Shadows of Ivory

by T L Greylock

  “I’m not going to the masquerade,” Eska said, then shook her head. “Very well, Alize, you can leave it.”

  When the maid had gone, Eska untied the ribbon and lifted the lid from the box. She pulled the tissue paper away, curious as to what her mother might have chosen.

  “Oh,” she said, when the mask was revealed.

  It was astonishingly beautiful. Intricate. Luxurious. But that was not why Eska found herself speechless, her heart racing.

  “A masked eagle,” she breathed out, her fingers reaching to stroke the mask’s glossy red hawk feathers and the sharp beak. “Albus, it seems you’ve planned for me to go to the midsummer masquerade after all.”

  Chapter Forty-One

  “Because the world needs saving, apparently.”

  Once, the sight of the Varadome’s Spectacle Hall decorated opulently and filled to the brim with the luxurious finery and alluring masks of the wealthy denizens of Arconia would have filled Eska with delight.

  But as she disembarked from an unmarked carriage and slid her lion mask down onto her face—not the hawk that would so readily identify her—under the light of a slivered moon, Eska was feeling a great many things, none of which were delight.

  Curiosity was perhaps the kindest of those feelings—curiosity as to who she would find in an eagle mask that night. But mostly she was a storm of harsher, harder emotions, calculation perhaps above all. After all, somewhere amid the masked faces would be the Archduke of Arconia, who was trying to frame her for a murder he arranged, and very likely Thibault de Venescu, who was trying to murder her himself. As much as she might wish it otherwise, meeting with Albus’s mysterious eagle was not all she could concern herself with. She needed to stay alive.

  Perrin’s knife was strapped to her calf, beneath the red silk swirling around her legs. It seemed to Eska that it was not just a knife. That night it was sorrow and misplaced trust. The memory of a conversation about abandoning family lurked just below Eska’s heart—and was why she had hastily swallowed a cold harrow tea moments before climbing into the carriage. Her sickness and ordeal was not forgotten. Hence the single spoonful added to the tea. But Eska had to face the Varadome alone that night—and the harrow root could very nearly convince her otherwise.

  She wondered if Manon Barca was in the crowd.

  And then there was Alexandre, who would be looking for her and who would, above all others, be most able to spot her beneath a disguise.

  Eska adjusted the mask one last time, lifted her chin, and ascended the steps to the Varadome’s grand entrance. When she was admitted and passed through the wide golden doors, she surveyed the Spectacle Hall from the top of the sweeping marble staircase.

  There were, she realized with the sort of slow dawning she did not often experience, fountains on the ceiling.

  Water jetted in graceful arcs across the massive dome—and nary a drop fell on the revelers below.

  A quick glance along the balconies lining the dome just above Eska’s head showed her the Carriers, three of them, controlling the streams. She wondered how long they could keep up the necessary concentration. The effect was, she had to admit, quite enchanting.

  Eska undid the clasp of her cloak and let the black velvet fall away to reveal the red dress beneath. It was worthy of a lioness, unapologetically fierce, demanding of attention—perhaps not quite what one should wear when one does not wish to stand out, but Eska found she could not convincingly explain to Alize why, after suddenly changing her mind about the masquerade, she might not wish to wear a dress that would spark the imagination of all in attendance. The maid had prattled on about Arch-Commander de Minos—surely he wouldn’t be able to take his eyes off her and didn’t she long to see him again?—her mouth running faster than a mountain stream as she asked Eska questions Eska did not much care to answer.

  The dress had the intended, if undesired, effect. Despite the masks shielding the many faces below, Eska could see eyes shift to take her in, and as the musicians struck up the next dance, a sedate, formal piece, and Eska descended the stairs, three men approached, each asking to dance with the lioness.

  She chose the one wearing a heron mask, glad for the chance to slip into the dance and be less conspicuous in the crowd. He danced well enough and tried to make amusing conversation, but Eska was so intent on scanning the crowd for any sign of eagle feathers that the heron soon grew tired of her dull responses and they finished the dance in silence.

