The afternoon of the Empress’ masquerade found the Seraglio, normally vibrant with the chatter of ladies, suddenly silent of schemes. Even the lordlings courting the skyborn were sequestered away in their own rooms with an army of servants, armored themselves in silken weave and velvet gloves and all that which sparkled in the light. Charms and witchery were layered over each other, or imbued into every worn article, while glamours were employed to mold even one’s face and features.

If one were to count every coin spent on this night, Mydea thought, staring at herself through the vanity mirror of her room, would it suffice to extend the Aigean Way from Aigis to the mountains?

Troia dipped a painter’s brush into a recipe of beeswax, egg whites, and dyes, before applying the red mixture to the very tip of Mydea’s nails. It made it seem like her scratches had just drawn blood.

Troia studied her work for a moment, before turning to Mydea hesitantly. “Are you sure about this, my lady? You usually have your nails painted all the way.”

“It is the latest fashion in Aelisium,” Mydea said. It had been growing in favor among the ladies close to both Princess Mirah and Princess Lille from what she’d observed.

“As you say, my lady,” said Troia with a dip of her head, continuing to delicately paint the rest of her squared nails.

There was a knock, not on the door, but on the vanity. A polite way of announcing one’s presence through the mirrorplane. “Who is it?” Mydea asked.

Almond-shaped eyes, as bright and green as her own, popped out of the corner. It was like staring at herself at fifteen, but her sister’s eyes were sweeter, her cheeks not as sharp, and her hair was thick and straight like Father’s. “Sister?”

“Chalsi!” Mydea greeted. “How are you calling on me right now?” While she knew the Thalassian Athenaeum had mirrors of its own, access to them was restricted by the hystors. Kolchis itself had no mirrors connected to the mirrorplane yet, and so her sister couldn’t have used the excuse of calling back home.

Chalsi shrugged her shoulders. “It was simple enough to ask a friend for a favor.”

Mydea frowned. It was good that Chalsi had friends now—a sign that associating with Kolchis was not as dangerous as it had been a year prior. However… “I’ve warned you about those. Favors are never so simple.”

Her sister rolled her eyes. “Not everyone is as cutthroat as you think.” Chalsi peered at Mydea, taking in the state of her, before her eyes visibly widened. “Isn’t that mother’s dress? I’ve never seen you wear it before. What’s the occasion?”

“The Empress is hosting a masquerade tonight,” Mydea said.

Chalsi squealed and brought her hands together with an audible clap. “How exciting! Take a care not to let anyone spill wine on you though.”

“The world is not like those stories you read,” Mydea said. Besides, what athenaeum graduate couldn’t spell the wine out of their dress on the spot? Only the rarest Everbloom vintages could be so stubborn, and if the stories were to be believed, they had been purposefully bred so at Empress-Consort Daphne’s behest.

Her sister pouted at her. “Honestly, I can’t believe you get to stay in the Imperial City for months! How is it?”

“As cutthroat as I thought,” Mydea said dryly.

“You know I’m not asking about the people.”

Mydea grinned. “I know. It’s a wondrous place, really, if one can find the time to enjoy it. I’ve only been here nine days, but it feels like there are new sights to see each day—magical and natural.”

“And have you seen a prince?” Chalsi asked. “It’s all anyone here’s been talking about recently.”

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Mydea considered the question. “Not exactly. I suppose you could say Prince Jaeson is the shy sort. He has yet to show his face here.”

“He’s not the only prince you know,” Chalsi said.

“No, but I don’t imagine the gossip in the athenaeum isn’t about him,” Mydea said. Troia finished with her nails, and stood to reach for her jewelry box. “Thank you, Troia, but I’d like a moment please.”

Troia hesitated. “You’ll be late if we pause the preparations now, my lady.”

“It’s fashionable to be late to these things,” Mydea said. Perhaps one of the few occasions where being late was being right on time.

Troia bobbed her head and stepped back, closing the soundproof curtains around Mydea’s vanity.

Mydea took a moment to recollect the details of Tomas’ disguise whilst at Kolchis. “Would you happen to remember a strawborn merchant’s son passing by the Thalassian Athenaeum? A Marcherkin fluent in Ilyosi. He would have left maybe seven or eight weeks ago.”

