”

Silence reigned for the span of a heartbeat. She could see some figures moving through the crowd toward her, steel already drawn.

“Hold.”

It was Lord Caius’s voice and the sound of it arrested the figures in mid-stride, their attention snapping from their quarry—her—to him. The Lord of Elfaedil leaned against the balcony, staring down at her, expression impassive.

“Harm her and you answer to me,” he said. “Sheathe your weapons and heed what I am about to tell you. The lady is correct—there is more for me to say, if you would hear it. Will you?”

A soft murmur rippled through the crowd, most voicing assent, though a few were grumbles. Glares were thrown in her direction an Elaine shifted her weight from one foot to the other, knowing that with one act she’d made enemies of people she’d never met before today.

Next to her, Joslyn exhaled in relief and let go of her arm.

Caius’s gaze lingered on her for a moment longer before it shifted to encompass the whole of his audience once more. “The Sapphire Crown is said to hold immense power,” he said, his voice deceptively quiet, though somehow it carried to the very back and edges of the great hall, reaching every ear. “That makes it sought-after and dangerous all at once. The extant records don’t speak of what it can do, but there are legends and stories that will be made available to those of you who choose to take up the hunt. Know this, too—the power of the Sapphire Crown is said to be linked to particular lines of descent dating back centuries before the Sundering. Our aim in this is to recover a piece of our history, not to recover some kind of weapon of mass destruction. It is to be returned to Coronet to be added to the collection of artifacts held in safety here. I hope that is clear.” He paused, gaze raking over those assembled in the room. Elaine felt a chill shoot down her spine.

There was a promise in that gaze, and the promise was not a kind one at all.

“As more and more information is gathered about the Sapphire Crown, it will be distributed throughout Elfaedil,” Caius continued. “Working together we are more likely to find what we seek than alone. Lord Dravenwood will be the main point of contact for information to be passed along. Further, we have reason to believe that there may be other artifacts dating to the same period that are reemerging. Those, too, will be important.

“Together,” Caius said, his voice abruptly gravelly, “we will solve this mystery, my friends. Together, we will learn why here and why now—and where these items have been for all this time.

“Enjoy the festivities this evening. I hope they will not be the last for a long time.”

He stepped back, then, into the shadows of the gallery above them, and for a few moments more, silence lingered. Elaine barely dared to breathe.

Joslyn tugged at her hand. “Come on,” she whispered in her ear, just as a murmur began to ripple through the crowd, only growing in volume.

Swallowing hard, Elaine nodded and let her friend tug her toward the shadows that lurked beneath the galleries.

Caius didn’t stop backing up until he reached the wall behind him. He pressed his spine against it, taking one ragged breath, then another. The shadows of that upper gallery cloaked him, though he wished they were something more solid than they were, something more tangible. It was written all over his face—a look Ascalon had seen many times before, though never quite this intensely.

“It’s all right,” Ascalon murmured, stepping in front of his brother, hiding any bare glimpse of the Lord of Elfaedil with his body.  “That went surprisingly well.”

“Who is she?” Caius asked in a faint voice, staring at his brother’s shoulder for a moment without seeing it. Ascalon bit back a curse and reached for Caius’s shoulder. Startled, his brother glanced up at him, then asked again, “Who is she, Ascalon?”

Ascalon blinked at him, a frown creasing his forehead.

Caius swore under his breath. “The one who shut them up. Who is she? I don’t remember—I don’t remember seeing her at one of these before.”

Grimacing, Ascalon glanced away. Caius watched him, slowly straightening.

“Ascalon.”

“What?”

“You know her,” Caius said slowly, his voice quiet. “Don’t you?”

He nodded once.

“But you won’t tell me her name?”

“It depends on why you want to know it, Cay.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” The question came quietly, curiously. “Do you think I’m angry?”

Ascalon’s stomach twisted. He wasn’t sure what he thought. “No.”

Caius exhaled an explosive breath through his teeth and shook his head. “Fuck-all, Ascalon. You know me better than that.”

“You’re right,” Ascalon said. “You’re right, I do.” He scrubbed a hand over his face and turned to face his brother squarely. “Lady Arenvale. She’s a friend of Scarlet’s.”

Caius studied him for a moment. “But she’s never come before, despite invitations. She’s never been here before.”

Ascalon shook his head. Caius’s brows knit.

“Why now?”

“That’s a question for her, Cay, not for me. I don’t know. I don’t have any answers for you.”

Caius swallowed and looked away. “I want to meet her,” he said, his voice quiet. It sounded strange, an emotion buried there that Ascalon couldn’t quite identify—nor was he certain he wanted to.

“I think I can arrange that,” Ascalon said softly. “Are you going to wait here?”

Caius nodded. “For another few minutes, anyway. I’ll let the clamor die down.” He took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly. “Someone needs to tell the orchestra to start playing.”

“I’m sure someone will soon,” Ascalon said, heading quickly and quietly toward a hidden stairway down to the main level, hidden in the dim of the shadows along the back wall of the gallery. “Just—just say here.”

Caius flashed a thumbs-up, leaning against the wall again and staring toward the balcony, expression a little grim—enough so that it made Ascalon’s heart give a painful squeeze. None of them ever thought of how heavily this all weighed on him sometimes. It wasn’t fair, but at the same time there was little they could do.

He was the Lord of Elfaedil, and with that lordship came very particular responsibilities.

Still. He was his brother, too, and with that came another specific set of things.

His foot hit the steps and he hurried down, quiet, hoping that no one would notice him as he reached the bottom and eased out from behind the tapestry that hid the bottom of the stairs from the rest of the great hall. Hopefully, he’d find them quickly and—

“Ascalon.”

A shiver shot through him and he exhaled a sigh of relief, kicking himself. He shouldn’t have worried—Scarlet knew this stairway and would have wanted to get to him as quickly as she could after everything that had just happened.

I’m an idiot.

Scarlet and Isolde were only a few feet away, already deep in the shadows beneath the gallery. The rest of the great hall was still loud, still abuzz with the announcement. He estimated about half would leave immediately, collecting small chapbooks full of information on their way out, intending to start their hunts for the Sapphire Crown tonight. That was all well and good—the fewer hot-heads any of them needed to deal with for the rest of the evening, the better.

A few of those hot-heads would linger, though, and perhaps one or two would be convinced there was more that hadn’t been revealed, either in words or in the chapbooks. Those were the ones that concerned Ascalon the most.

For a few seconds, though, all of that stopped mattering. He cleared the space between he and the pair of women in two quick strides, took Scarlet by the shoulders, and kissed her within an inch of both of their lives. For her part, she startled, then wrapped her arms around him, clinging to him for the few moments that the kiss lasted. When they both finally came up for air, she canted her head to one side, a brow arched, eyes glittering in the dim.

