The Ivory Rite

Chapter 14

The next few hours pass as though a heavy fog has descended upon me. After Margret left, I sat on the floor of my room in a daze until Raina returned and helped me from the ground. She, Eva, and a small troupe of servants dressed me for Samhain, and I made my way downstairs, somehow ending up on this throne.

The setting is more than impressive, the grand ballroom made of equal parts ice and glass. Silvery blue banners matching the color of my gown hang on the walls and from the ceiling, and hundreds of ice sculptures are positioned throughout the space. Crystal chandeliers provide the only source of light other than what must be at least a hundred ornate silver candelabras. Guests are afforded a spectacular, unobstructed view of the ocean cliffs through the outer west wall, the full moon reflecting off the rolling water to cast an otherworldly glow.

My wig cascades down my back almost to the waist of the gown that I wear, this one easier to move in than the last. The overlay forgoes actual jewels for a glittery pattern. It's similar to the one Margret is wearing, hers only slightly less ornate.

Glancing around the dimly lit room, I find myself blinking rapidly. Although the dress does little to hinder my movement, the makeup marginally impairs my sight. Silver flecks cover my face and neck, applied so liberally around my eyes that every time I move my head light is refracted in my peripheral vision. It makes it difficult to concentrate on anything.

I'm consumed by the obsession of avoiding further mistakes, this train of thought consistently interrupted by Margret and her constant nagging. I didn't anticipate pretending to have an amicable relationship with her would be so exhausting, and I'm baffled by how she manages the charade with such ease. Anyone who doesn't know better must think we're very close.

A few minutes ago she put her hand on mine and beamed down at me as I was trying to receive one of our highest born guests. It took every bit of tolerance I could muster not to rip my hand away from her and run screaming from the room.

My palms are sweating despite the cool temperature, and for a moment I'm standing back in the Theater tunnel with Adair. I squeeze my eyes shut and wipe my hands on the skirt of my gown, trying to quell the déjà vu. When I open my eyes there are long white streaks left from the powder. They make me think of Crema and her flour-caked hands.

"Diem!" Margret exclaims under her breath, pausing to call Sophie over, who is standing watch at a distance on her other side. Margret whispers something about a damp cloth before turning back to me. "Pull yourself together," she hisses, venom in her voice.

I stare at her without expression.

Sophie rushes up on my side this time, fixing the problem I've created with perfect discretion. "This looks familiar," she whispers, winking at me, obviously thinking of Crema as well. I thank her, acknowledging our secret joke with silent laughter. She gives me a small smile before moving away, back into her shadowy corner.

I ignore Margret's angry glare.

Time seems to crawl. The feast can't come soon enough; at least it will provide a distraction in the form of food and drink for the guests. The men will get rowdy, entertained by the sound of their own voices. The women will chatter amongst themselves, confined to their seats. The evening will be that much closer to an end.

My momentary anticipation is dimmed by the thought of sitting next to Adair. The security in this room is the heaviest I've ever seen, thick clusters of White Watch stationed at every exit. Tonight they don their white and gold dress uniforms, their faces unobscured.

Margret and I will be flanked by our Watchers all night, meaning Adair may as well be my shadow. He currently stands behind my throne, slightly to the right. I haven't been forced to interact with him yet, but I won't be so lucky at the banquet table.