Illusions of Fate (6 page)

“You’re mistaken,” says the shortest peacock, her brown hair adorned with a massively jeweled headband. “This is Lord Ackerly of North Aston.”

I raise my eyebrows, not looking away from Finn. “A lord? How nice for you.”

“Yes, quite. Good evening.” He turns back to the tallest peacock, but the last peacock, in a clinging slip of charcoal gray, cannot resist.

“How pretty you are,” she says with a cloying smile. “You must feel so at home here in this horrid, muggy heat with all of these wild plants. You look like one yourself!”

The worst part is, she’s right. I did feel at home when I walked in, but I know how far I am from it now. Lifting my chin, I return her smile with a pointed one of my own. “Why thank you, I
do
feel comfortable here, just as you must feel perfectly suited to this city of cold, gray rocks.”

Her eyes grow bigger than I’d have imagined possible. I look triumphantly at Finn, who is trying his hardest not to see me. Fine then. “So nice to meet you all. I think I should prefer a dance. Lord Ackerly, ladies.” I bob my head at them and turn on my heel.

A shadow looms behind mine and I turn, expecting Finn to have followed me, a sharp word already on the tip of my tongue. I frown, confused. He hasn’t moved, but in some trick of the light from so many electric torches, his shadow stretches farther than the women’s, mingling with my own. He looks down as though he notices it, too, and his face is as white as a ghost.

Ghost-faced spirit cursers.
It’s a nasty phrase in Melenese, filled with hissing noises. Mama spanked me the one time I used it in front of her. That’s what Kelen always called them. Kelen, whom I should be laughing with right now instead of pretending at finery I despise.

Ghost-faced spirit cursers.
I hold the words on my tongue, relishing their feel as I march into the crowd, determined to stay the entire evening so that Finn sees me dancing and enjoying myself and knows he hasn’t won. Whatever his game is with the strangeness in the hotel, then the dress and the invitation, I have not gotten this far to be beaten by simple humiliation.

Sweeping my filmy shawl over one shoulder, I smile as though I am the queen Ma’ati said I looked like. And, to my surprise, it works.

First one man, then another, then another, asks me to dance. I am twirled and curtsied around the length and width of the room. Mama would be so proud to see the lessons I threw fits about attending paying off so well. I laugh and make charming remarks. Why
yes
, I do love tropical flowers, why
no
, not everyone from Melei is as fair of skin as I am and in fact I envy them their darker shade, why
yes
, I am here to further my studies.

My partners are all charmed by my “exotic beauty.” I do not feel exotic. I feel strange and small and false, but I smile and smile and smile.

This building is a wonder. Not even the cold night can get through the glass, fogged with steam. Everything glows in a bright haze of progress, and I think I understand why Albion assumes it does the rest of the world a favor by installing itself and its standards wherever it lands. If they can bring the hot, green glory of Melei here, why can they not bring the rigid structure and social “progress” of Albion there?

One man, in his late teens with ginger hair and clever eyes, asks me to dance several times. I can tell he is pleased with his own deviance, happy to be the focal point of the room when I am on his arm. I don’t like being used that way, but he is pleasant and a good conversationalist.

“And how do you find the school?” he asks.

“Well, seeing as it’s always in the same location, it’s never very difficult to find.”

He laughs, delighted, and I can’t help but really smile. “Are all women from your island this charming?”

“Far more so, sir. That’s why they sent me here. I was a blight on the whole village.”

“I cannot imagine you being a blight on anything.”

Another man, this one older but indistinguishable from the last three with his well-trimmed mustache and slick-combed hair, taps my shoulder to cut in. I would rather turn them both down—I am out of breath and near dizzy from the heat and the spinning.

“If I may?” the older gentleman asks. My ginger-haired suitor looks disappointed and oddly worried. But he nods.

The new man smiles at me and I have the briefest impression of sharp teeth and sharper eyes, though when I shake my head to clear it his teeth are perfectly normal and there’s nothing remarkable about his face.

“I’m afraid I have to steal her away now,” a soft voice says next to me. I turn to find a woman I’ve never met, young and fair with reddish curls, her dress shimmering silver. “My brother, Ernest, has been monopolizing her. He can be quite selfish that way. If you’ll excuse us, gentlemen, I’ve promised to show her the outer rooms and at this rate the sun will rise before she makes it off the dance floor.”

My foiled new dance partner bows to us, and my savior takes my gloved hand and puts it through her arm. Ernest gives his sister a glare softened with a smile.

She leads me away from the press of bodies in the center of the room. I try not to scan for Finn. I do not need to see him; I know he’s seen me. Everyone has seen me.

“Now then,” the girl says, “I’ve been watching you for some time and, seeing as how this gala is the first I’ve planned, I’d feel simply awful if someone were to pass out from overexertion. They’d never let me be in charge again. My brother, bless him, would dance you into the floor.”

I laugh, my throat raw. “I cannot thank you enough. Nor can my feet in these wretched heels.”

“I admire your courage, coming to the gala knowing how you would stand out.” She must feel me stiffen, because she hurries on. “I don’t mean to offend. Unlike many of my lovely associates.” She smiles at two women who hold fans over their faces and lean in to whisper as we pass. “I mean, I cannot imagine what it must be like to enter a room and know beyond a doubt that everyone will notice you. The very thought sets me to the edge of panic. But here you come to a new land and allow no one to tell you that you cannot stand out. Well done.”

“And if I admit tonight is among the worst of my life?”

“Is my brother really that terrible a dancer?” She laughs as I stammer to correct her, and shakes her head. “I know he’s awful. But I will proudly inform you that no one here would ever have guessed you were unhappy, so you have played your part to perfection.” Her face is narrow, the features too pinched to be traditionally pretty, but her eyes are clever and a beautiful pale color. I can certainly see the resemblance between her and Ernest.

