A Masquerade of Spiders

Chapter 11: Utter Betrayal

"What happened?"

"My apologies, my lady," Biluria said. "It's nothing at all."

"It's obviously something," I said. "Won't you tell me, miss Biluria? I mean no harm."

"I don't doubt it, my lady," Bulria replied. "But harm could come regardless."

That I understood only too well. I couldn't show kindness to those outside my station without exposing them to danger.

And I truly didn't have good intentions.

"Please let me know if there's anything that I could do," I said, retreating from the doorway.

Something troubled Jeranine, and I knew there would be a way to use that.

And that my opportunity will come sooner than later.

***

Afali asked for my presence for the evening meal. I was tired from being idle all day, and not quite hungry enough for the rich food that was served. But I ate as much as I could. "The chemist has been detained due to the rain," Afali said to me with disapproval written on her face. "You'll get the serum only come morning, and a mask-maker will be here to cast your face for a mask right after."

I didn't know what a chemist was, other than the man whose job was to deliver the serum, but another night was welcome. There was a possibility—a small chance—that I could find a way to escape in this time.

"Do you have a mask-maker on hand?" I asked. Most noble houses did. That, of course, had been my greatest ambition. Mask-makers were of the lowest class, but the highest esteem. Even the lords sought the company of those whose creations were nothing but art in its truest form. All Lords wished to own a Filberti, or a Gilimeres, or a mask by the elusive Guinevere Talmiir. The designs in mask-making were always transforming, new techniques constantly invented. With each generation, the bar was raised higher and higher.

But I knew I had it in me to be part of that world. The day I made my first mask—just a plain cotton thing that didn't have much shape—I had known that this was who I was.

My sketchbook of designs was left in the workshop in Thalmina, along with all my possessions, my dreams and ambitions.

"We do..." Afali said with a scowl. "But he is one of Lady Golia's people and won't make a mask for you. My friend, Lord Euriys, you've met him..."

"The Phasiani Lord you were with yesterday? The one who wore a peacock mask?"

"Yes. He's of the Walary branch of the Phasiani, not that that's anything to brag about. He's my friend since we were children. He commissioned the work of a mask-maker right by here, in a village called Thalmina, and was astounded by the result. He said her skill was on par with Tylabell Surage and Guinevere Talmiir."

I struggled to maintain my composure. I struggled, and failed. Ducking my head to look at my plate, I cut off a piece of mutton so that Afali wouldn't notice. But my hands were shaking, and she saw.

"Whatever is the matter now?" she asked, as if I was a toddler giving her difficulty.

"I'm..." My mouth was so dry I had to cough. I drained the glass of white wine that was served with our meal. "I'm just grateful Afali. I thought... I thought you of all people would despise me. Even more than she does."

"Don't get the wrong idea, Dylana," she said with a low voice. "I want you gone. You were best left where you were, and the past should have stayed buried. But now that you're here, you'll be useful to me, or I'll let Lady Golia have you."