‘Are you taking anyone to the ball?’
‘Certainly not. Why be tied to one dreary woman when you can have the choice of dozens?’
He had not intended to insult her. He had no idea what she was thinking, yet she felt insulted. However, Tali could not be cowed that easily.
‘Do you think I am dreary, sir?’ she said, practising the coldness she had heard in Lady Ricinus’s voice.
He turned sharply. ‘Of course not. You’re the loveliest — ’ Tobry studied her, head to one side. ‘What are you saying?’
She twisted her fingers behind her back. It was up to the man to ask, wasn’t it, and the lady to be asked. What if he said no? What if he laughed? What if he was so thunderstruck that he could not reply?
‘Will you take me to the ball, sir?’ There. She had done it.
He did not speak for a minute. He just gazed at her in a way that made her blood rise and her ears burn.
‘It’s a terrible risk,’ he said.
‘Worse than hiding here? Wherever I go in Hightspall, I’m hunted, but who would expect me to be at the grandest ball in all the land?’
‘Your enemies will consider all possibilities.’
‘If I am to be caught, to fail in my quest and die, just once I would like to go to a ball.’
She looked at him so wistfully that he sprang forwards and gave her a hug, before stepping away, bowing and looking more than a little surprised at himself.
‘I will take you to the ball, my beautiful Lady vi Torgrist.’ He pursed his lips, then smiled. ‘You shall be a distant cousin of mine, Lady Felysse Tybell, from the remote, cold and rainy county of Murge. That will explain your pale complexion and unfamiliar accent, while make-up applied by my own skilled hands, and a mask, will further conceal you.’
At the right-hand end of the wardrobe, among a series of gowns, were several in her size. She picked out a pale blue, gauzy one that reminded her of Eulala’s gown and held it up before her. It was almost weightless and she knew she would feel free in it. In a loincloth she had always felt free, slave though she had been. ‘Can I wear this?’
‘Only if you wish to attract every eye in the ballroom and provoke the most delicious scandal.’
‘What’s wrong with it? Does it plunge too low at the front?’
‘Not at all,’ said Tobry, inspecting the area. ‘Bosoms are in this year, by which I mean, half out. It is not the custom, however, for the rest of a lady’s anatomy to be visible through the fabric, no matter how charming her figure may be.’ He rotated her as if to confirm her charms for himself. ‘I’ll go out and find something suitable, but not sleeveless. Your slave mark must be concealed. Hmn.’
‘I don’t want you to go to any trouble …’ Yes, she did.
‘My Lady Felysse, I shall go to as much trouble as I please,’ said Tobry with a gallant bow. ‘And a mask, of course. What would you prefer? Fox, cat, eagle, owl?’
‘What about a mouse mask?’ said Tali, thinking of her poor little Poon, taken by that dreadful cat in the moment of its freedom. Mice were clever at hiding and not being noticed. They also had sharp teeth.
‘A mouse it is.’ He went out.
Two-and-a-half hours later Tali was standing by Tobry, clutching his arm, among the gaudy throng outside the ballroom door. The sapphire gown he had found for her was pretty and suited her complexion, but it was heavy and confining and she was already beginning to perspire. The elastic of her mouse mask was cutting into her ears.
‘Lady Felysse?’ said Tobry in a low, amused voice.
It took a moment before she realised that he was talking to her. ‘Yes, my lord?’
‘You’re crushing my poor wrist bones to splinters.’
She unclenched her hand. ‘Sorry. Is there any sign of Rix?’
‘No, and I’m really worried. It’s not like him. It’ll be a mortal insult if he fails to appear for his father’s Honouring and the portrait’s unveiling.’ He put her hand on his arm in the correct position.
The huge double doors were opened and the couples began to enter the ballroom, their names being announced as they did. Tali could hardly breathe. Her figure required no corset, but the gown was so tight under the bust that it was an effort to breathe.
‘You’re clenching again,’ muttered Tobry. ‘Relax.’
‘I’m scared. What if Lady Ricinus recognises me when we’re introduced?’
‘She’s never seen you before. Besides, she’s not going to take a second look at any girl on my arm.’
‘Why not?’ she said, bristling for him.
‘I have no land, no family, no money and no prospects. The House of Lagger was utterly disgraced before it fell, and I’m only here because Rix insisted on it.’
His words did not alleviate her anxiety. ‘What if she talks to me?’
‘Blush prettily and look confused. An air of charming vacantness goes a long way in such situations.’
‘How would you know?’
The line moved forwards. Lord and Lady Ricinus were just ahead. Tali realised she was clenching Tobry’s arm again and consciously relaxed. She allowed her jaw to go slack, her red-tinted lower lip to droop like Lifka’s. Now, that was a look she could emulate.
‘Charming vacantness, not doltish stupidity, Lady Felysse,’ murmured Tobry.
She corrected, and just in time. They were being announced.
‘Lord Tobry Lagger of House — er, Lord Tobry,’ said the announcer, ‘and his second cousin, Lady Felysse Tybell of Murge.’
Lord Ricinus, who was immaculately dressed but swaying like a sailboat in a heavy sea, took Tali’s hand. His hand was oozing sweat and had a revolting, pulpy feel. She released it and turned to Lady Ricinus.
Lady Ricinus extended two gloved fingers and said in a bored voice, without looking at her, ‘Charmed.’
Tali bowed and they passed on.
‘That wasn’t so bad, was it?’ said Tobry. ‘Now, some of the gavottes are particularly tricky and you don’t want to attract attention to yourself. I should have asked this before, but — which are your best dances?’
Tali fell from a great height. ‘I’ve never danced in my life.’
CHAPTER 90
Rix groaned, opened gummy eyes and saw nothing. Had he gone blind? Was he dead? His head felt as though an axe was embedded in it, his mouth was dry as a vulture’s armpit and the fur on his tongue had fur on it.
He rolled over and cried out. There was a lump on the back of his head the size of a half melon. He groped around him, felt a stone wall and pulled himself up on it, and saw the familiar outline of the palace roof beyond. What was he doing at the top of his tower? He hadn’t been up here in months. An icy wind whistled in between the low perimeter wall and the spiralling roof. It was a wonder he hadn’t frozen to death.
His mouth tasted of wine gone sour and stale vomit. He must have been royally drunk last night, though he could not remember anything after Lady Ricinus had left. Rix smelled painter’s oil on his hands and a glimmer of memory came back.
He’d been painting the murder scene in the cellar; painting and drinking.
So drunk he could barely focus on the canvas.
The staring, haunted girl.
The young woman’s head torn open.
The bloody ebony pearl …
Rix groaned. His head was bursting with the effort to remember.
Then another glimmer: two faces, finally emerging from his frozen memories, the killers on the canvas.
Lord and Lady Ricinus.
‘Why, why?’ he cried, but the howling wind drowned him out.
Rix was pounding his fists against a column when he remembered one final fragment. Utterly dishonoured and with no way out, he had staggered up here to throw himself off his tower. Evidently he had fallen and knocked himself out. He couldn’t even kill himself successfully.
It must have been many hours ago, otherwise his mouth would not be so dry. But why was it still dark? Had he lain unconscious all day? No wonder his tongue was like a leather strap hung over a fence. He was lucky to be alive.