“What was that for?”

“Everything and nothing,” he whispered, then leaned in for a briefer, more tender kiss. Her fingertips grazed his cheek and he smiled as he stepped back, taking a deep breath.

She and I need to talk.

The thought startled him, even as right as it felt.

He glanced toward Isolde and managed a wry smile. “Hello, Isolde.”

She shot him a crooked smile of her own. “Lord Dravenwood.”

Ascalon shook his head. “Ascalon, please. Always Ascalon.”

“Is everything all right?” That was Scarlet, her fingers tangling in the sleeve of his doublet. The thread of worry in her voice made his heart ache just a little. “That announcement…”

“It will be,” he reassured her, wrapping an arm around her and drawing her into a one-armed hug for a few seconds. He exhaled a sigh and looked at Isolde. “Caius wants to see you.”

She winced. “If I was out of line—”

“You weren’t,” he said, hoping it sounded more reassuring than it felt. “You were fine. He asked to meet you. That—that doesn’t happen very often and almost never happens at something like this. I think you impressed him.”

Isolde blushed and shook her head. “I just did what felt right. That’s all.”

“It was the smart call,” he said quietly. He’d known Isolde for a little while now, though mostly through Scarlet. The pair were close and knowing how much Scarlet trusted her was almost enough for him—would have been enough for him, truth be told, even before he’d met her himself and formed his own opinions. She was focused, driven, but there was a softness and kindness to her that was achingly rare in people.

He shouldn’t have been surprised that she out of everyone in the room had silenced the crowd so his brother could finish.

“Come on,” Ascalon murmured, letting go of Scarlet and turning back toward the stairs. “He’s waiting for us.”

Scarlet caught his hand and squeezed as he led the way back to the stairway, Isolde trailing behind both of them. Together, the trio headed up the shadowed stairs back to the gallery, where Caius still stood with his back against the wall, staring at the crowds milling below, beyond the rail. He was pale and seemed like he was a thousand miles away even if he was physically present with them.

Ascalon swallowed.

Keep your shit together, big brother. I know you can do it.

“Cay?”

He startled slightly, glancing toward them. “I didn’t hear you come up,” he murmured, straightening from his lean. His gaze flicked from Ascalon to Scarlet before finally settling on Isolde. Something softened in that gaze as he studied her, though she didn’t seem to notice the softening, only his gaze on her. She looked down, a faint blush coloring her cheeks.

“I owe you my thanks,” Caius said after a few moments of silence. “You didn’t have to do what you did.”

“Yes I did,” Isolde whispered, still not looking at him. “They weren’t listening and you had more to say. You’re the Lord of Elfaedil and they should damn well shut up and listen.” She blushed darker, as if realizing what she’d just said. Her fingers bunched in the fabric of her skirt.

Caius just laughed.

Nine

“You are unaccountably distracted,” Caius murmured, not looking at the man standing next to him. They were up on the balcony overlooking the courtyard of his manor, watching the final preparations for the night’s gala. Servants in silver and white livery moved quickly, clearing space for carriages to be parked and checking the cobbles and bricks fo the yard to make sure they were firmly in place. Others hung greenery and banners from sconces on the walls and set themselves to lighting lanterns hung all along the circular drive that stopped in front of the stairs at the entry. They were less than an hour from its start, less than an hour from sunset. The festivities would be on them before they knew it. “What’s going on?”

Ascalon shook his head slowly, staring blankly out over the walls and at the gate, a gate that stood closed tonight, the road empty before it. He could just barely catch glimpses of Coronet below them, down the hill, lamps starting to slowly be lit as twilight sank lower over the city. “Nothing that has bearing on the current situation,” he said, finally glancing sidelong to his brother. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I always worry,” Caius said, crossing his arms. “Especially when it seems like something’s gotten you upset.”

“That’s what makes you a good brother,” Ascalon said, then smiled, hoping the expression didn’t seemed as forced as it felt. He’d meant it to be reassuring. The dubious glance Caius gave him told him he’d failed. A sigh escaped his lips.  “I mean it, Cay. It’s not anything you should worry about right now. There’s enough on your plate.”

“My plate?” Caius’s brow quirked. “You should consider your own as closely.”

“I know what I have to do in order to make all of this work,” Ascalon murmured softly. “I’m your first line of defense in this Sapphire Crown business. If I think what they bring is genuine, then they get to you. No sooner, no negotiations.”

Caius stared at him for a few moments and Ascalon struggled to avoid the weight of that stare. He knew what Caius was thinking but wouldn’t acknowledge it. His brother was worried, and he was entitled to that worry, but at the same time, Ascalon hadn’t lied to him. What was bothering him had nothing to do with what they were going to embark on—it had everything to do with other things beyond both of their abilities to control.

“Let it go,” Ascalon said quietly, not quite pleading, not yet. The look of concern on Caius’s face only got worse and Ascalon winced.

“Are you sure there’s nothing I can do?” Caius asked.

He nodded. “I’m sure, but if something changes, I’ll let you know.”

“That’s all I ask,” Caius murmured, then turned his attention back to the courtyard, leaning against the rail. “Do you think we’re making the right decision?”

“Mm.” Ascalon crossed his arms, joining his brother in his lean, though while Caius stayed upright, Ascalon leaned against his crossed arms, down closer to the thick stone rail. “I do,” he said, once he was more comfortably settled, his spine stretching slightly as he shifted his position. “This gives them something to concentrate on, something to rally around—and it saves you from wasting resources best turned toward other things.”

Caius snorted softly. “I would ask what other things you’re talking about but I suspect you’d look at me like I’d grown a second head.”

“Aye, because you know full well what I’m talking about.” Ascalon shook his head. “It’s the right call, Cay. The alternative is petty squabbling and possible war with Proximus. That’s not something we can afford now is it? Lord Darrow has already expressed displeasure at the raiding along his border, though he can’t tell us who’s responsible. This will rechannel the energies of the nobles and the knights—and all of their alliances.”

“Unless or until it’s found,” Caius said quietly. “And then what?”

“Hopefully, the tensions will have eased by then and we won’t have war to worry about. Otherwise, we figure something else out—one way or another, it works itself out. There’s no other choice in this equation.”

“You seem damned certain,” Caius said, glancing at him. “How?”

“Because I have faith in the Lord of Elfaedil.” Ascalon looked up at him and smiled a tight, grim smile. “Or is that faith misplaced, brother?”

Caius was silent for a long moment as he settled his hand on Ascalon’s shoulder. “No,” he murmured. “Never.”

