Wicked as She Wants

by Delilah S. Dawson

  “You’re more beautiful than your portrait,” he murmured in my ear.

  “You can’t even see my face.”

  “I don’t have to.”

  He spun me out and back, the heavy skirt swirling around my ankles. When he caught me close, I smelled his scent rising with the promise of snow, a strange mix of sun and darkness, sandalwood and fir trees, old wood and new blud. The dancers around us became as inconsequential as ashes in a storm, fluttery bits of nothing. Our eyes were caught and burning, our feet moving like leaves on the wind. I didn’t realize the song was over until he had spun me out and bowed.

  Taking my hand, he led me toward a table of treats tended by low-ranking blud servants. I looked down, hoping they wouldn’t recognize me but knowing that it was expected for us to partake and that every drop of blood made me stronger.

  Casper had no way of knowing all of the clever and indulgent ways to enjoy a Bludman’s feast, so I took up a curl of candied tangerine dipped in blood sugar and held it to his lips. His mouth twitched, and his eyes narrowed, but he knew better than to reject it.

  “That is so very weird,” he said, chewing. “I like it, and I hate it. But it’s familiar.”

  I popped a piece into my mouth and tried to imagine what it would be like, tasting it for the first time. The tart, bright twist of the orange coupled with the waxy blood and the crystalline coating. But I couldn’t tease it apart. I had always loved this taste, just as I had always lived this life in my body.

  “Are you happy?” I asked him before my brain caught up with my mouth.

  “I exist as I am, and that is enough. If no other in the world be aware I sit content.”

  “Bah. A ball is no place for your philosophies, Master . . .” I trailed off. Sterling was a Pinky name, the sort of overtly pleasant thing they had adopted when they had begun to take over the parts of the world where Bludmen were considered monsters. His name had to be powerful, careless, cruel. “Master Scathing,” I said, liking the flavor of it in my mouth.

  “That won’t . . . I’m not . . .”

  “Sniveling? Strafing? Starving? Savage?”

  For just a moment there, he was human again, and struggling. Then, as if shaking off water, he suddenly seemed a foot taller and a foot wider, his eyes filled with thunder and staring over my shoulder at some new threat.

  “Would the lady care to dance?”

  I turned, mouth open in surprise, to find one of the two dandies I had recognized earlier. Dancing with him was the last thing on Sang that I wanted to do, and yet to deny him would have caused even more aggravation. I forced a smile and nodded, and he took my hand carefully, as if it might suddenly turn in his grasp like a snake. I tried to recall his name and failed.

  The next dance was, damnably, a slow one. I placed my hand on his shoulder in the correct place, and he looked at it as if I planned on ripping a hole in his perfectly tailored violet jacket. His other hand landed lightly on my hip, as if I were a piece of furniture instead of a person, and he began to move me mechanically around the floor, whisking me ever farther away from my only ally. The last thing I saw as we passed behind the blood altar was the second dandy sidling up to Casper in a coat the same orange as the sick sunset after a storm.

  “You seem rather familiar, my dear. Have we chanced to meet?”

  His voice was cultured, affected, and soft. I peered into his face as if trying to place him, and the waxed and curled tips of his mustache twitched. “I don’t believe so,” I said in the clipped accent of Sangland.

  “You’ve been to the Sugar Snow Ball, surely.”

  “This is my first time.”

  “But that dress! Your seamstress is a treat. You must give me her address. In Muscovy, I suppose?” His eyes were quite large behind the slip of the mask, the black around them exaggerated. He was staring at me strangely, not as if I were a woman he found attractive, because that was impossible. And yet there was an odd, anxious hunger that I couldn’t place.

  “You have been fooled, sir. It is secondhand, I am ashamed to say.”

  “Is there a tag? A tailor’s mark? I simply must know. The beading is exquisite. It’s the very image of the debutante gown worn by dear, sweet Princess Ahnastasia, may Aztarte have mercy on her soul. Although the color is just a bit different.”

  “Mmm,” I murmured, nearly tripping over his exaggeratedly long shoes.

