We spin with the others in a large circle. More join in, until we are all a tightly packed whirl of bodies. The minutes fly by. Enzo’s movements are flawless, and somehow I find myself moving in sync with him, my steps as accurate as his. Enzo releases me as we dance into the arms of new partners, then switch off again and again in a widening circle. The drums keep time with my heartbeat. I spin until I’m paired once again with Enzo. He smiles at me from behind his mask. I want to reach up and touch his face. Then I remember that I’m disguised as his consort, and such a gesture wouldn’t be strange. So I do. I laugh, draw closer to him, and brush his cheek with my hand. It might be my imagination, but his eyes soften at my touch. He doesn’t stop me. He’s just playing along. I don’t mind.
It takes me a moment to realize that the dance has ended. Around us, the others all give their dancing partners a quick kiss, the gesture of harmony between love and prosperity. Laughter and whistles go up from the crowd. All part of the custom. I glance at Enzo, suddenly shy—am I love, or am I prosperity?
He smiles, draws me close, and leans down. The elaborately carved grooves of his mask brush against my skin, and I wonder if it will leave a touch of glitter behind. I close my eye. A moment later, his lips touch my own. Only a touch.
It must have been brief—probably a second, no more—but to me, it seems like forever, like he let us stay this way for a beat longer than needed. The familiar bubbling of heat courses through me, the luxurious feeling of a hot bath on a cold night; I return his kiss, leaning into him, savoring his heat.
Then it’s over. I find myself looking into his eyes, and there I see thin lines of scarlet slashed within his irises, glowing. His lips are still very, very close.
He steps away from me and guides us out of the dancing circle as a new song starts. We’re now closer to the harbor than we were before, and a wooden railing separates us from the rocky pier near where the ships are waiting. Perfectly in position. I’m short of breath, still dizzy and giggling, and Enzo laughs along, his low, velvet voice mixing with my higher one. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him laugh before. It’s a soothing sound, both tender and unsure, reminiscent of someone who used to laugh more. His arm stays wrapped securely around my waist. My lips tingle. Even if he’s just trying to continue our disguise, he’s doing an excellent job.
The crowds thin as we near the point that overlooks the beach; only a few scattered figures are out along the rocks and sand, admiring the trio of moons hanging suspended at the horizon. Several Inquisitors stand guard at each of the piers that lead out to the six ships. Long shadows shroud the piers in darkness.
My energy stirs restlessly. Almost time for my debut. I glance briefly up at the roofs of the closest buildings. I can’t see anyone there, but I know that several Daggers are lying in wait, watching us for the first signal.
We head down to the piers. The lights from the festivities make way for the shadows cast by the buildings closest to shore, and I shiver as the cool night air surrounds us. Enzo pulls me close to whisper in my ear. I can feel his lips turned up into a small smile.
“The first pier,” he murmurs. “Watch for me.”
I giggle loudly in return, as if he’d just whispered some romantic nothings in my ear. One of the Inquisitors lounging along the first pier casts us a bored look and then turns away.
We edge steadily closer to the pier, continuing our little charade of romance the entire way. At least, it seems to be a charade for Enzo. Far be it from me to complain—the laughs he coaxes out of me are real, and so is the flush on my cheeks. His hand is hot at my waist, the rivulets of warmth delicious on such a cool night.
Finally, I stumble over a rock and fall, giggling, into his arms. We’re on the far end of the pier now, and the two Inquisitors guarding this pier are barely a few yards away. One of them holds up a gloved hand. “No one allowed past this point,” he says, nodding in our direction.
Enzo gives them a disappointed sigh. He places a hand on the Inquisitor’s shoulder. All pretense of lightheartedness vanishes from his face—in the blink of an eye, he has transformed from a smiling boy to a predator.
The Inquisitor looks at Enzo’s hand in surprise. But before he can brush it off, his eyes widen. He shoots Enzo a stricken look. Beside him, his partner’s stance wavers.
“Are you all right?” he asks the first Inquisitor. He draws his sword—but before he can do anything else, the sword unravels right before his horrified eyes. It reappears a dozen yards away, falling uselessly to the sand. Michel is here in the darkness.
Enzo touches his other hand to the second Inquisitor’s arm. Both of them open their mouths in silent screams.
He’s melting them from the inside. Even knowing that this was the plan, the sight catches me off guard. I look on in horror as their faces turn red and contort in agony. Blood leaks from one’s mouth. They shudder.
“Now,” Enzo whispers to me.
I reach within and pull on my energy right as the two Inquisitors’ knees buckle, sending them collapsing to the pier’s deck. All around us, I conjure a vision of an empty pier—planks of wood appear over where the Inquisitors lie—and Enzo and I both disappear behind an illusion of waves and night air, rendering both us and the dead men invisible. The darkness and unease in me soars, thrilling my heart, and I embrace the ecstasy. On top of this illusion, I weave an image of two white-cloaked Inquisitors standing as if nothing had happened. Up close, it’s easy to tell that the two fake Inquisitors are nothing more than smoke and air, their faces too simple to be real. But from the point of view of anyone who might look in this direction from afar, it’s a convincing cover.