“Good,” Ascalon said, then straightened. “Come on. Your guests will be arriving soon. We’d better make sure we’re both ready for that.”

He turned to walk inside, and after one last glance around the courtyard below, Caius turned and followed him.

Joslyn let out a low whistle, moving around her slowly in a circle, studying her from the hem of her crown to the crown of her head. “I can’t believe it,” she said, eyes glittering in the dying sunlight. “You look incredible.”

Elaine blushed, adjusting the neckline of her gown slightly. “Thanks. Not bad for short notice, is it?”

“Not bad is definitely not the terminology I would choose in this scenario,” Joslyn said, shaking her head. “Mistress Margot is some kind of miracle worker.”

“Not a miracle worker, just an artist.” Elaine smiled. “Well-chosen, then?”

“Absolutely,” Joslyn said. “Were you worried about that?”

“Maybe a little. I’ve never done this before, remember?”

“There’s that,” Joslyn said. “But you shouldn’t have worried—not at all. I mean it. You look incredible. People are going to wonder where the hell you’ve been in all of the best ways tonight.”

“Speaking of,” Elaine said, glancing toward the street. “Shouldn’t we be getting into that carriage and heading off?”

Joslyn smirked. “Worried we’ll be fashionably late?”

“Not fashionably. Just late.” Elaine smiled. “Besides, aren’t you excited for Ascalon to see you in all of your finery?”

Joslyn twitched her skirts—her gown ink-black with traceries of red and gold worked through it at the hem and through the bodice. “Well,” she admitted. “Maybe a little.”

Elaine took her by the hand, tugging slightly as she turned to head for their waiting carriage. “Then let’s go before he dies of suspense.”

“He will not die of suspense,” Joslyn said, laughing as she let Elaine tug her down the walk toward the edge of the street and the carriage. A footman hopped off the sideboard to open the door and drop the step, waiting alongside to hand each woman into the carriage like something out of a fairy tale.

“He won’t if we’re not late,” Elaine said, grinning.

The footman, dressed in the colors of Elfaedil, bowed to them as they reached the street’s edge. “M’lady Arenvale, m’lady Grovesong. It is an honor to serve you this evening.”

“Thank you,” Elaine said with a smile. She took the footman’s offered hand and let him help her up and into the carriage, lit within by magic-powered lamps. A moment later, Joslyn joined her in the well-appointed interior, complete with plush, comfortable benches and curtains for privacy. The footman shut the door to the carriage and latched it, and a moment later the carriage jolted into motion, the hooves of the paired bays clopping softly against the cobbled streets.

“Does Lord Caius always provide conveyance for his guests?” Elaine asked, leaning forward to be heard over the sound of the carriage’s wheels and the horses’ footfalls.

Joslyn smiled. “Only when it’s big.”

“Which means…?”

“That you have made an excellent choice about when to make your debut, Isolde. Have no doubt about that.”

Elaine settled back against the rear wall of the carriage, exhaling a breath quietly. “Is it really that remarkable that I haven’t made it to one of these?”

“A little,” Joslyn said. “I wouldn’t worry about it too much, though. I think there will be more than enough going on tonight that no one will have much time to pay attention to the new face in the crowd that probably should have been there the whole time.”

“Is that a dig?”

Joslyn shot her a smirk. “Maybe a little one.”

“I am busy you know,” Elaine said. “And my lands are fairly remote.”

“And yet, you spend most of your time in the city.” The smirk was still in place, though Elaine knew her friend was teasing. Her gaze drifted toward the window and for a moment, Joslyn watched the city as it flashed past them. “It’s all right. Don’t whip yourself into some kind of frenzy over it. Everything will be fine. Who knows? Maybe no one will notice.” Her gaze flicked toward Elaine again. “If whatever this all about is big enough, no one will.”

“So you said,” Elaine murmured, her own gaze drifting toward the window. They were nearing the edge of the city, now, moving toward the road that led up the hill to Lord Caius’s manor at the top. It glittered in the setting sun, the walls painted oranges and pinks and golds in the fading light, torches and lamps flickering atop its walls and in the windows of the keep that towered above them. She exhaled a sigh, her stomach tightening and a lump swelling in her throat. There was little reason for her nerves, and yet there they were, huge and real and almost enough to make her tell the driver to stop and let her out.

She wouldn’t let herself do that, though. Joslyn was right—she had been far too divorced from this for far too long. It was time—and postponing any longer would just make things worse in the long run.

It wasn’t just all of that, though, that caused her visceral reaction. There was a mysterious beauty to Lord Caius’s manor that captured her senses and her imagination. The ruler of Elfaedil was aloof, a mystery in and of himself. She hadn’t heard much of him beyond the fact that he liked his privacy and that he was powerful, benevolent when warranted and dangerous when provoked.

She didn’t know what to expect, and that, too, fed into her nerves—and the excitement that had been building since she arrived at Mistress Margot’s seeking a dress for the evening.

The carriage started up the long, winding roadway up the hill to the cliff where the manor perched. Elaine smiled.

Won’t be long now.

Only a little bit further to go.

“We’ll be there soon,” Joslyn said softly, watching her.

“I know,” Elaine murmured, gaze still on the manor—no, truly it was a castle on the hill, not something so simple as a manor—rising above them. “You’ve been there before?”

“A few times.”

“Alone?”

From the corner of her eye, she could see Joslyn shake her head. “No. Like this, usually, for a gathering. Once with just Ascalon and I.”

There was a question Elaine wanted to ask, but it slipped from her before her lips could form the words. It was going to be a beautiful night, if the colors painted in the sky were any indication. She sighed softly and shook her head.

“I shouldn’t be nervous.”

“No,” Joslyn agreed, grinning. “You shouldn’t be.”

“Then I suppose I won’t be,” Elaine said, turning back to her with a smile. “This will be fun.”

“Without a doubt,” Joslyn said. “It always is.”

The carriage lurched for a moment, pausing as it joined a line of other carriages approaching the gates, unfolded wrought iron twisted in knots, standing open awaiting Lord Caius’s guests for the evening. She couldn’t quite see to count how many carriages were ahead of them, nor how many were behind, but she assumed it was quite a few—likely every noble of every stripe in Elfaedil and likely even more people besides.

As Joslyn had said, tonight was going to be big, though no one was quite certain what would make it that way beyond the gala.

“Probably some kind of announcement tonight,” Joslyn murmured, jarring her from her thoughts. Elaine glanced at her, brow arching.

“About what, though?”

“With him, you never know,” Joslyn said, fidgeting with a glove. “Could be anything. Last time it felt this big, though, it was announcing the Thorne affair.”

Elaine blinked. “He announced—”

“Now do you see why I told you that you should come this time?” Joslyn was grinning again and Elaine huffed a sigh.