  “Where do you hail from, darling? Your accent is rather exotic.”

  “Sangland. London.”

  “Divine town. I dote upon it severely. Tell me, have you ever been to the opera there?”

  “Never.”

  His hand clenched ever so slightly on my waist, and he looked over my shoulder too quickly. I tried to follow his gaze, but he spun me into a crowd, and I couldn’t see back to where Casper had been, beside the table.

  “And is your mask from there as well?”

  “A gift from my aunt, for the ball.”

  “Hiding so much.” The hand on my waist rose between us, the talon on his thumb raking my chin right under the mask. “Tell me, snowbird. Is your face as beautiful as your dress?”

  Thank heavens the Sugar Snow hadn’t started yet. My reaction would have plunged the country into anarchy. I jerked back from his claws and stumbled out of his arms, one hand holding the mask to my face before he could pry it off. His mouth curled up slowly, mimicking his mustache, and I spun away to shoulder through the other dancers and return to Casper. The space around the table was empty, with no sign of Casper or the other dandy. The Sugar Snow was close, and the air was tense and expectant, humming with magic. It was almost time.

  With a silent hiss, I accepted a flute of champagne-infused blood from a waiting servant and held it up to my mask. I couldn’t get it down without making a mess of one sort or another, so I set it on the table and selected a chilled vial of blood slush from a waiting cauldron. Shaking with silent fury and fear, I tossed it back through the mouth hole of my mask as I sought Casper in the crowd.

  When I finally found him, the iced blood went heavy in my stomach.

  He was dancing with Ravenna.

  38

  Perhaps Casper led the dance, but it was clear who was in power. They danced slowly, Ravenna’s mouth close enough to rip out his jugular as she whispered into his ear. They spun enough for me to see his face, and he was ashen, pale with barely restrained fury. The song ended, but she didn’t let go of the hand she had held while dancing. Instead, she dragged him toward the blud altar, and they stood before it together.

  “People of Freesia!” she shouted, and everyone crowded around. The scent of the coming Sugar Snow was heavy in the air, the moon obscured by misty clouds that swirled against the indigo like milk in blood.

  “My friends, I have great news. Our Sugar Snow is doubly blessed this year. We have with us the greatest musician in all of Sang. The Maestro himself, Casper Sterling!” Polite applause and whispering broke out, and Casper let out a great, shuddering breath. “He has been recently bludded, although he won’t reveal the circumstances. For once, an abomination is a welcome member of our ranks. My people, do we wish to hear the Snowsong played by the world’s most talented harpsichordist?”

  The applause after that was deafening. It had been a lean few years, and any advantage was welcome. One famous and talented man commanding the instrument he knew best was a better gamble than an entire orchestra when it came to flawless playing and timing.

  Then again, no one had ever heard the Snowsong, aside from the Bludmen who came to this ball every year. It wasn’t written, it wasn’t public, and it was considered a great secret. How he was going to oblige Ravenna and her court without inciting tragedy was beyond me. At least, he had managed to avoid telling her about me; if she had known, I would have been in a fight for my life already. I focused on uncurling my claws and trying to appear as normal and innocent as possible.

  As I watched Ravenna lead Casper to the grand white harpsichord under the stairs, a cold hand graspe
d my wrist.

  “May I—”

  “I’ll sit this one out,” I hissed, trying to snatch my wrist back and failing.

  “You won’t.”

  It was the dandy. Or dandies. One on either side of me. Their twin smiles, smug and sure, told me they knew more than I wanted them to. They each grasped one of my arms, and when I struggled, the one in violet produced a metal instrument like the one filled with seawater that had been carried by the assassin on the train.

  “It’s considered a patriotic duty to dance the Snowsong,” one said, and the other nodded and added, “Not dancing is often repaid with a good beheading.”

  I bared my teeth and felt the rush of the hunt flood my veins. I’d rip out their hearts and stomp on their fancy jackets if they didn’t loose my wrists.

  “Oh, I don’t think we want to behead this one, boys.”