  As the heron drifted away in obvious disappointment, Eska retreated from the dance floor in search of refreshment and a better vantage point. She had no sooner settled into relative obscurity between a golden elephant and a waterfall cascading down the side of the dome, than a voice, disembodied by Eska’s compromised vision, appeared at her elbow.

  “I knew I would not be disappointed tonight.”

  Eska froze, trying to place the muffled voice, certain for a moment that it was the Iron Baron.

  “Surely it was fate that brought us here together.”

  And then a lion swung into sight and Eska could have laughed out loud. She smiled instead. “Never have I seen a lion with such a magnificent mane.” This was no lie.

  “Nor I a lioness so beautiful. Will you honor me with a dance?”

  To refuse was another path to unwanted attention. And so Eska was whirled into the dancing throng once more. She was spared from speaking by the faster pace of the dance, and the lion was a lively partner with nimble feet and a pleasant laugh. By the time the music finished, Eska was aware she had very nearly enjoyed herself. But when the lion went in search of wine and failed to return within the span of the next two dances, Eska, after finding her own wine, abandoned the ballroom floor and claimed an unoccupied balcony for herself. She tucked herself into the corner of the balcony, just beyond the fringe of its velvet curtain, trying to observe without being observed.

  Every feather called out to her. Every beak caught her eye. Peacocks, gulls, falcons, parrots—but no eagles.

  As the night wore on, Eska became convinced of two things. That she had misinterpreted Albus’s letter and that Alexandre de Minos was not in attendance at the midsummer masquerade. She was musing on the latter, her mind speculating, perhaps unfairly, that he was away from the city to collect more Carriers for the Archduke, when the woman screamed.

  Eska saw a figure fall, saw the crowd below react in radiating circles outward, heard the musicians grind to a tentative halt, heard the silence before the whispers began. She also saw a knife flash and then vanish—or at least she thought she did.

  The woman would live. This was the news put forth by a steward after the woman was carried away, called out in a loud, strong voice, as though the voice could imbue the words with truth. Eska wanted to believe it, but thought it just as likely the Archduke, wherever he was, wished his party to continue unmarred by the specter of death. The small smear of blood was quickly wiped from the floor, the musicians were ushered into a bawdy tune. No mention was made by the steward of a culprit brought to justice, no acknowledgment at all that the woman had almost certainly not plunged the knife into her own abdomen.

  It was painfully obvious to Eska, and she was no doubt encouraged in this line of thinking by the harrow root, that the woman had been mistaken for her. She had been wearing a falcon mask, easily mistaken for a hawk if one was careless and not inclined to wonder about such things. The quality of her dress was unmistakable, her jewelry a stunning display. And the Iron Baron would not much care if he were wrong. Of this Eska was certain. She had eluded him for far too long. Thibault de Venescu would litter the Varadome with innocent dead if he got what he was seeking in the end.

  Suddenly it seemed very foolish indeed to be alone at the Varadome, mask or no mask. Eska stood and turned to leave her balcony—only to stumble into a lion.

  She made herself smile. “And here I thought I would never get that glass of wine.”

  The lion did not smile back, did not so much as move. Eska felt the hairs on h
er arms stand up. And then a hand was raised and the mask pushed back.

  “I had to be sure it was you,” Sylvain de Ulyssey said. “You can take off the mask, Lady de Caraval.”

  Eska did, if only to free her vision and her movement should she need to go for her knife. Perrin’s knife.

  “Much better,” he said, smiling. “You’re fortunate our mutual friend Thibault doesn’t have as good an eye as I do.”

  Eska’s sharp inhale made de Ulyssey laugh. “Have no fear, my dear, I’m not that sort of man and I certainly have no intention of turning you over to him.”

  “What do you want, then?” Eska asked, relieved to hear her voice was calm. Her mind was not. It was too busy trying to calculate if she could swing down from the balcony without hurting herself, or if she would be better off trying to push past de Ulyssey and escaping down the stairs. The fanciful notion that she might manage to throw him over the balcony was considered for more than a heartbeat.

