my arms around them. I stare up at the sky. “Utter horseshit.”
After a few hours of attempted rest, that evening I wander the streets of my District to the crack of thunder, Numair at my side because Juliette found herself a girl and a guy to distract her. Darkan’s ire I disobeyed his instruction to stay inside grates, but the clouds haven’t opened yet.
Still. . .I look up, uneasy. It didn’t feel like weather before and it doesn’t feel like simple weather now.
The definition of too stupid to live,Darkan says, each word a stab of his icy temper,is a silly girl who is told there is danger, knows there is danger, but walks into the dark basement anyway.
I’m not alone.
My gaze catches on a tall female standing in the shadows, her skin a deeper brown than my father's, her hair a long slick fall of black. The night is shades of gray and deep blue, and she darker still. But her eyes are purple.
I squint.
We have slept long enough.
Stepping forward, I blink, and she's gone.
I begin to ask Numair, simultaneously reaching out to Darkan?—
As we wander the edges of the block party, the clop of approaching horse hooves gives me pause. I glance up, intercepting a signal from a scout posted on a rooftop, then turn and wait. A white-and-silver liveried messenger pulls up, dismounts, and trots toward me.
A palace messenger.
“I thought we'd have more time,” I say softly.
“This isn't about the negotiations,” Numair says, tense beside me. He watches the messenger approach, unblinking. “It's too soon.”
The messenger bows with a flourish and holds out a letter. He waits until I take it, bows again, then remounts his horse all without speaking to me. The envelope is addressed to the Lady of House Faronne. I stare at it, almost afraid.
“Do you want me to open it?” Numair asks.
“Rip it open and get it over with,” Édouard says over my shoulder.
“Shit!” I whirl,notgoing for my dagger. “Where the fuck were you lurking?”
Numair squints at me. “Are you sneaking those tiny ones again, Aerinne?” he demands and begins to pat me down. I swat his hands away and snap my teeth at him. “How many bottles and what did you drink?”
“After a week like this, hard liquor,” the Commander says. “Or the tears of a fool.” His voice is dark but he's not looking at me, he's staring in the direction of the palace.
I look around for Tereille. “Where’s your owner, Arddie? Does he know his bitch chewed through his leash?”
“There are three of us standing here,” he says, “but only one female.”
I left myself wide open for that response, but we’re both satisfied with the exchange now.
Opening the letter, I scan the sentences. “It's from the Prince. The official offer of truce.”
Official as in the weight of the city crown thrown behind it. They stare at me, grim and still, but unsurprised. We knew such a missive would come, just not this early. He isn't wasting time, is he. What’s the rush.
“He invites ‘Lady Aerinne and escort’ to a ball to precede the first day of negotiations, to be followed by a city-wide faire.” Saying the words feels surreal.
A ball.
A faire.
“Court attire, and attendance is not optional. Signed, Renaud Gauthier, High Lord of House Montague, Prince of Everenne. This must be an Old One’s delightful idea of a light, twisted jest.”
A rumble of thunder, then lightning cracks. I almost jump. It was sudden, and it sounds like it’s right in my ear.
