Hal’s reflection appeared in the mirror. Dressed in a short black coat and a white cravat, he leaned in the doorframe, dangling his mask by its ribbons. Wren did not expect the answering stutter of her heart. Last night still felt unreal, like a hazy, half-remembered dream. Once they’d curled up beside each other, they’d fallen asleep, and come morning, she could almost believe their kiss had never happened. It was better that way.

Her own words echoed like an admonition: Only once.

As she approached, she didn’t miss the lingering of his eyes on the curve of her waist or the bare slope of her neck. Goddess bless this heinous mask for hiding her surely beet-red face. “Do you have something you’d like to say?” she said tartly.

Hal offered his arm, and when she took it, he bent close enough to speak against the shell of her ear. “No. I’ve no words.”

“You never do, Cavendish.” She closed her eyes against the pleasant shiver that ran down her spine. Through their tether, she could feel the uneven beat of his pulse. “Now put on your mask.”

They stepped into the grand hall at the stroke of eight. They only had until midnight—the end of the ball—to uncover Lowry’s secrets and expose him.

Over the sound of the orchestra, the din of one hundred conversations echoed through all three stories of Colwick Hall. Below and above them milled dignitaries and courtiers, all spectacularly dressed in black, all in masks, each more twisted and grotesque than the last.

In Danu, Midwinter festivities lacked fanfare. It was little more than the longest night of the year. At the abbey, they had spent hours praying until the sun broke on the horizon. For rebirth, Heloise would say in those black hours before dawn, there must first be death. In those bleary, delirious moments, Wren had come close to believing there was something divine out there.

But in Cernos, it was a festival of dramatics—a show of light. Past the holly-twined banister, the darkness was a cold night sky. Hundreds on hundreds of lights dangled from fine strings, seeming to hover in midair. They sparkled in twisting, antler-shaped sconces. They rained like hail from delicate chandeliers. Just as spectacular as Lowry promised, a thousand man-made stars, the heavens dragged down to earth.

Tightening her grip on Hal’s arm, she descended the staircase, the fabric of her dress whispering with every step. They slipped into the crowd. Everyone looked the same. The same dark colors, the same leering masks, the same indistinguishable drone of their voices. On her every side was another sharp point of an elbow, a towering body, a too-loud laugh.