  “I’m looking for a librarian.”

  Eska fought to contain her surprise. This wasn’t about her adventure in his private quarters. This was about Albus. If he knew about the smashed reliquary, he hadn’t connected her to it.

  “I know quite a few librarians, my lord.”

  “Yes, so I’m told. This one is called Courtenay. I believe you and he are quite close.”

  Denying it seemed fruitless. But she didn’t have to give him everything. “We are acquainted.”

  Sylvain de Ulyssey narrowed his eyes—he was not, as it turned out, as composed as his friend the Archduke. He recovered quickly. “Master Courtenay, you see, was doing research for me and I’m afraid he’s run off with something from my private collection.” This gave Eska pause. Perhaps he did know about the smashed reliquary and suspected Albus of the crime. But the ivory box had been empty, the Godforged already removed. Surely de Ulyssey knew that? Or was he merely talking about the missing scroll from the collection of Ardemis the Deceiver? Eska forced her mind to stop whirling.

  “I’m afraid I haven’t seen Master Courtenay in weeks, my lord. I’ve been away from Arconia.”

  This was true. But Eska felt her heart leap into her throat because she had just seen an eagle.

  The masked figure, cloak billowing behind, was disappearing down the stairwell over Sylvain de Ulyssey’s shoulder. Eska could only hope her face was as empty as the mask in her hands.

  “Understand, my lady,” de Ulyssey was saying, “this is a serious matter. The Lordican has been extremely unsatisfying in their response. If the item is returned to me soon, I will be lenient on the young man, but if this goes on any longer, I will be forced to meet out harsher justice. We cannot be seen to allow those who answer to us to go unpunished.” He appeared to be in no hurry to move out of her way.

  “Of course not, my lord, but if you’ll excuse me, I am expected below.” Eska pulled the mask back over her face.

  Sylvain de Ulyssey contemplated her for a long moment. “You will give Master Courtenay my message if you see him?”

  “I will, my lord.” And then she was gone, brushing past him as he shifted to let her pass.

  Naturally, the eagle was nowhere to be found. Eska hurried down to the Spectacle Hall’s main level as quickly as she could without drawing unwanted eyes. She scanned the crowd as she threaded her way along the outer edge of the dome, pushing past a disheveled goldfish, bumping into a monkey pontificating to a fern. She had just squeezed past a horse getting very friendly with a duck when she caught a glimpse of golden brown feathers and a sharp yellow beak through the crowd. The eyes behind the mask were staring straight at her.

  Eska nodded toward an alcove to her right. The eagle disappeared in the crowd, then reappeared closer. They reached the alcove at the same moment, but the eagle didn’t stop moving.

  “Outside,” the eagle said. A woman’s voice. “The rose garden.” And then she was gone.

  ***

  She was waiting at the edge of a reflecting pool.

  The mask was gone, discarded on a stone bench. The woman watched Eska approach.

  “You know Albus?” Eska asked.

  “Wouldn’t be here if I didn’t. Wouldn’t know to look for you.” The woman crossed her arms in front of her chest. She was older than Eska. Skinny with collarbones that jutted up above the neckline of her dress. The garment was an older style, Eska realized, the sort of thing a woman might have worn at the Varadome ten years before.

  “I suppose that’s true enough. Who are you?”

  “A friend of Albus’s.” The woman’s mouth quirked upward but no smile followed. “You’re wondering if you can trust me. I could say the same of you. My lady.” The woman added in the deferential address as an afterthought.

  Eska spread her hands in front of her. “You have something for me. I don’t need to know your name or how you know Albus or how you got here tonight. I just need what he left in your keeping.”

  “And what do I get in return?”

  Eska studied her right hand for a moment and then removed a golden ring studded with tiny rubies. She held it up, letting what little light the garden offered catch the gold. She tossed it. The woman caught it deftly and peered at it.