“You could have just said so.”

“But would it have been as convincing?”

“May—”

The carriage stopped and Elaine’s gaze snapped back to the window.

They had arrived.

The footman hopped off the running board and came around to the side of the carriage, setting the step before he unlatched the door. “Ladies,” he said quietly. “Welcome to Weatherstone.”

Elaine found it oddly hard to breathe as the footman handed first Joslyn, then her down from the carriage. She unconsciously shook out her skirts, resettling them as she moved a few steps away from the carriage. Joslyn glanced toward her even as she reached back to take Elaine’s hand.

“Come on,” her friend murmured, moving toward the steps, her pace measured, unhurried, gliding like some sort of dancer across the bricks and cobbles of the courtyard toward the polished granite stairs into the keep’s main entrance, massive dark oak doors flung wide to greet the gathering night and Lord Caius’s guests. Two liveried guards flanked the doors, studying each new arrival with critical gazes, but neither moved to block their passage as they reached the top of the stairs and glided toward those open doors.

The foyer beyond was massive, lit by lanterns and a thousand candles, the floors of polished dark stone tiles. A massive staircase stood opposite the door, curving up on either side to meet before another set of massive doors. These, too, stood open, and other men and women garbed in finery similar to their own drifted up those steps in singlets, in groups and pairs, all funneling at their own pace through those doors.

Elaine took a deep breath. Joslyn squeezed her hand.

This is it.

She let go of Joslyn’s hand to mount the stairs, steeper and not as deep as the ones outside, needing both hands to lift her skirts just high enough that she wouldn’t step on their hems. Joslyn shot her a grin, falling in beside her, and together they headed up the curving marble stair to the doors to the great hall.

The first thing that struck Elaine as they stepped through the doors and into the great hall was the sheer scale of the space. It was massive, with galleries running along its walls, set above massive windows that stretched from a few feet above the floor to graceful arched tops that ended just below the braces that helped support the galleries. More windows lined the galleries, stretching again a few feet from the floor all the way to the ceiling. The windows ran along both the right and left hand sides of the great hall, one side overlooking ornate gardens, the other with a view over simpler landscaping and the cliffs to the sea beyond. Elaine’s breath caught and she paused for the space of a heartbeat, eyes widening.

“Don’t hold up traffic,” Joslyn whispered to her, steering her toward the stairway down to the main level of the great hall.

Elaine blinked and shook herself, blushing slightly. “Of course not,” she murmured. “Sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry about,” Joslyn said. “Everyone reacts the same way the first time.”

The great hall was thronged with people, though not so many as Elaine initially expected—though not as few as she feared. They were clustered here and there in groups, already deep in conversation, others sipped at wine or other spirits near the refreshment tables, while still more leaned against columns, alone and watching. There was a small orchestra at one corner at the far end of the room, still warming up and tuning instruments quietly, not quiet ready to play.

I suppose that means there’s going to be dancing later, Elaine thought, trying not to frown. She kept pace with Joslyn as they wended their way through the drifting mass.

“Where’s Ascalon?” she asked her friend in a stage whisper—it was the only way she’d be heard but not overheard.

Joslyn jerked her chin toward the gallery at the far end of the room. “There.”

Sure enough, there he was, dressed in black and silver, standing near the railing, his gaze roaming lazily over the great hall—until it lit on them. Even at this distance, Elaine could see the brief flash of a smile before the figure next to him said something and he turned away, smile fading.

It took a second for it to register who the figure beside him was. Elaine blinked. “That’s—”

A series of loud thuds interrupted her and the room grew eerily silent, the hush coming so quickly and so absolutely it was as if someone had suddenly hit a mute button on the scene. Elaine’s heart skipped a beat. She glanced back to see if people were still arriving and found the doors to the great hall closing, whisper-quiet on well-oiled hinges.

She looked back toward the balcony, her mouth dry.

Straight to the main event, then.

Joslyn’s fingers twined through hers and squeezed. She squeezed back, bracing herself.

It was time.

Eight

Jason stepped off the elevator and onto the fourth floor, home of his art and story teams for Universe. The usual hum of activity was present, though dimmed slightly—likely due to the late hour and fading effects of varying levels of caffeination amongst the artists and writers. It was nearly four-thirty on a Friday, and several team members had already headed home for the day or had taken the day off, understandable on a pleasant October Friday with a weekend that promised to be just as nice.

“Later than usual today,” Zander Hampton observed, wheeling back half a foot back from his desk to catch Jason’s eye. “Two days in a row.”

“Well, yesterday was launch,” Jason reminded him, unslinging his messenger bag that held his tablet and sketchpads, his pencils and colors, and dropping it onto one of the couches in the center of an open span of floor. The lounge area was ringed by the artists’ workstations, some with drafting tables, others with computers—and more than a few with both. There was a similar spot on the other side for the writers, and then a communal one on the west side of the building, bridging the gap between the teams.

Collaboration space, Marissa had called it while both of her brothers’ eyes had glazed over, but Jason had to admit that having that area dedicated to everyone did help when it was time for meetings in the conference auditorium at the east end of the floor.

“Yesterday made sense,” Zander said, grinning. “What’s today’s excuse? Storyboarding up in the penthouse again?”

“Nothing that glamorous,” Jason assured him. “Trust me. We were going over some of the numbers on the streams and some other numbers. Subscriptions, that sort of thing. Not nearly as fun as you’re thinking it could be.”

The artist’s nose wrinkled. “That bad, huh?”

“Any day he’s not drawing is a bad day for him,” Gayle Mason observed, leaning against the wall near the shared lounge space. A member of the writing team, Gayle had been with the company since it became more than just a pipe dream cooked up by three siblings and their brother-in-law. Jason had met her after he’d left the service and gone back to school and recruiting her as one of their story leads had been a no-brainer as far as he was concerned. “How’re the numbers looking?”

“Pretty good,” Jason said, leaning against the back of one of the couches, positioning himself so he could see both Zander and Gayle. “Subscription numbers bounced a little, but we weren’t exactly expecting much of a spike yet—that’ll come in a few weeks, if it comes at all. Goal was maintaining levels. Also looked at the stream numbers and those were pretty impressive—major spike over other casts and the replays have had a pretty consistent draw. We’ve got some players doing streams and commentary and that’s drawing hits and everything’s sounding pretty positive.”

Zander’s brow quirked. “What about the turnout for the go-live at the cafés? Are those numbers in yet?”

“Preliminaries,” Jason said, then smiled. “They’re beating projections. Marissa’s trying to figure out how the hell her business analysts could have been so damned far off the mark.”