  They spun me around, and I was face-to-face with my enemy at last. Ravenna grinned, a mad look in her dark eyes. My brother, Alex, was nowhere to be seen.

  I took a deep breath and held her stare, my wrists caught by the dandies.

  “Nothing to say to your queen? Bow to me, then, little peacock.”

  The anger built inside me, but I was as still as a statue, as still as the blud altar, as still as the high white moon.

  Her smile curled up, the bloodred lips mocking me. “Remove her mask.”

  One of the dandies untied the strings, and the proud peacock’s face shattered on the stone. The night air was cool and welcome on my heated skin, but Ravenna’s furious cackle of triumph stole the moment of relief. Her jugular pulsed as she threw back her head, and a rush of hunger and anger made me shiver. Nothing smelled so sweet as the enemy’s blud. With my wrists pinned, I was helpless to exact my revenge. But I was so close.

  I sought Casper across the clearing and found him sitting at the harpsichord. For a fraction of a heartbeat, I smiled to know he was in the place he best belonged, but then reality crushed me again. One of the musicians was scribbling on a piece of paper, and Casper was miming notes on the harpsichord. Should he miss a note or time it wrong, it would mess up the dance, and the company would tear him limb from limb as a sacrifice to Aztarte. It was a clever gamble on Ravenna’s part, as if she had known that worry for Casper was the only thing that could leave me unbalanced.

  “Ahnastasia,” Ravenna said, one claw tracing my cheek and leaving a hot line behind. “You’ve run me a pretty chase, princess.”

  I shrugged. She silently snarled and stepped closer, close enough for me to smell an unnatural scent rising from her skin, something I couldn’t quite place.

  Across the clearing, a trill rang out from the harpsichord. Four notes. The calling of the dancers.

  “May I have this dance?” Ravenna asked with a mocking bow.

  And I had to accept, because as much as I needed to kill her, my country needed a well-danced ritual and a perfectly fallen Sugar Snow. And she knew it, damn her. I inclined my head just the tiniest bit, and she held out her arm, as a man would. The dandies loosed me, and I let her lead me to my place at the head of the line. She stood across from me as we waited among hundreds of others, tense and excited, for the first notes to ring out.

  It was always beautiful, that song. I could so easily picture Casper’s nimble fingers on the keyboard, stroking the ivory keys with an intimacy and strength I knew all too well. As the first notes leaped into the air, I turned to bow to the gentleman on my other side, finding the dandy in the purple coat waiting with a mocking smile. I was trapped among the three of them, but I held my head high and danced with the grace and beauty expected of the crown princess. Whenever it came time to promenade with Ravenna, I had to stop myself from hissing at her damning and flippant power, her grasp stronger than that of any man who had ever led me while dancing. She was all but daring me to ruin my country, her feet stretching to trip me at every opportunity. Keeping up gracefully was a pretty little revenge. Casper played the song perfectly, as if he had written it himself. I was half shocked, half gratified at his success.

  “Where have you been, princess?” Ravenna asked, gazing over my shoulder.

  “Almanica. Hunting buffalo.”

  “Liar.”

  I snorted.

  “Does Olgha live?”

  “She’ll be here soon with an army of daimons to overthrow you.”

  “I tire of your lies, little tsarling.”

  “I tire of your meddling, witch.”

  “I didn’t want to do this.” She sighed and took my arm. When we began the next figure, she blew some sort of powder into my face, making me blink and nearly trip. I was still shaking my head when she whispered some strange musical words. I went dizzy but didn’t misstep.

  “Tell me, Ahnastasia. Does Olgha live?”

  “No.” The word was out of my mouth before I could think it.

  “Where have you been?”

  I clenched my teeth, but the words leaked out the side of my mouth. “Drained in a valise.”

  She smiled, almost friendly. “There. That’s better. Why are you here?”

  “To kill you and take back Freesia.”

  “Oh, I don’t think that’s going to happen. You’re not doing well so far.”

