Estora clapped her hands. “Well done!” To Zachary she said, “I’ve had my turn with the looking mask. Now it’s yours.”
Zachary half-smiled. “I haven’t looked into one of these since I was a boy.”
“And what did you see?”
“A boy. A boy hoping to see something great.”
They exchanged grins and then he looked into the mask. Some guests collected around them to observe their king participating in so frivolous a game.
As Estora watched Zachary, she saw all signs of pleasure had fled his features. He gazed into the mirror unblinking, as though transfixed.
“He seems quite in love with himself,” one of Estora’s cousins jested. “Perhaps there will be no room for you at the wedding!”
There was laughter from those in hearing range, but Zachary did not join in. He did not move, and an uneasy silence followed until a few moments later the tumbler leaped away.
Zachary watched after him, looking as if he’d just awakened from a dream.
“What did you see, Your Highness?” Estora’s cousin asked.
“Yes,” others chimed in. “What did you see?”
Zachary smiled, but Estora could tell it was forced. “I saw,” he said, “the best king Sacoridia has ever known.”
“And what was his name?” someone called out.
This was greeted by more laughter, but Zachary did not answer. He returned his gaze to where they’d last seen the tumbler, his expression serious.
When the onlookers dispersed, Estora asked him, “What did you really see?”
She never received an answer, for a man in a red coat wearing the mask of a lion rushed toward them with a yell, a dagger bared in his hand.
Estora screamed.
THE KING’S VISION
Karigan wearily ascended the steps that led out of the ballroom. On her way out, she had paused only to sample a few of the oysters chilling in the hull of the sloop and found them as fresh as if she were on the docks of Corsa. How that was managed, considering the miles between Sacor City and the nearest shoreline, she did not know.
In any case, they had revived her spirits a little after her disturbing experience with the looking mask, and the disappointment of not having been able to reveal herself to King Zachary. She would not have such a chance again before leaving for Blackveil. Perhaps never again.
When she reached the top landing, she stopped and turned to take in one last view of the masquerade ball. It seemed just the same as when she arrived, the dancers flowing around the ballroom floor; the music, conversation, and laughter drifting up to her. The colors, the light, the motion.
It was a pretty picture, Karigan thought, but surreal. A gilded dream she was not a part of. Never would be. Did not, she decided, want to be. Riding Condor through the woods, feeling the surge of his powerful muscles as he galloped, the rhythm of hoofbeats, and the wind against her face—the freedom of the ride—that was real; free of masks and all they implied, the only dance she required.
She turned away thinking of the comfort of her own chamber, and maybe a cup of tea, when a scream stopped her short. She whipped around, jangling the bells of her crown. Down below a man in red charged the king, a dagger flashing in his hand.
It took a moment for Karigan’s mind to digest what was happening. An assassin! “No!” she cried.
The scene turned into a knot of chaos. Before the man reached the king, Weapons in black converged on him, guests in colorful finery falling away. Dancers collided into one another in the confusion. Some ladies fainted. Shouts and more screaming rose above discordant music, the conductor doggedly directing his musicians as if to get through whatever calamity had befallen the ball, his musicians desperately trying to keep up with him.
The assassin struggled in the vortex of Weapons, his shouts rising above the clamor. “You killed him! My father! He died in exile. I have no land, no title, nothing!” It was followed by more Karigan could not make out.
King Zachary put a protective arm around Lady Estora and hurried her past the melee and toward the stairs. Several Weapons broke off from the main knot to accompany them. As they launched up the stairs, Karigan moved into a niche behind a marble statue of Hiroque of the Clans to clear the way.
Four Weapons, hands on the hilts of their swords, preceded King Zachary and Lady Estora. In the lead was Donal. Somehow he sensed her presence in the niche and spared her a glance and a nod. To her surprise, he did not order her to leave.
Does he recognize me? she wondered in amazement. Even in this costume?
King Zachary and Lady Estora followed more slowly.
“—disagreed with the exile of his father, of course,” King Zachary was saying. “And apparently exile disagreed with Hedric D’Ivary. I assume from his son’s accusation the old man did not survive life in the north.”
“It’s not your fault,” Lady Estora said.
“I put him there.”
“With the agreement of all the other lord-governors. That man was cruel to those border folk. Instead of offering them refuge, he allowed them to be subject to rape, murder, slavery ... even the children.”
Karigan was not sure she had ever heard such passion from Estora, and it appeared the king had not, either, for he paused on the landing with an expression of surprise.
“You acted justly.” Estora’s tone of conviction brooked no argument, and none was forthcoming. She turned to take in the commotion below, just as Karigan had only moments earlier. The king also looked, and Karigan held her breath hoping to remain unnoticed.