“Ha!” Zander clapped his hands together, startling a few of the other artists and drawing a few confused looks. He shot them all a grin and turned his attention back to Jason. “You know damned well how that happened.”

Jason shrugged. “I do, but when I say something she gets mad.”

“I can only imagine her mad,” Gayle mused. “Must be pretty rough.”

“That’s one way to put it,” Jason said, rubbing his temple. His older sister could be a force of nature when she put her mind to it—which mercifully didn’t happen often at all, especially where her brothers were concerned.

“Anything else interesting come out of your all-day powwowing?” Zander asked, leaning back in his wheelchair. “Or was it a whole ton of that?”

“Mostly that,” Jason said with a slight shrug, though he glanced toward Gayle. “Peter wants an update on where we’re at with storyline design for the next push. Wants to know if we’ll be ready to start doing voicework for it before the end of the month.”

One shoulder hitched in a shrug. “We can be. Wouldn’t take much. Is that what he wants.”

“It sounded like it.”

She nodded. “Then we’ll adjust deadlines Monday and tell the team. Mostly it’s just looking over the last adjustments and then setting scripts. Little late to tell them tonight, though—most of them are already gone for the day.”

The story team had a tendency to start earlier than the rest of the employees and bail out a little earlier—typically, most of them found their creative juices flowed better with judicious applications of coffee around or before 8am. Jason didn’t mind it as much as some of the other divisions did, but Peter had always smoothed over any tensions with a few words and a smile—despite his insistence that Jason was the more charming one. Art was sometimes in earlier, sometimes a little later, depending on what their project load looked like—it wasn’t that uncommon to see some of the art team members lingering past nine at night, though by the same token, members of the writing team did the same thing.

There was a reason for the vending machines and the coffee-shop grade espresso machine in their shared lounge.

All nighters were not an impossibility on the third floor, and Jason often found himself at the center of them.

“He need anything from art?” Zander asked, brow quirking again. “Or are we just conceptualizing still?”

“Well, as always we’re open to suggestions,” Jason said, crossing his arms. “But as a matter of fact, no, you’re not just conceptualizing still. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is designing carnivale-style gear for every world and armor type we’ve got in the game. That should keep all of you busy for a while.”

“Carnivale, huh?” One corner of Zander’s mouth quirked upward in a smile. “Do I want to ask what brought this one on?”

“I mean, you can,” Jason said with a grin of his own. “But that doesn’t mean I’ll tell you.”

“Ooh. We keeping something close to the vest this time?”

“For the moment,” he answered. “That’s probably going to be a Monday project, though, unless you want to send out an email blast now.”

“I’ll wait until Monday,” Zander said, nodding to Gayle. “She’s right, it’s too late to spring shit on people tonight.”

“Jason?”

Blinking at the unexpected voice, Jason twisted, peering at the elevator and the woman who’d just exited from it. Aroha Kanawa-Davis was one of their programmers, working under Brannon as a developer, and usually didn’t venture down to the art floors—unless they were meeting for lunch. They’d served together and after Aroha had mustered out, she’d come to work at GreySoft. At Jason’s insistence, they’d made a point of hiring as many veterans as they could when they could, and especially in the earliest days of the company, that had been possible more often than it wasn’t.

There was something about the look on her face that made his stomach lurch and he straightened from his lean, turning to fully face her. “What happened?”

“You remember Lilah Bowers, right?”

“Chopper pilot, yeah. Yeah, I remember her. What’s wrong? What happened?”

“She’s dead,” Aroha said quietly. “I just found out from Jamie in HR.”

It was like being gut-punched. “What happened?”

“They were flying transport missions over ISIS territory in eastern Syria,” Aroha said, lips thinning. “Missile brought them down.”

“Damn,” Jason breathed, sitting down heavily on the back of the couch again. Zander wheeled himself closer, putting a hand on his friend’s knee. “She was due for her out soon, wasn’t she?”

“Stop-loss was supposed to start next month,” Aroha said, then shook her head. “I keep thinking we got out at the right time.”

“For better or worse,” Zander agreed quietly, glancing at Jason. “You okay?”

Jason swallowed hard once, twice. He and Lilah hadn’t been close, but they’d had a few drinks together on nights off and he knew her well enough that the loss hurt. He managed to nod before asking, “What about her crew?”

“Killed. Some of the squad on board made it.” Aroha hesitated. Jason frowned.

“Say it,” he said, mouth tasting like cotton.

“Caela Daughtry,” Aroha said. “It was her squad.”

“Is she dead?”

Aroha shook her head hard. “No. They were able to evacuate her and the rest of her squad. She’ll recover, but they’re sending her home. She’s done. Medical discharge.”

“Jaime tell you that, too?” Jason asked, feeling dizzy for a moment, guts twisting. “How’d he find out?”

“His sister’s on the medical team that treated her,” Aroha said. “She passed the information along.”

Jason took a slow, deep breath, thoughts storming, swirling in a maelstrom he struggled to quell. “She was planning on acting, wasn’t she? When she got out?”

“Yeah,” Aroha said softly.

“Get her number,” Jason said, pushing himself to his feet. “Call her—or have Jamie call her, or whatever, I don’t care who does it. Tell her she’s got a job here if she wants it—as long as she thinks she can work for me, we have a spot for her here.”

Aroha’s eyes widened slightly. “Are—are you sure?”

“I said it,” Jason said, his voice abruptly gravelly. “That means I’m sure. Reach out. The worst she can say is no.”

Aroha’s lips thinned and she nodded. “If she asks what you want her to do?”

“Voice acting,” Jason said, not even having to think about it. “That’s what I want her to do. We’ve got some slots for the next story push and I want her filling one.”

“Then that’s what we’ll tell her. I’ll tell Jamie.”

Jason nodded. It wasn’t until Aroha was back on the elevator and out of sight that his shoulders slumped and his eyes began to sting. Zander squeezed his knee.

“Hey,” the former Ranger said quietly. “Hey. Buck up, man. There’s nothing you can do that you haven’t already done—not yet. Y’hear me?”

Squeezing his eyes shut, Jason nodded again. “I know,” he said, his voice steadier than he expected. “Trust me, I know. Doesn’t make this shit any easier.”

“No,” Zander agreed. “But it’s what we’ve got to deal with, right?”

“Yeah,” Jason said, then sighed, scrubbing a hand over his eyes and straightening. “Why don’t you guys knock off for the night? I’ll see you Monday morning.”

“You’ll see us earlier than that,” Gayle said with a faint smile. “There’s the thing tonight in game.”

Shit. Yeah, and I almost forgot. He managed to smile. “Right. Guess I will see you tonight.”