“That is a relief. Now I would like to find somewhere quiet and hidden to sit and be unnoticed by anyone.”

“I can do that, as well. I’m Eleanor. I should have mentioned that sooner. My uncle is the Earl of South Deacon. He granted me the favor of being the planner for this event.”

I squeeze her arm. “It’s incredible. Granted, I haven’t much to compare it to, but I cannot imagine a finer celebration.”

“I knew I was right to rescue you. Now, take a drink.” She turns me toward a long, white-covered table manned by a row of servants and covered with glasses of sparkling amber liquid. “Then wander until you find one of the quiet side rooms unattended by men looking to dance with the talk of the evening. Here is my card—” She slips me a tiny rectangle of thick paper. “I want you to visit me next week after your feet have recovered from this evening. I will take you to dinner to thank you for giving people something to gossip about. They’ll speak of tonight’s tropical flower of a girl for weeks and remember what a resounding success I am.”

I put my hand against my forehead, closing my eyes. “Was I that terrible?”

“No! You were that wonderful. Now go and hide.” She waves me away with a smile that lights up her face and I return it, surprisingly gratified to have made a friend. It is a small balm to the humiliation of tonight.

Drink in hand, I read the address on her card, then take the first trail that appears to lead away from the vast main space of the conservatory. Through one room dominated by lilies and another so saturated with the scent of roses I can scarcely breathe, I find one that, to my delight, is filled with fire-petals in full bloom.

I sink onto a bench in the corner, wondering how unforgivable a gaffe removing my shoes would be. I cannot make any stranger of an impression than I already have, so I slip them off and stretch my toes. I sip at my drink, wrinkling my nose at the bubbles. They tickle my raw throat, and I drink more.

If Eleanor is correct, whomever Finn dines or speaks with over the next few weeks will bring me up in conversation. He may have meant to mock me, or meant for others to, but regardless of their assessment I will be inescapable. I hope he is utterly plagued by my memory.

The fuzzy, white electric lights in the room go out, leaving only the light from the adjoining room spilling into this one. I stand, stocking feet on gravel, and slide back into my shoes. “Pardon me, is this room closed now?”

Someone stands, silhouetted against the entrance, his shadow stretching all the way to my feet. I frown and set down my glass.

“Jessamin.” Finn quickly closes the distance between us and stands directly in front of me. His silly cane is, as always, clasped in one hand.

“So you’ve remembered my name.”

He grabs my arm, fingers squeezing as I try to pull away. “What are you doing here?”

“Perhaps I am unfamiliar with the strange customs of the gentry. Did you not
mean
for me to come when you sent the dress, the motor, and the invitation that begged my presence?”

He lets go of my arm and puts a hand over his face, his shoulders stooped as though bearing a great weight. It is so dim I can see only the barest expression on his face, but he looks defeated. “I sent none of those things.”

“What?” My heart pounds. That was not the answer I was expecting.

“It wasn’t me. We’ve been set up, and I can only pray that I played my part well enough for no damage to be done.”

“I don’t understand. Are you saying that the dress, the letter—they weren’t from you?”

“Of course not. I would never do that.”

I let out a sharp breath, wishing this didn’t cut through me with icy pain. I have no reason to stay, no further levels of shame and embarrassment to drop to. My night is complete.

I sweep out past him, ignoring the urgency with which he calls my name.

Back in the great room, I accept another card pressed into my palm with a smile as mechanized as the motor I rode here in. I stay on the outskirts, searching for a door other than the ones I came through, and am mostly ignored save a few curious souls.

I cannot puzzle this out.

If Finn did not send me the letter, invitation, dress, and motor, who did? It is a cruel joke, elegant and expensive in execution. Surely I have no enemies of this caliber. I just want to go home. My driver said another way to the hotel had been arranged, and the thought gives me pause.

Either it is part of the joke and there is no ride home, or some form of transportation will be waiting for me, possibly with answers as to how this whole nightmare of an evening happened.

I want to face neither of those options. It was Finn or it wasn’t, and the only person who can answer my questions is the same one I never want to see again.

I finally spy a side door and slip out. The night hits me with jealous greed, eager to steal away the memory of humid warmth, and for once I am glad of the shock of it.

“Fie on this whole country and everyone in it,” I declare, setting off across the grounds perpendicular to where the main road crosses in the front. If I can get back to the heart of the city, I’ll find a cabbie eventually.

“Fie on stupid men who see dark skin as an exotic temptation. Fie on these accursed shoes.” I kick them off into the grass, knowing I will regret it when I hit the street but simply not caring. “And fie on whoever sent them.”

A loud caw sounds behind me and I spin, nearly falling off balance. “Fie on birds, too!” A big, black one bobs up and down in the grass behind me, its eyes glowing reflectively in the dark night.

I rub my arms and walk a bit faster. “Fie on creepy glowing eyes, especially.”

Another caw, echoed from the other side behind me. Then another, and another, and finally I look over my shoulder to see dozens of pairs of glowing yellow eyes, all fixed on me.

As one, they lift into the air with a great rush of wings and I scream, throwing my arms over my head. I run forward, away from the birds, but they surround me, flying with a cacophony of wings and horrid, croaking cries. I see a break in their formation and run through it, trying to make it back to the conservatory. My feet pound against the grass, the demon birds right behind me, flying up to block me at every turn with sharp beaks and razor claws.

They are blacker than the night, a tunnel around me, herding me and giving me only one way to escape: into the darkness of the trees surrounding the lawn. As I give up on the beacon of light from the conservatory, the ground slips and slides beneath me, reality shifting. I turn to look over my shoulder one last time, running as fast as ever I have, when I slam into something.

Something with a set of teeth and eyes equally sharp.