  “You won’t be able to sell it without attracting attention,” Eska said. “But if you bring it to a man named Gustini at the Firenzia Company offices, he’ll see that you’re properly compensated with coin in exchange for the ring.” She could see the woman frown slightly over this proposition, but then the ring disappeared into her bodice and she reached behind her back. It took Eska a moment to understand that she was loosening the ties of her gown.

  “Can I help?”

  “You can stay right there.” It was said without malice, but the warning was clear enough. Eska waited. At last the woman tugged free what she was searching for and held it out to Eska.

  The disc was crumpled in on itself, a nebulous shape in the darkness. But Eska would know it anywhere.

  “I take it you’re satisfied.”

  “I am,” Eska said, her voice quiet. The woman nodded and bent down to set the crumbled bronze on the bench next to the eagle mask.

  “I hope he’s all right, you know.”

  The words brought Eska’s attention back to the woman’s face. “Albus? Do you know where he is? What did he say?”

  The woman shrugged. “Don’t know anything. He just asked me to keep that thing until you came for it. Said it might be tonight and that I should wear that ridiculous mask. But he seemed worried.”

  Eska closed her eyes. “I hope he’s all right, too.” When she opened them, the woman was already moving away, retreating back into the light of the Varadome, the eagle mask forgotten. Eska went to the bench and knelt, her hand hovering over the disc. She plucked it from the cold stone.

  “Seven,” Eska whispered. “And I only have one.”

  ***

  “I know this puts you in a difficult position. Just tell me if I am correctly interpreting the laws that govern the company.”

  The lawyer Pierro Gustini looked across the desk at Eska, his glasses magnifying the trepidation in his eyes. Morning light streamed through the windows of Maximilian de Caraval’s library.

  “My lady, there is no legal reason why you cannot do exactly as you say. You are, after all, an equal partner in Firenzia Company. Your uncle cannot stop you from doing any of these hypothetical things you have questioned me about. I might, however, argue that any number of other reasons might exist to act as counterpoint to that.”

  “I don’t pay you for your other reasons, Master Gustini,” Eska said, getting to her feet. “You’re sure my uncle intends to depart this afternoon?”

  The lawyer also stood, his hat caught in a death grip between his hands. “Yes, the weather is cooperating. He said he had no wish to delay any further.”

  Eska nodded. “Very well. That will be all, provided you have the information I asked you to bring regarding our friend the Iron Baron.”

  The lawye
r reached down and produced a sheaf of papers from the case resting against his chair. “Indeed, my lady, I have what you requested. The evidence was abundant, if one knew where to look, and de Venescu has grown overconfident in his power.”

  Eska took the papers. “And your professional opinion of it?”

  Pierro Gustini’s lips pressed together in what passed for a smile. Eska knew it was as close to satisfaction as he ever came to expressing. “Watertight, my lady.”

  “Thank you, and thank you for your time, Master Gustini. You may go.”

  She left the lawyer in her father’s great library—having received him there due to the skeleton arrayed on the floor of the room that served as her office and personal study—and returned to her chambers.

  The bath was waiting for her, the air delightfully steamy and scented with orange. As she had requested, Alize was absent and Eska slipped into the bath, grateful for the silence. She thought it likely to be the last moment of peace she would enjoy for quite some time.

  Though haste necessitated keeping her hair dry, she had just enough time to enjoy a soak and Eska reached for the jar of harrow root powder on a shelf next to the tub. She added a scoop to the water and breathed in the spicy steam that floated off the surface a moment later.

  When she finished in the bath, Eska dressed in traveling clothes and then glanced around at the carefully organized disarray of her bedchamber, mentally checking off the items she could not do without as compared to the items she would take if space allowed. Much of it was exactly what she packed before every expedition. A good deal of it was not, most especially not the things inspired by Parisia of Mehatha. If Eska was honest with herself, she didn’t quite know what she was going to do with the various artifacts she had set aside for the journey with her uncle to Anderra and Sandelese. She knew only that the objects had once called lands other than Bellara home—lands she would pass through after crossing the sea. And she also knew, thanks to Pierro Gustini, she had every right to do with the objects as she wished.