“You going to be okay?” Zander asked. “We could meet for beers or something tomorrow if you want to talk.”

“Maybe,” Jason said. “I’ll let you know. Like I said, though, call it a night, you two. Get home and get settled or whatever. I’ll see you tonight.”

Gayle came over and hugged Jason tightly. “You do the same thing—or whatever you and Peter were planning to do before Aroha came up here and told you what she just told you.”

“I will,” Jason promised, squeezing her tightly for a moment before letting go. “Thanks.”

“Anytime,” she said with a faint smile as she stepped back. She clapped Zander on the shoulder as she turned to go. “I’ll catch you later, Z.”

He flashed her a peace sign and she laughed, heading back to the writers’ half of the floor. Zander studied Jason a few moments longer before he wheeled himself back to his desk.

“I meant it, Jason,” he said after a moment. “If you need something—”

“I’ll call,” Jason said. “I promise. Go on, get out of here.”

“Just going to finish this up, then I will. Catch you later.”

Jason just nodded as he gathered up his things, then headed for the elevator. Peter was going to want to know what was wrong when he got upstairs.

He wasn’t sure what we was going to tell his brother, but he’d figure it out somewhere along the way.

Seven

Elaine took one breath, then another, settling down into her desk chair and forcing herself to relax, reminding herself that she didn’t need to feel guilty about taking a night off from research—or two—to relax and actually have what could be construed as a life. Joslyn and Hadrian certainly seemed to think this qualified, so she would just have to take them at their word.

I can’t believe I said yes to this thing tonight. A faint sigh escaped her lips and she glanced at her VR headset, sitting on the desk next to her computer. She traced the upper curve of it with a fingertip and finally shook her head. Don’t dawdle or you won’t have a damn thing to wear.

Hadrian had needed to call it an early afternoon in the library that day, too, though not because of a promise to his wife—because of a text he’d gotten in the middle of digging through a source. The concerned look on his face had made an impression, etched itself into her memory. He’d excused himself for a moment after that, then returned about ten minutes later and started to pack up. When she asked what had happened, he’d just shaken his head.

“Is everything okay?” she’d asked. “The kids? Your wife?”

“They’re fine,” he’d told her. “It’s something else. I’ll see you Monday.”

And that had been that. He’d finished packing up and she’d watched him go, confused and not a little worried about what might have sparked his abrupt departure, but at the same time knowing that if it had been something she needed to know, he’d had said so. If it was something he was willing to talk about, he’d probably tell her all about it on Monday anyway.

It was early enough that Joslyn wasn’t home from work yet. While she’d agreed that she would go to whatever this ball was at Caius’s manor in the game that night, she wasn’t sure that she’d tag along with her friend to the gaming café for it. There was something more appealing about staying home—though she knew that Joslyn would just tell her that she was being silly and letting her overactive introvert tendencies win once again.

Still, there was something tempting about actually feeling the fabric of whatever dress she found to wear for the night.

Oh, who am I kidding? I am half giddy to do this. It’s not like I ever get to do something like this in real life, now is it?

Nor was it entirely likely that she ever would get the chance to do it in real life, unless she ended up doing some kind of living history with her degree—unlikely, but possible. Taking advantage of this opportunity was really the smartest option she had, for better or worse.

Besides, maybe it would be fun.

She glanced at the time—it would be at least an hour, maybe longer before Joslyn made it home. That was enough time to log in and find something to wear, then still enough time to change her clothes into something presentable in public to grab dinner before they went to the gaming café. Yoga pants and an old tee shirt didn’t seem like the right kind of attire for that, though she’d seen worse.

Elaine flipped on the computer and checked the connections on her VR headset and gloves before settling back in her chair. It only took a few minutes to get logged in and ready to go—for as little as she seemed to play lately, getting into the game was still like second nature, done by muscle memory and autopilot. She tugged on the gloves, settled the headset on her head, then took another deep breath.

“Okay,” she murmured to herself. Time to shop.”

She hit a key to log into the game, closing her eyes and counting to ten before opening them again. The faint sound of the city—muted on the outskirts—reached her ears as she sank into the game world. She was in her character’s townhome on the western edge of Coronet, near enough to the sea that on quiet nights she could hear the waves against the shore. Now, though, it was midafternoon and she would have to move quickly—or at least with more haste than usual—to find something for herself to wear tonight.

Joss is right. I need to check my mail more often.

She straightened her armor—she hadn’t bothered to change before she and Joslyn had logged out at the gaming café the night before—and adjusted her cloak before heading out, stepping out of the small antechamber and into the townhome’s foyer. Her actual holdings, miles away through the forests, were slightly more impressive—certainly larger—though she spent more time in Coronet than there lately, just because there were more people to roleplay with in the capital than out in the wilds. Joslyn had continually assured her that there were, in fact, plenty of people to roleplay with well beyond the city’s confines but Elaine remained unconvinced based on her own experiences.

The townhome itself was well-appointed, a three-storey building of wood and stone with a slate roof and a small garden in back. Inside, the rooms were neat, clean, though only sparsely decorated. She just hadn’t quite worked up the motivation to do that piece yet, though someday she intended to. What little decoration there was tended to reflect her character’s colors—rich wine-hued burgundy and deep blue. It wasn’t nearly as flashy as the Scarlet Dame, but there was something to be said for being more low-key—that was how she felt about it, in any case, and more importantly, it fit her.

A flutter of nervous excitement shot through her as she stepped outside, locking the door behind her and walking down the cobbled path from her front door to the street. I can’t believe I actually agreed to do this tonight. There’s probably going to be a ridiculous amount of people there and I’m going to feel so ridiculously out of my element it’s not even passably funny.

Elaine shook her head at herself as she set off down the street, heading for the tailor shops of the High Market, hoping she’d find something suitable. There was no reason to believe she wouldn’t, but every so often she found herself shocked at what she couldn’t get rather than what she could.

The streets of Coronet were relatively quiet, especially for the time of day. Part of her wondered if it was a byproduct of post-launch hype, driving everyone into the wilds to experience things differently—or anyone who could get to a gaming cafe to try it out—but it likely had more to do with it being earlier than usual login time on a Friday afternoon.

High Market was as quiet as the streets nearer to her townhouse, which came almost as a relief. Elaine paused at one edge of the roadway, studying signboards for a few moments, trying to decide which would be the best for her purposes. One, Mistress Margot’s, seemed the most likely candidate and with a deep breath and some steel willed into her spine, Elaine crossed the street toward the shop.

