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Feminine laughter rang out again. As the music’s tempo became even more raucous, a blond woman pulled a man into the center of the hall. They swept into a dance that sent her rippling mass of hair flying away from her head. She was lovely…and oddly familiar.

But there was no way I knew her. As she tossed her head back and laughed, the tips of her fangs showed.

“Oh no,” Rowena murmured, “Lord Varick won’t be happy.”

He certainly didn’t look happy. He watched the woman and her partner with a clenched jaw. Confusion swept me. Was he jealous? It didn’t sound right—not if he preferred men.

“That’s his sister,” Rowena said under her breath. Several courtiers stomped their feet as the couple made another boisterous circuit around the hall. “Lady Evelina is betrothed to a male from the warrior class.”

Now I realized why the woman looked so familiar. She resembled Lord Varick. They had the same golden hair. Evelina was also far taller than the average female.

I had to lean toward Rowena to make sure she heard me. “Is that her betrothed?” The male didn’t look big enough to be a warrior.

Rowena laughed softly, which made her generous bosom tremble. “Gods, no. Evelina wouldn’t be caught dead with a male she’s supposed to marry.”

Such a thing was unheard of in Sithistra. In Beldurn, a highborn lady only danced with her husband, father, or brother.

“She’ll ruin herself,” I said before I could think better of it.

“From what I hear, it’s too late for that. Evelina is twenty-one and she’s had twice as many suitors.” Rowena perked up. “I see a knight from my husband’s regiment. Maybe he has news from Harald. Excuse me.” She bustled off in a flurry of skirts, her reddish-brown curls bouncing.

Varick remained by the wall as Evelina and her partner spun and laughed. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew I should wonder why he didn’t stop his sister. But the tingling warmth of the blood-wine had spread to my limbs, which felt relaxed and pleasantly heavy. Other couples joined in the dancing. The ladies’ dresses whirled away from their bodies in big arcs of color. The beat of the music pumped in my veins. I settled more comfortably in my chair, my gaze wandering. In a shadowy corner, a man kissed a woman against the wall. Her hands slid down his back and gripped his backside. Her jeweled rings winked in the candlelight.

Laurent wore rings like that. Heat snaked through me at the memory of his long, elegant fingers pulling Elissa’s mirror from my dress. He was shorter than Varick, his head almost level with mine when we spoke. It gave me a better view of his sensual mouth—and the wicked-looking fangs that made him look dangerous even when he was smiling. Especially when he was smiling.

“I thought the orgy thing was a myth,” Jordan muttered.

I turned my head and found him staring at the couple by the wall. “Hopefully it doesn’t get to that point,” I said, meaning it.

He startled. “You heard that?”

“I heard you just now.” My skin prickled. “You spoke about…myths.”

For a split second, he looked confused. Almost fearful. “I could have sworn I—” He shook his head. “Must be the wine.” He rubbed a hand absently over his clean-shaven jaw. “The Brotherhood sticks to water unless it’s a feast day, and then they water down the wine so much it might as well be water.”

As if his words had summoned her, a servant appeared and refilled his goblet. When she left, he grinned and took a hearty sip with more than a little swagger. “I could get used to this.”

The blood-wine loosened my tongue. “How does a member of the Brotherhood find himself in Nor Doru?”

His boyish features sobered.

“Forgive me,” I said quickly. “I didn’t mean to pry—”

“No, it’s all right. I can’t blame you for wondering.” He plucked at his robes. “These aren’t a common sight north of the Rift. I’m bound for Twyl, but King Laurent invited me to stay in Lar Katerin for a spell.” He cleared his throat. “I’m, uh, not welcome in the Brotherhood anymore.”

I couldn’t hide my surprise. “You’re not?”

“The brothers are strict about rules. I broke into the Forbidden Library in the Tower of the Mind one too many times.” He cast his gaze up, as if he was remembering something. “I believe the Prelate’s exact words were ‘show your face in Beldurn again and it’ll be the last thing you see.’ Which doesn’t really make sense, right? Because how would I see my own face?” He frowned. “Unless the Prelate meant I’d see it in his mirror.”

“Wait. They kicked you out for reading books?”

“These were pretty important books, Princess.”

“Call me Given.”

He shook his head, his cheeks growing pink again. “Oh, I couldn’t. Your mother was from House Lar Satha.”

I leaned forward, excitement bubbling. “You know of it?”