The walls of the Mikov Estate closed around me like teeth, threatening to crush me back into the girl that I
had been six months ago. I hadn’t been prepared for the sheer physicality of it — the way that simply seeing those white columns, those white-clad bodies, those golden lily sigils would strike me the way Esmaris’s whip had, opening wounds in my soul that I thought had long ago healed.
Every muscle in my body was tensed as we were led through that familiar archway, into the den of luxury and excess that had once been my home. And the party was the same as they always had been, the present superimposed over the past. I found myself instinctively looking for Esmaris, ready to defer to him, to play to his moods and expectations.
Yet… I had stepped into a surreal, inverted mirror-image of my memories. When I attended all those identical affairs, I had been a slave. But in this one, guests watched us pass with gazes of wary respect. Servants bowed their heads. Maids stepped aside and averted their eyes. And the horns lifted, and the page’s voices raised to announce us as we walked in. Not as servants, but as guests of honor.
“Announcing the most honored and esteemed guests of Ahzeen Mikov, the representatives of the Orders of
Midnight and Daybreak!”
Hundreds of pairs of eyes turned towards us, perched atop swathes of billowing white fabric. But I didn’t look at them. No, I looked only at a single familiar figure across the room, lounging at a table that sat several feet higher than all the others: Ahzeen Mikov. The sight of him hardened my fear into fury.
His gaze settled on us, and he smiled.
“Ah, yes! Representatives, let me express what a deep honor it is that you were able to attend. We are all very excited to have you here.”
Gods, I had forgotten how much he looked just like his father. Yes, he was younger, thinner. Yes, there was that eyepatch, gold and glittering beneath the moody candlelight. But when he looked at me, I still felt as if I were withering beneath Esmaris’s identical gaze.
I don’t need your money. Twenty-six.
Crack!
Reshaye writhed through my thoughts, as if the burst of adrenaline had shaken it awake.
Ahzeen stood at the head table, arm raised, a glass of red wine perched in his fingers. Everyone, in fact, was holding red wine. A room of billowing white marked with splashes of crimson.
“Your timing is excellent,” Ahzeen said, beckoning us further into the room.
I smiled. “It is our honor to be here, Lord Ahzeen.”
I braced for the impact of his recognition. Surely, he — surely someone — would know who I was. But his expression didn’t change. I waited for something that did not come. Ahzeen simply regarded us with the sharp interest befitting a group of very important guests, not the shock befitting a former slave.
We were led to a table near the center of the room, wine glasses handed to each of us. I had to hold mine steady,
even though my hands desperately wanted to shake — first with nervousness, and then with mounting indignation.
I really was nothing to him. To any of these people. I had always known that slaves were given little thought or consideration in this world, but it was only now that I fully realized exactly how nothing we were. I had, after all, met Ahzeen, twice. He had once thrown me against the wall, reeking of wine, too drunk to even effectively paw at my dancing costume. Esmaris had yanked him off me before it could go any further. At the time, I thought he was protecting me. Now, I realized that he was merely defending his property from a lazy and undeserving son.
That was the night that had ended with Ahzeen being thrown out of the gates, eye gouged out. A night I remembered so vividly that I still knew exactly how the damp warmth of his breath felt against my cheek.
And he had no idea who I was.
“Please, join us.” He lifted his eyebrows, raising the glass once more. A ripple of red whispered through the room as the guests did the same.
I did too. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my companions follow my lead, even though I knew they couldn’t understand what was being said.
I could practically feel Max’s revulsion. And even though I was glad that he hid it for the time being, something about it still comforted me.
My eyes swept across the room, and my heart stopped.
There, near the second entrance, nearly lost behind the bodies of white-clad guests, I caught a glimpse of golden hair. Golden hair and a pair of wide, watery blue eyes.
Serel.
“To our honored guests, who grace us with their presence today from the faraway towers of Ara,” Ahzeen began. “To my honored Generals, who led us to victory yesterday against the house of Rivakoff.”
Serel. Scarred up, tired looking, thinner than I had left him. But alive. And here.
Even through all of these people, even from across the room, I felt his emotion hit me and meld with my own. Shock drowned out by relief drowned out by profound, unwavering love.
He was alive.
My eyes burned as I watched his face twitch, the corners of his mouth wavering between a smile and the grimace of tears. I could only chance little glances at him. Too many eyes were on me. And I didn’t trust myself to look at him for more than a fraction of a moment without letting my composure crack.
Still, I gave him one glance — one little glance — that reached across the crowd to whisper, I told you I would.
And he returned it with one that said, I knew you would.
He stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Ahzeen’s other guards. I recognized many of them, and their recognition reflected back at me. They saw what the lords did not.
“…To the memory of my great father, Esmaris Mikov, whose legacy we gather to avenge…”
Reshaye stirred, inhaling the strength of my emotion. My relief.
My love.
My fury.
This — they — were the reason why I was here. “…And, above all…”
My eyes found Ahzeen again, and for a moment, through the flickering candlelight, I saw his father.
I saw the man who had raped me, who had whipped me, who had nearly killed me.
I saw the man who had sent my friends to their deaths. The man who had sanctioned the torture and rape of dozens of slaves.
I saw him, and I smiled. Reshaye purred.
He smiled back, and I drank up his satisfaction from across the room as he thrust his glass higher into the air. “Above all, to victory.”
I threw my head back and drank the wine, wiping the crimson that stained my red lips with the back of my hand. And I let the glass shatter onto the marble floor as I strode into the center of the room. The dancers — my replacements — awkwardly stepped aside, casting uncomfortable glances to each other.
“Ahzeen Mikov.” I cocked my head and gave him my most enrapturing smile. “Have we met before?”
The musicians had gone silent. I felt the attention of the crowd like a physical force wrapping around me. I grabbed it and drew it closer.
Ahzeen’s eyebrows furrowed, an uncomfortable smile at his mouth. His bemused confusion tasted sour and sweet at once, pungent in the space between us. “I do not believe so, my lady.”
The room began to darken.
I smiled and pulled on the sash at my waist. The silk of the nightgown rippled like water as it slid over my body and pooled around my feet, revealing one of my old dancing costumes — one swath of fabric over my bust, a floating skirt low around my hips.
I stepped forward and planted my palms on the head table, leaning over Ahzeen. I was so close that I could smell the saccharine scent of his cologne and the oils that had been worked into his hair, which hung in a neat black ponytail over one shoulder.
“What about now? Do you remember me now?” The wrinkle of confusion deepened. “I—“
1, 2, 3…
I sucked the light from the air, coating the room in a hazy mist as I stepped backwards with light, lilting leaps. I opened my palms to release a cacophony of sparks. Silver butterflies danced from my fingertips.
4, 5, 6…
“And what about now?” I purred.
Look at me, I commanded, just as I had when I had stood in this very room, hundreds of times before. Look at me like I’m the last thing you’ll ever see.
And just as they had then, they all obeyed.