“Oh, him,” Chalsi said. “He was here for a short while—a week I think. I never saw him myself, but I heard he spent quite a bit of time discussing things with Archystor Phoebe or perusing the depths of the library. Was he someone important?”

“He was a guest of Kolchis briefly,” Mydea said. It was strange that Tomas had not approached Chalsi at all while at the athenaeum, considering his interest in Kolchis and the Tuskar.

“Do you suppose I could visit you at Aelisium when summer comes?” Chalsi asked.

“Bold of you to assume I’ll be here that long,” Mydea said.

Chalsi frowned. “Isn’t Prince Jaeson looking for a bride? If you were to be chosen, it’d be expected that you remain at Aelisium.”

“There are considerations which make such a match impossible,” Mydea said. Unless I wish to thoroughly spite House Pleonexia. Even were an alliance to be made between Prince Jaeson and the Deeplands, it would not be through her hand in marriage.

“A lady-in-waiting then,” Chalsi said, eyes still sparkling. “Any princess-consort ought to have a few.”

“It’s far too early to tell who will be chosen,” Mydea said. She’d thought Lady Miryam of the House External Bludbolt would be a safe bet in that regard, but her showing at Princess Mirah’s party was a heavy blow to her prospects. It was arrogant of her to insult the Deeplands, but then losing a duel to Mydea herself made Miryam’s standing among the Marcherkin so much worse. None of the other girls invited from the Primemarch stood out in Mydea’s eyes.

As for a candidate from the other eminent regions, it seemed unlikely that Prince Jaeson would select someone from a house already likely to back another for the Starlight Crown. That only left the Deeplands and Nysia however, and there were no suitable girls from Nysia. All of them were daughters from houses nominal or knightly.

The third possibility which might help further Prince Jaeson’s ambitions would be a strategic marriage to break up the support behind one of the other skyborn, robbing them of a key vassal in the succession struggle years later. It was the weakest of his options, however, and not the path she’d advise him to take were he to ask.

Tomas’ movements were of no help in this regard, having avoided the other girls thus far.

“You seem keener on the idea than I am,” Mydea said.

“Of course not,” Chalsi lied blatantly. “You’re not a young girl anymore, Sister. You ought to start thinking of your future. That I’d have an excuse to visit the Imperial City is just an added boon.” Chalsi glanced to the side, looking out the window of a room. “I should go. The sun’s about to set.”

“Take better care of yourself now that you’re alone in the athenaeum,” Mydea said, placing a palm on the mirror. “Lord Pleonexia has eyes and ears where you’d least expect them.”

Chalsi raised a brow at her, but touched her palm to hers. “I think I should be the one saying that to you considering where you are. Have a good night, Sister, and do try to enjoy yourself.”

Mydea watched quietly as Chalsi slipped out of sight, and only then set her hand down. She cracked open the curtains and called her maids over to finish up her look. The sky was darkening outside too as rain clouds saw the sun off.

Troia got to braiding immediately, turning Mydea’s dark locks into a circlet around her head. Khloe stood to Troia’s side, passing on silver pins as needed to secure her hair. Ida slipped her feet into heels, before presenting the jewelry box to Mydea.

“The high silver ring and the pearl necklace,” Mydea said, and Ida picked the pieces out gently before placing them on Mydea’s person.

When they’d finished with her effects, her maids stepped back and allowed Mydea space to stand. With a purposeful flick of her wrist, the spell woven into her dress came to life. Mydea assessed herself through the mirror. Satisfied it was working as intended, she willed the spell back to sleep.

To finish the look, Troia came forward and placed a red half-mask decorated with swirls on Mydea, covering her eyes and cheeks.

Her maids accompanied her to the entrance of the Seraglio, where her carriage waited. Despite the rain, the pavement was dry as ever. The raindrops sank through the cobblestone and into the cloud beneath it, acting as the Imperial City’s reservoir.

Mydea stepped into the storm, but not a drop dared drench her. The witchery her maids employed made sure of that.