Page 70 of Ashen Torment

Only once have I felt hands so devoid of warmth.

“I am very glad to finally see you here.”

I avert my gaze and pull my hands from his.

“I could hardly ignore your persistent requests.”

He steps aside, clearing the path.

“Please, enter. Admire the enchantment.”

The hall opens before me. Masked gentlemen, a few gentlewomen, and a piano played by an elegant musician. Trays with hors d’oeuvres and glasses are carried by valets masked in the same manner as the men at the entrance, their crow beaks adding a sense of surreal uniformity.

“Shortly, dear Viscount, I shall reveal the works of art to all.”

The Count takes a glass from one of the valets and disappears into the crowd. I fix my gaze around the room, trying to decipher every detail without moving too much. A man in gaudy clothes, with a cane topped by a solid gold knob, catches my attention immediately. Through the mask, I glimpse blond locks and blue eyes shining under the flickering light of the candelabras.

Julian Fairfax.

I hope he doesn’t speak to me. It is already suffocating enough in here.

I take a flute of champagne from the tray a valet proffers with careful hands and proceed through the crowd.

A woman with honey-colored curls is surrounded by men in elegant but discreet attire.

Duchess Durant... I doubt your husband would appreciate such conduct.

Her eyes briefly meet mine, but her attention immediately returns to the circle surrounding her. One of the men standing beside her looks familiar, but at this distance, I cannot tell. He kisses her gloved fingers with devotion. To one side, a figure with olive skin observes with an artificial calm: Idris Nabil. Every gesture of his is measured, but the mask does not hide the hostility in his gaze.

I imagine someone has replaced him.

Moving on, my breath grows short. Before me, a scene I could never have imagined.

Female bodies and... male bodies partially covered by wet sheets, arranged as if they were paintings, every breast and, in some men, members exposed in studied poses. The glistening flesh, the steam, and the scent of oils and water fill the air. A mosaic of human forms.

Bold and disturbing.

From behind me, a voice slides through the air.

“What are you watching with such attention?”

It is not necessary for me to turn to know who it is. The irritating sound is all too familiar, and the scent of burnt cedar penetrates my senses.

It’s impossible not to recognize it.

I turn slowly. Lord Presumption is there, motionless. Dressed entirely in white, waistcoat, trousers and shirt.

I have never seen him like this. The white mask with golden contours ends just below his nose, and it is strange, almost ethereal.

A lily among so many thorns.

Beautiful.

And annoying.

“It does not concern you.”

He smiles faintly, tilting his head toward me. “You have piqued my curiosity. Please... tell me.”