  I tried to stick my tongue to the roof of my mouth as I looked over her shoulder. Casper was curled over the harpsichord, his face suffused with rapture. It was truly the most beautiful song I had ever known, and hearing him play it was a once-in-a-lifetime experience, especially since Ravenna seemed to have the upper hand. When I looked up at the moon, I could see the clouds starting to swirl in a circle and sparkle as if tiny fairies flew within. The smell was sweet and heavy, like a bush about to blossom at midnight, except that the blooms were snowflakes. If he was playing well enough and we were dancing well enough, the next chorus would bring the first snow.

  “What have you done to Alex?” I asked.

  “He’s ensorcelled, of course. That began long before I had your parents executed. Alex is on a steady diet of my blud, which calms him and binds him further to me. I’ll announce our engagement at the end of the dance. The wedding will happen in summer, I think, at the Basilica of Aztarte.”

  It had been said to enrage me, and it worked. My talons bit into her shoulder, drawing blood, and the hand I held made a slight crunching noise. She didn’t flinch, and neither of us missed a step. If she managed to marry Alex and kill me, she would be Tsarina of Freesia until she died, ending my family’s matriarchal reign forever.

  “What of the Svedish king?”

  A wicked smile. “That’s the second act.”

  “The people will never stand for it,” I hissed.

  “The people are cattle. But tell me, did you turn Casper?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then I have grounds to drain you, should you live through the dance. Excellent. Ah, the chorus.”

  Casper shifted into the trickiest part of the song. The dancers had formed two circles, the men a smaller ring inside the larger one formed by the women and their grand dresses. I couldn’t see where Ravenna’s claws ended and mine began as we spun, around and around, faster and faster. Her black skirt swung out like a huge bell, a monstrous flower, and mine flared just a little, the iridescent feathers shimmering in the air. The woman on my other side was nothing, just a shadow holding me in place. Across from us, the men’s circle whirled in the opposite direction, a blur of dark coats and bright cravats. Casper’s song built in speed and strength, and the world seemed to hold its breath, and finally, with a heavy sigh, the first fat flakes of snow began to fall in the center of the circles, right above the blud altar.

  The first ones never made it to the ground; you could only see them if you looked up, just right. But then they began to pour, heavy and white and pure, with the scent of hidden flowers and raw wind and wildness. I breathed in deep as we spun, focusing ever upward and sending silent prayers to Aztarte.

  Let me kill Ravenna.

  Let me save my brother, my c
ountry.

  Let Casper survive.

  I bit my lip hard enough to draw blud and spat into the wind, hoping to hit some snow and help my prayers find the goddess whom I suddenly, desperately needed to be real and listening.

  As the song built to the last verse, the circles stopped spinning exactly where they’d started, and the dancers moved to the last set. Ravenna pulled me close, jerking my body into position, as the leading dancer was supposed to do. We were both panting and exhilarated with the touch of the first snow, and a heavy one at that.

  “You see? Aztarte smiles on my future rule,” she all but purred, and I smiled through closed teeth before spitting a big glob of blud in her face. It spattered over her dainty mask, turning the unicorn hair a strange pink.

  Slow and low, she hissed at me. “We finish this dance, and then you and your pet abomination die.”

  “We shall see.”

  The dance ended, and we performed the traditional bow, our eyes never unlocking. The entire company clapped and whistled with an unusual enthusiasm. The snow still fell, already gathering in our hair and on the boughs around us, although it never marred the stone of the dancing floor. As I straightened and moved to pounce on Ravenna, the dandies caught my wrists and jerked me painfully back from my leap.

  “An auspicious omen!” Ravenna shouted, and the people cheered again with real enthusiasm. She raised her arms and led us to the blud altar, and the dancers formed a ring around us. “Bring the Maestro and the sacrifice,” she called, disappearing among the guests and leaving me with the dandies.

  As the crowd gathered, the whispering began. They could see my face. Did they recognize me, or were they simply curious about my lack of a mask and the fact that I was being restrained like a criminal?

  “Ahna?” My brother appeared, his voice deeper than I remembered but his face still youthful and anxious.