Page 67

She divided my hair into sections, not answering immediately for the first time since I’d met her. Had I committed some social blunder by asking? Some witches were intensely personal about their magic—my mother made it a rule to never ask for details, though in private she seemedto know everything. The last thing I wanted to do was offend one of the only non-vampires in the castle.

“It’s a sense, mostly,” she said at last. “Sometimes my power is clear. For example, I knew Raphael would be in the training room. Swear the male doesn’t believe in giving word because he wants to make sure my magic ‘stays sharp’ or some nonsense,” she grumbled. “I get visions of the future. An image, a scene. But I have no way of knowing when.”

I watched her in the mirror, steadfast in her work on my hair. When I tried to grab another brush to help her, she swatted my hands away. “When I was a child, I wanted a little sister to dress like a doll. It seems my fantasies are at last to be fulfilled.”

“I suppose Iademos isn’t willing to let you oil his hair?”

Amalthea barked a laugh so abruptly that she yanked on my hair. “You really do have a humor about you when you’re coaxed from your shell. That’s good. Raphael could use some laughter.”

“You… you speak of him very casually.” I called him Raphael because that was all I’d known him as—the captured vampire I’d partnered with to escape Greymere. But here, he was a king.

She lifted her shoulders as if it was utterly inconsequential. “He is who he is, no matter what he’s called. In court, of course, I show proper decorum. But as his adviser, it does no good to be falling over myself constantly andmaking sure I’m addressing him correctly and not cutting him off and curtsying for exactly fifteen seconds when he enters a room.”

“You’re his adviser,” I repeated.

“If a king’s council’s duty is to warn him of future dangers, there could be none better than a witch who can see the future.”

That made sense. If anything, it was a wonder the witch king hadn’t repaired relationships with the oracles to use their magic to his own benefit.

The thought felt like a betrayal, so instead I focused more on analyzing what I’d seen of Raphael and Amalthea. It was obvious they were familiar with each other. Was there something more there? I’d assumed vampires nurtured the same disdain for witches that witches held for them, but perhaps that loathing went only one way.

Perhaps Amalthea and Raphael truly were close.

The thought made my stomach sour, and not just because it was antithetical to what I’d been taught as a child.

“There.” She poured some oil from a bottle into her palms and ran her fingers through my freshly brushed hair. “Lovely. Now we can start on your face.”

She reached around me and pulled open a drawer. Dozens of tiny containers and brushes filled the area, clattering as they rolled around. She selected one of the rolling bottles with practiced precision and uncorked it so I could look inside.

“Disguise cards are hard to come by, so I get by with colored powders. Turn,”she instructed.

I spun on the seat. Two things became obvious very quickly: Amalthea had been completely serious about wanting a doll to dress up, and despite her ability to see the future, she was utterly indecisive. She pulled a powder up, compared the coloring with my own, and then switched to another. The process repeated several times until she settled on her selections. With my eyes closed, all my attention was drawn to the feather-light sensation as she brushed over my forehead, my cheeks, my neck. My eyelids got an obscene amount of attention. The brush was almost ticklish, and when my face quirked on reflex, Amalthea quickly ordered me to “not interrupt her work.”

At last, the witch was satisfied with her efforts. She turned me back to the mirror. I’d expected to be painted like an autumn tree. Instead, I found I still looked like myself. My lips were lined and slightly darker, my eyes more attention-grabbing, but since I was among the few in Damerel who didn’t have red eyes, it hardly mattered.

She turned her arsenal on herself, plucking fresh brushes and covering her face in quick strokes. In what seemed to be a matter of seconds, she had given herself light blue eyeshadow and a matching navy lip.

“If you can do it that fast, why did it take so long for me?”

She grinned. “Because I was having fun.”

It seemed indulgent, but it was hard to judge when Amalthea seemed so giddy. Despite the hardship she’d seen in her life, Amalthea had a certain gaiety that seemedutterly natural. Her smiles were quick, and complemented by crinkled eyes. In contrast, each time I returned her smile I felt like a fraud.

“Let me slip something on for the evening and then we’ll sort out your gown. You’re going to be spectacular, Sam.”

She ducked from the mirror and began searching the floor. Heaps of fabric were lifted and quickly discarded until she was three-quarters across the room and appeared satisfied at last. She disappeared behind the silk screen, her previous dress falling over the screen to the ground in a pile.

Since the use of the screen was no doubt for my benefit, the state of the room made more sense. When she reemerged, everything above her clavicle was bare. Her dress began above her breasts, and midnight blue fabric pooled down, cinched only at the waist. Like all her clothes, it was ornately embroidered with long billowing sleeves that ran from mid-shoulder down below her hands.

“How did you decide?” I asked, curious. Well, curious and desperate to delay our attendance at the ball.

“It’s been at least a season since I was seen in this gown,” she explained. “The exposed neck is the fashion of the court among the powerful and the flirtatious. It can be an invitation for a bite. Or it can be a declaration that no one would be able to take from you and challenging any to try. The color is simply because I look wonderful in this shade of blue.”

I swallowed, unable to focus on the blue while her neck and shoulders were exposed. “How do you know which is which?”

“Attitude,” she chirped. She strode over to me as if the floor wasn’t littered by uneven mountains of clothes. “Now, our proportions are too different for me to lend you anything. First thing tomorrow, I’ll ensure a fresh wardrobe is started for you. But tonight, it’s a special enough occasion we can use this.”

Another flourish and Amalthea revealed her stack of cards from another drawer. It was easily a hundred cards thick, exponentially larger than my own paltry deck. She thumbed through them haphazardly. “No, no… where is it… no… ah! Here we are.” She slid the deck back into its hiding place and lifted a card triumphantly between her fingers.