“You’re finished?” I rose from my seat and crossed to the full-length mirror. I would’ve said I barely recognized myself, but wearing fine gowns and putting my hair up in elegant coifs was becoming a regular occurrence. Still, the dress had an ethereal shimmer that seemed more than a mere trick of the lights, and my skin gave off a rosy glow it usually lacked.

“One more touch, I think.” Brigette drew a deep inhalation from the djageesh cigarette, pinched her lips together, and closed her eyes as she touched my shoulder, muttering under her breath. The air thickened, tickling my skin, and a luxurious cape of peacock feathers unfurled around my shoulders, draping to my feet.

Behind me, Malita gasped.

Brigette let out a puff of smoke and grinned, obviously pleased with her handiwork. “Now that’s the dramatic flair I was looking for.”

She handed me my mask. I pinned it in place, and the sudden anonymity it gave me bolstered my courage. “Here goes nothing.”

Chapter 16

Part of me wondered if I shouldn’t have made my identity known the moment I’d arrived in Isolas. Even as a deposed queen, I would’ve garnered some curiosity. Once I displayed my command over the storms, that curiosity might have turned into respect. Respect could become faith, and faith always made me stronger. If enough people in Isolas believed in me, I might’ve been powerful enough to bring down the walls of the Basilica di Magia on my own, but the Council of Magic was not my enemy, and I already had more of those than I could juggle.

Le Poing Fermé wanted to appear uninvolved in Jackie’s escape from the Council. As long as I didn’t bring their name into it, was there any reason I couldn’t approach the Council directly and petition for Jackie’s release into my custody? I deserve to exact my own justice against him, don’t I?

They’ll ask too many questions, Grandfather said as I weaved through the crowds in the Terrazzano’s ballroom. They’ll want to know why you want Jackie released. What will you do with him? Where will you take him? Revealing yourself publicly can be your backup plan if this one doesn’t work.

Good, because I hate being sneaky and secretive.

I’d purposely timed my entrance so I would arrive late, long after the crowds had swelled, and I could slip into the Terrazzano’s ballroom without drawing attention. Although judging by the number of heads turning my way as I weaved through the mass of finely dressed and masked revelers, I wasn’t as inconspicuous as I’d hoped.

The hotel’s staff had transformed the space with lighting, beads, streamers, and a bit of Magic into an underwater dreamscape. Lights flickered in liquid pulses, and garland hung from the ceiling like ocean waves and seaweed. An orchestra played on a raised platform, and couples waltzed across a floor that looked like swirling sand.

“È bellissimo, no?” A short man in a dark suit with long jacket tails leaned close. He wore a grinning mask painted in black and red, matching the trim on his lapels. “Vorresti ballare?”

Before I could tell him I didn’t speak Venitzian, he’d grabbed my hand and tugged me to the dance floor. I considered using one of the techniques Niffin had taught me to free myself, but what better excuse was there for me to appear occupied while I searched the crowds for the Marenatos’ Magician?

“Non parlo Venitziano,” I told my partner as he babbled in my ear. Saying I didn’t speak Venitzian was the extent of my abilities with the local language.

He shrugged and led me into a turn.

While my feet followed the music’s rhythm, my gaze spun over the crowds, searching for anyone fitting DeLaguna’s or Taviano’s descriptions. With each twirl, I scanned the room, but instead of the Magician, another figure caught my eye. Tall, broad shouldered, wearing a deep-maroon cape and a plain white half-face mask, he stood out among the more elaborate costumes, and he watched my every move.

The stranger from last night.

The sight of him sent a familiar tingle racing over my skin. My partner turned me again, forcing me to look away. When we spun back around, the mysterious man had disappeared.

We made another revolution around the dance floor before I spotted him again at the threshold of a side entrance. He glanced over his shoulder, caught my eye, jerked his chin, and disappeared through the doorway.

My heart slammed into my throat and thumped a dizzying pace. Could it be...?

Wrenching free from my partner’s embrace, I apologized. “Sorry, I’m not feeling well.”

Ignoring his protest, I slipped between two older women at the edge of the dance floor and threaded through the crowd. The partiers seemed intent on blocking my progress, moving into my path with each step. I gritted my teeth, resisting the urge to push and shove, but the last several feet to the doorway cleared, and I dashed into the hallway, gasping for breath.

My pulse pounded in my ears. Desperation burned in my stomach as I spun around, searching for another glimpse of that white mask. Farther down the hallway, an exterior door slammed shut. He must have gone outside.

I gathered my skirts and ran.

Throwing open the door, I charged into the hotel’s covered courtyard. A hard rain was falling, rattling the roof. Thunder rumbled in the distance. The space was deserted, the partygoers likely chased away by the threat of getting wet.

Where was he? Had I been seeing things? Had I gone the wrong way?

Disappointment swelled in me, acidic and harsh.

But then lightning flashed, throwing a strobe of light into a dark corner, illuminating a half-face mask and a tall, shadowy figure with strong shoulders, a firm jaw, and familiar lush lips. Tearing off my disguise, I rushed to him as he opened his arms to me.

“Gideon!”

He pulled his own mask away and answered me with a kiss. His lips on mine were like a breath of air when I’d been slowly suffocating, like the return of sunlight after months of steady rain. His arms around me, holding me tight enough to make my ribs creak, were like being home after a long and exhausting journey.

His lips brushed my cheek, my eyelids, my temple.

I touched him, running my hands over his shoulders, his chest, stroking the valley of his spine. I knotted my fingers in his short hair and kissed him again. It’s him. It’s really him.

“What—” I sucked a quick breath. “What are you doing here?”

“Watching out for you.” He nibbled my lip. “Why else?”

“How did you find me?”

“As soon as I found out what Le Poing Fermé wanted from you, I knew you’d be coming to Isolas. I’ve been watching the ports and train station for days.”

I went stiff and pulled away. “Wait... how long have you known I was here?”

“Since you stepped off the train yesterday.”

“Then why wait until now to come to me?” I punched his shoulder, and he flinched.

“Because I wanted to watch and make sure no one was tailing you. I wanted to see if anyone noticed your arrival. It’s easier to be your spy if I stay in the shadows.”

I poked his ribs, making him flinch again. “You could have snuck into my room last night instead of watching me from the street.”

He tugged me back into his arms and plucked another kiss from my lips. “Missed me, did you?”

“Gideon,” I said, my tone serious, “you’ve been with me every day. In here.” I tapped my temple. “In here.” I touched my chest over my heart. “But it’s not the same. Never knowing for sure whether you were safe and well—” My voice broke. Tears burned in the back of my throat. I swallowed, trying to maintain my composure.

“I know.” His voice was low and gruff. He dropped his chin and touched his forehead to mine. “I know, Evie. It was a little bit like torture, that uncertainty.”

I slumped against him and raised my chin, our mouths reconnecting. “Agony.”

He flicked his tongue against mine and drew away. “Torment.”

“How come, when you say it, torment doesn’t sound like such a bad thing?”

He made a hungry sound deep in his throat. “One of these days, we might find out just how right you are.”

Heat flooded through me, a tidal wave of warmth and desire. Thunder crashed. Lightning crackled, clawing across the sky. “Don’t bring the storms down on me,” he muttered against my ear.