Eli came back from his drills covered in a light sheen of sweat and stopped to stare at the shady nook Rey had made.
“I figured,” Rey said, not looking Eli in the eyes, “since you like the garden so much.”
“That’s…That’s kind of you,” Eli said. “Thank you.”
“Even you have to take a break sometime,” Rey said, and Eli smiled, eyes crinkling at the edges. When he touched Rey’s shoulder in silent thanks, Rey shivered, and he stood in thegarden for a long time, holding his hand over the spot while Eli disappeared into the house.
Chapter
Eight
That night, Eli dressed in subdued browns and cream linen while Rey tried to imitate a noble peacock as thoroughly as possible, and they made their way to a charity dinner in the noble district.
“Since I’m a poor relation, I’m not coming to the actual dinner,” Rey explained, riding on Unicorn while Eli walked alongside. “I’m doing the nobility’s equivalent of bumming drinks at a party, basically. Everyone does it, or they did the last time I was here.”
“Oh, I know,” Eli said. His mother had held some opinions about that, in fact.
It was strange how little the district had changed. The road where Eli grew up was the same as it had been when he was a child running after his father on morning walks. Every old noble house had a place there, even if they lay empty most of the year, but the nobles who lived exclusively in the city all clustered together, casting light over one side of the street while the rest lay in shadow. Even the de Valois house was there, with the same high tower room that had been blocked off since Sabre was born and the enormous windows the servants always complained about washing.
Eli paused to look up at the house. The lights were off, but there was a sign next to the door that he couldn’t read in the dark, which was a new addition. The garden had been rebuilt as well, with blocked-off patches of green at even intervals, and the curtains were all mismatched.
“Sabre isn’t the best decorator, I think,” he said.
“What’s that? You’re lagging behind, Artie,” Rey called. Eli rolled his eyes and followed him.
The dinner took place at the Solange House, a building King Emile’s mother had given to the descendants of her favorite poet. It was a lovely building, with marble statues in grottos in the front and an artificial stream that ran through the garden. Nobles were already crowding the spacious lawn, and courtesans dressed in finer clothes than the nobles slipped between them like colorful fish. When Rey introduced himself, the woman at the gate just waved them through.
“Champagne for me,” Rey sing-songed, taking a flute from a passing tray. “None for you, you’re a swordsman. You must stay sharp in case, oh, I don’t know, someone insults my honor.”
“You have honor?” Eli whispered, and Rey almost spat out a mouthful of champagne.
“Shut up, shut up. Let me pretend I have dignity.”
Eli smiled to himself and took a measured step back. “Of course, my lord. You’re always very dignified.”
“When I’m not snorting champagne down my front thanks to a wild man.” Rey winked at him and descended on the crowd of assembled nobles as though he’d always belonged there.
Eli followed slowly, eyeing the party guests. He recognized most of their faces. After a lifetime among their number, they were hard to forget, especially since most of them had been there to watch Eli hang, at the end.
He spotted old de Burre by the drinks, hanging onto the arm of his granddaughter Felice, one of Eli’s old friends. Felice wasEli’s age, and it was surprising how little she’d changed since Eli had last seen her. She still dressed in the same pale blue dresses to bring out her yellow curls, and she still stared fearfully at the other nobles as though they were liable to eat her. Perhaps her paranoia was justified, though—they’d been eager enough to turn on Eli.
“Don’t wander,” Rey whispered, as Eli took a step toward her. “Not far, anyway.”
“Just getting water,” Eli whispered back.
Eli walked toward Felice, keeping his gaze turned to the pitchers of drinks on the table behind her. She’d tried to grab Eli when he was taken by the guards on his birthday. Would she recognize him now? She’d seen him more than Sabre had—they’d whispered confidences during balls, amused each other during dances, and had written letters when Felice was in the country for the summer. They weren’t best friends, but they’d been close enough.
When Eli reached the table, he turned to her. She had the same round, pale face and enormous doe eyes, but when she saw him looking, she shrank back with a scowl.
“Surely you don’t intend to speak to me,” she said. Her grandfather blinked quickly, clearly too lost in thought to follow, and Eli took a measured step back.
He’s forgotten how casually cruel his friends had been toward the servants who worked for them. It was why they’d all taken pains to exclude Rose de Rue from their ranks. It was bad enough that her brother was a courtesan, but she didn’t have a noble bloodline, and that mattered to people who could trace their family tree to the throne. Now on the receiving end of that dismissive attitude, Eli wondered what he’d seen in Felice and the others at all.
“Ooh, is that actual water?” A smooth, pleasant voice rang out behind Eli, and he turned to find a man about his heightwith curly blond hair and the shiniest, tightest pants he’d ever seen. His shirt was open to the waist, and glass beads ran down his chest on strings so fine they were almost invisible. He smiled warmly at Eli and ducked around him to get to the water pitcher. “You’d think nobles live on wine with the way they drink at these things.”
“Oh.” Eli had no idea what to say to this sparkling butterfly of a man. “Yes.”
“Almost thought you were one for a second,” the man said, and gestured at Eli’s hair. “You’re a ginger—most of the royal houses are full of redheads, like old Sabre or the king.Formerking, I mean.”