Bells hanging above the door jingled softly as Elaine stepped inside, peering around. Gowns of every shape and size hung around the shop’s interior or were draped over stress forms. Windows ran the length of the shop’s front wall except for where the door—itself with a large window of its own—allowed entry. The faint sound of a foot treadle sewing machine echoed softly from the back of the shop and along one full wall was a long counter with a display case full of accessories—tiaras, purses, jewelry, shoes, and more—and behind the counter, set into the wall, were racks upon racks of fabric, bolts tightly furled and organized by color and type.

“Be with you in a moment!” A voice called from the back of the shop. Elaine let the door fall slowly closed behind her, stepping deeper into the shop.

“Take your time,” she called back, though a bit faintly. Her gaze scanned over the racks and the mannequins, a faint furrow to her brow. There was just so much. How would she even know what was appropriate for the evening? The invitation had said formal attire suggested, but suggested usually meant just that—it was a suggestion, not mandatory. And how formal was formal, anyway?

Elaine chewed her lip, suddenly feeling more out of her depth than she had been when she’d interviewed for graduate school.

What the hell am I thinking? Why am I doing this to myself?

The temptation to turn on her heel and slip out before whoever was in the back appeared had almost won out when a small, plump woman with strawberry blonde hair gathered into a bun appeared from between racks and dress forms, beaming as she dried her hands on her skirt. “Welcome to Mistress Margot’s! What brings you in today?”

“I, uhm—” Elaine stammered, then started again. “I was invited to Lord Caius’s ball tonight. I know it’s terrible short notice, but I have nothing to wear and I’m in desperate need.”

The woman squinted at her for a moment, the look almost but not quite appraising. “You’re Lady Arenvale, aren’t you?”

Elaine nodded. “I am, yes.”

She beamed, clapping her hands together, clasping them. “Excellent! I couldn’t be certain but I suspected. You’ve never gone to one of these before, have you?”

“No,” Elaine said honestly. “I tend to be a little more…aloof, I suppose.”

“Mm, one after his lordship’s own heart then, I’m thinking,” the woman said, turning away and starting to search through the racks. “He has the same tendency, it seems.”

“Oh,” Elaine said, not knowing what else to day. “I—I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

“What? Oh! That’s right, you’ve not been.” The woman glanced back, grinning. “Mistress Margot Perry at your service, m’lady. Don’t you worry about a thing. We’ll get you set to rights and ready for the evening’s festivities.”

Elaine watched the woman as she wended her way through the racks. “Thank you for the help,” she said, unable to keep the uncertainty from her voice. Margot turned back toward her and flashed a smile.

“Oh, think nothing of it. Honestly, in the gossip circles we’ve all been wondering when you’d finally accept an invitation to a society ‘do. The chance to get you out of that dusty armor and into something lovely is all the thanks I need.”

It was all she could do not to actually squirm. Instead, she fidgeted with a glove for a moment, trying to gather her thoughts before Margot noticed the awkward silence. “Well,” she finally managed. “I still appreciate it.”

“Of course, dear,” Margot said, turning back to grin at her again before she was intent on the task at hand again. “If you’d like, there’s a place to sit a little further back. Would you like something to drink? Let me get you something to drink.”

“I—” Elaine stopped, frowning slightly as she started to weave through racks and mannequins on her search for the promised seating. “Will this take long?”

“Oh, it could take a little bit. What’s your preference, dear? Wine, coffee, tea?”

“Coffee if it’s hot,” Elaine said, sinking down onto a small couch buried amidst racks of dresses in every color and shape. The array was almost bewildering. “Otherwise, don’t go to the trouble, please.”

“No trouble at all,” Margot said. “I have some hot, besides. It’s my poison of choice, too. Do you take cream and sugar?”

“Yes, please,” Elaine said, her voice a little faint as she watched Margot bustle toward the back of the shop. As unassuming as she seemed, the woman was some kind of force of nature. Her own heart was pounding in reaction to the woman’s excitement—excitement that Elaine had to admit she shared just a little bit.

I couldn’t have possibly been the only one who’s never been to one of these ‘society dos’ can I?

Her lips thinned and she stared at her gloved hands as she confronted the very real possibility that was actually the case.

Oh my god, even in a virtual world, I’m still the biggest introvert to ever breathe.

It wasn’t true, of course, but in that moment, it felt that way.

Margot was back with the coffee—complete with cream and sugar—in record time. Elaine took the cup from her with a smile.

“Thank you.”

“Of course,” Margot said, studying her as she took her first sip. Elaine tried not to squirm under the scrutiny.

“What is it?”

“Just thinking, dear,” Margot said, still looking her over with what Elaine suddenly realized was the trained eye of a seamstress and designer. She was trying to figure out what would fit her best. Finally, the dressmaker smiled. “I think I have just the thing. Burgundy and blue, yes?”

Elaine lowered her cup, nodding. “Yes.”

Margot smiled and vanished into the racks. Her voice drifted back to Elaine. “I think it will just fit you, too!”

Elaine canted her head to one side, peering through the sea of gowns, trying to track where Margot had disappeared to, but found herself unable to locate the dressmaker, already lost amidst a sea of silks and velvets and hand-sewn pearls. Her brow furrowed slightly and she took another sip of coffee. There was a little less cream than she usually liked, but the added bit of bitterness was welcome, bracing. Somehow, it felt like a little extra fortification she needed.

“I hope I’m not putting you out,” she called after Margot, cradling her mug between her hands.

“Oh, not at all,” Margot called back from somewhere to her left. Her voice was muffled, as if it came from far away—or perhaps the amount of fabric in the room caused that effect. Elaine couldn’t be sure. “Doing this gives me joy, m’lady, truly. I love to make beautiful things and seeing people in them is perhaps the greatest bit of satisfaction I could ever ask for.”

“Oh,” Elaine said lamely. “Okay.” She gulped down some more coffee, hoping her blush would fade before Margot reappeared.

Hope of that dwindled as she heard the seamstress make a triumphant noise from somewhere among the gowns.

Sounds like she found whatever she was looking for. Elaine shifted uncomfortably on the couch, peering once again through the racks, hoping to catch a glimpse of Margot. She couldn’t.

“Here we are!”

Elaine jumped at the sound of Margot’s voice, coming from her right rather than her left. Heart racing at twice normal speed, she turned to look.

Her heart missed a beat and her eyes widened, fingers clutching at the ceramic of her cup a little tighter as she caught a glimpse of the gown Margot held up for her inspection. It sparkled in the sunlight streaming in through the shop’s front windows, copper beadwork catching and reflecting the light. The gown itself was silk, shimmering from burgundy to blue and back again depending on how the light hit it. It was hard to tell its actual shape beyond ball gown just hanging on the hanger, but Elaine’s breath caught as she studied it.

“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, I think you’re right.”

