Then he stepped back, shivering at the flush of heat that went through him when he realized exactly who had joined him.
Aside from the feathered wings, Flor de Maga hadn’t bothered with much of a costume. He had a red mask covering the top half of his face, but, at some point, must have grown impatient with the long hummingbird beak and snapped it off, leaving just a plain domino in the same iridescent red as his coat. His black hair was short, free of pomade yet filled with sparkles, as if someone had dusted him with crushed crystal. But with or without a costume, Clematis would have known him.
“Sorry,” Clematis offered belatedly. He had to force himself to speak, and that was a whisper.
“You don’t need to stop on my account,” Flor answered, as though Clematis was not already returning the book to the stack and planning how to slip away.
Flor was quiet. Many believed he couldn’t be. Clematis had witnessed Flor this way before, though never directed at him.
Clematis peeked carefully at the open doorway, but there was no one else hiding behind Flor. There was no one else around at all. Clematis’s stomach flipped, but it was not with apprehension or nerves. This feeling was much warmer, the sort of thing to make Lord Walter peer at Clematis knowingly from above his spectacles.
Flor, who should have forgotten about Clematis already and moved on, spoke again. “I assume you’re here for the same reason I am?”
That was so startling that Clematis couldn’t think of how to answer, and stared at him, his mind a blank except for the recurring, panicked, helpless realization thatFlor de Magawas talking to him.
“There’s only so much greed and ambition I can take,” Flor revealed with an irritated sigh. He tugged at his domino. “Masks do nothing to hide it. No one here cares if he—” He stopped as if remembering his manners or, more likely, remembering that Prince David would want him to be polite. “Sorry, if those are some friends of yours out there,” Flor added, but it was stiff and clearly a lie.
Clematis remembered to blink, to take his focus away from the vibrating energy in Flor’s hands as he talked, the sweet, pink curve of his mouth, the shimmer in the air around him whenever he displaced some of the glitter in his hair.
Flor de Maga was as egalitarian as many of the other young, idealistic students who visited Lord Hyacinth, but this was still an odd conversation to be having with a servant he had last seen covered in ashes.
But,of course.Clematis finally came to his senses. Clematis was in costume, and even if Flor were able to look past the mask and the fine clothes, he would have no reason to remember anything about Clematis save for the soot and cold cinders Clematis had been sure to roll in whenever the students were about. It was safer to be hidden in ash and dirt from the kitchens. No one took any notice of him, even if Lord Hyacinth grew pinched and unhappy whenever Clematis mentioned it.
“If you’re looking for the Prince, you picked a strange spot.” Flor studied Clematis for another moment, then stepped to the side of the doorway, as if just remembering he had blocked it.
“I’m not.” Clematis had to clear his throat. He shook his head to assure Flor of the truth. “I wasn’t.” Clematis could mimic posh tones, but he found his accent was less noticeable if he kept his voice low. It was not difficult to do now. His voice was naturally soft, and speaking up around Flor had always been a struggle for him. “I was hiding because I am supposed to be dancing.”
He hadn’t meant to admit that.
Flor’s chin came up. He was often belligerent and stubborn, but only ever for the sake of others. “Are you under orders to dance?” he asked in disbelief.
Clematis didn’t know what to do with his hands under so much of Flor’s attention. “In a way,” he explained at last. “Lord Hy—someone I know believes I should… that it would be good for me. He wants me to have fun and to… there is a list, you see.”
“A list?” Flor probably thought him ridiculous.
“Try any bon bon that looks good,” Clematis recited nonetheless. “Have a glass of wine.Dance.Be kissed by—” he took a breath. “Talk with a handsome man or a pretty woman, but leave them if it becomes too much.” He made a fluttery, nervous gesture. “Some are impossible. I have sipped wine. I have eaten a glacé plum—two,” he corrected himself guiltily, and glanced up to see Flor smiling, which left him breathless and flustered once again. “But I don’t know anyone, so I have not danced.”
“To the regret of everyone on the dance floor,” Flor murmured, and didn’t seem to notice how Clematis stared at him. Flor nodded decisively. “If you don’t like it, don’t do it.”
“Sometimes that isn’t a choice,” Clematis said softly despite the stirring in his chest, and didn’t know what to make of the fearless Flor de Maga looking abashed and then ashamed of himself. Clematis shook his head. “However, I don’t know if I don’t like it. I still haven’t done it.” Except for practicing with Lord Walter, who was much gentler about these things than his husband.
“Why not?” Flor wondered immediately, then sighed. “That was too forceful, wasn’t it? At times, I push people without meaning to. I’m sorry.”
Clematis did not think Flor was capable of changing his nature. But clearly this aspect caused him some pain, and that Clematis could not stand. “Maybe some people need a push.”
Flor’s lips parted, then shaped a word he did not voice. “But not everything is my business, or so they tell me.” He seemed to mean it and be disgruntled about it at the same time.
Clematis smiled at the familiar attitude. “Like the Prince?” he asked delicately. “Have you been giving him a push?”
“Igavehim a push,” Flor grumbled. “It got him into this mess. But I just don’t see why Tu would run away like…” He made a face, wrinkling his nose and shifting the domino slightly. “I should get back out there. David probably needs help. I can leave you with Tabatha’s novels.” But he tipped his head to the side and didn’t move. The longer he studied Clematis, the warmer Clematis felt. “Do you really not know anyone here?” Flor finally asked. “Are you… please, don’t be upset… but are you scared of being out there?”
Clematis dropped his head to stare at his shiny buckled shoes. “What kind of person would be scared of that?”
“David does that. Gives a question for a question.” Flor was gentle. “Avoiding answering me is a type of an answer. Did someone behave badly?”
That question, no matter how kindly asked, promised retribution against anyone who dared, simply because the question came from Flor de Maga.
Clematis wet his lips, then shook his head. “No. No more than usual.” He couldn’t tell what Flor’s silence meant, but it made him risk a look up. Flor’s mouth was turned down. Clematis did his best to explain. “I don’t normally dress like this. Well, not in costume, but also not like this.” He gestured over his short, tight coat. “It draws attention.”