“Come on, then,” Margot said, still beaming with pride. “Let’s get you into it so I can make any adjustments it might need before tonight. You’ll likely need gloves, too, and some jewelry—we can get you set up with that, too.”

“Okay,” Elaine agreed, feeling dazed.

For the first time, she felt like maybe she wouldn’t regret tonight—not at all.

Six

It was an hour before Peter finally appeared, stepping off the elevator looking tired, but otherwise all right. Brannon had already headed downstairs to check in with the programming team, but Jason was still standing where he’d been since they’d come up, watching the gameplay screens with arms crossed, half lost in his thoughts. He didn’t even look over at the sound of the elevator, expecting Brannon, not his brother—and he wouldn’t have realized Peter had arrived if he hadn’t clapped him on the shoulder on his way to his office.

“C’mon,” Peter said quietly. “Let’s talk.”

There was something strange in Peter’s tone that sent ice sluicing down Jason’s spine, but he nodded and turned to follow. His brother crossed the room in a few quick strides, as if nothing was out of the ordinary, swinging his office door open and stepping inside.

That was when his demeanor changed. Peter’s stride slowed, though almost imperceptibly, and his shoulders slumped slightly. He collapsed not into his desk chair but the softer one in the corner of his office, the one where Jason had more than once found him asleep with a book or his VR headset still on, the game still running. Jason closed the door slowly behind them and locked it, watching as Peter tilted his head back and turned it to the side, staring out the window at the forest and fields beyond.

Jason’s mouth was dry as he opened it to speak, but Peter cut him off before he could.

“I watched the broadcast,” he said. “You were great.”

“You said I would be,” Jason murmured, sitting down on the couch along the wall next to the door, leaning forward and resting his elbows against his knees. “You knew I would be.”

Peter shrugged slightly. “I believed it, anyway, and I was right.”

Jason had to smile. “I’m glad you had that kind of faith in me.”

“I’d be a shit brother if I didn’t,” Peter said.

He lapsed into silence. Jason shifted slightly on the couch, unease starting to build. Was this all he wanted to talk about? How the broadcast went? The launch? “Peter—”

“Did it go well?”

Jason grimaced at the interruption, but quickly nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, everything according to plan, like clockwork. You were right—again. At some point, I think you’re going to get tired of that.”

“You’re probably right,” Peter said, then sighed. He scrubbed a hand over his face and finally met Jason’s gaze. “Greenbriar didn’t find anything. He asked if I was sleeping and I looked at him like he was crazy. I told him I was twenty-six and the company that I founded was launching new features to a game that I did lead design and programming on and how much sleep did he think I was getting? He told me it’s probably nothing and to get some more sleep.”

“That’s it?” Jason’s stomach knotted. It didn’t feel right, and the look of disgust on Peter’s face told him that his brother felt the same way.

“He gave me some anti-seizure meds and told me not to drive.” Peter’s nose wrinkled. “I don’t know, Jason. I want him to be right and this was just my fucked-up brain spazzing out because I’m not sleeping enough but I don’t know. What does it say about me that I think this is worse but want to be wrong? That I suspect I’m about to live through some kind of hell again?”

“I would say it’s an improvement,” Jason said quietly. “Last time this cropped up you were pretty sure you were going to die through that hell again.”

Peter winced but didn’t argue. That had been the way he’d acted the last time his neurological condition had flared up. “I guess there’s that,” he muttered, squeezing his eyes shut. “I hope he’s right.”

“Trust but watch,” Jason said, his voice heavy. “Right?”

Peter nodded. “Trust but watch. Something we have a shit-ton of experience with.” He rubbed at his temple and sat up in his chair, looking at Jason squarely. “It really has been going well?” he asked quietly. “The launch, everything? You’re not just—”

“That is the last thing I’d lie about,” Jason said. “Unless something went sideways downstairs since Brannon left me up here, it’s been going well.” He glanced down for a second, then smiled. “I caught a glimpse of her while we were scrolling through feeds.”

Peter watched him, brow arching slightly. “Your Scarlet Dame?”

“Is that what you call her when I’m not around?”

One corner of Peter’s mouth lifted in a smile. “Well, that is who she is, Jason.”

“She’s more than that.”

“I know,” Peter said, still smiling. There was warmth there, brotherly teasing wrapped in concern and affection. “If I didn’t know better I’d guess maybe you were getting serious.”

“Maybe eventually,” Jason murmured, then smiled. “Right now she’s just someone I like talking to about anything that might or might not matter.” His cheeks were warm; he was probably blushing and found himself oddly unashamed to be doing it.

“What’s holding you back?” Peter asked, relaxing in his chair again. “There must be something.”

Jason shrugged. “I don’t know. She doesn’t know much about—well. She doesn’t know about this.”

“This being?”

Jason waved a hand at the room, hoping that the gesture explained everything. “You know, this.”

Peter’s brow arched. “You mean about the company? About where you fall in all of it?”

Jason nodded. “She has no idea. I never talk about any of this, not really, and when I do it’s always oblique. She knows I’m an artist and a writer but she doesn’t know what exactly I do or where I do it.”

“What about her?”

“What do you mean?”

“What does she do?”

“She’s a graphic designer,” Jason said. “Does a lot of work for advertising firms in her area and a bunch of pro bono work for charities and stuff.

“Sounds like you guys get each other on a pretty basic level.” Peter’s voice was quiet, gentle, thoughtful. Jason watched him for a few seconds, staring as his brother turned to look out the window again.

“What’s wrong, Peter?”

“All of this is for you guys,” he said softly. “For your futures.”

“And yours,” Jason said, forcing his heart out of his throat. “This is your future, too.”

The response took a second too long to come. “Yeah,” Peter said softly. “Yeah, it is.”

Then he stood up and grinned at his brother. “Well. You want to head in? I know you were waiting on me.”

Jason’s smile was bleak, reflecting the sudden pain that had wrapped around his heart and squeezed. “Am I that transparent?”

“Not transparent, just predictable,” Peter said, clapping him on the shoulder on his way to the door. “C’mon. We built something beautiful. Let’s enjoy it.”

“Right,” Jason said, standing and moving to follow. “Hey.”

Peter paused, glancing back, hand on the doorknob. “What?”

“Is tomorrow night still on?”

Peter grinned. “Nothing would stop me from making that happen, Jason. Nothing.”

He twisted the knob and stepped out of the office. Schooling his expression to hide any lingering traces of worry, Jason followed him.

It might be nothing—Dr. Greenbriar could be right. He’s been taking care of Peter for a long time. He must be right. It’s got to be nothing—at least this time, it’s nothing.

Still, he couldn’t shake the nagging feeling in his gut that something was starting to go very, very wrong and it had nothing to do with the game.