Bran Lindy Ayres - Masquerade

Masquerade

Bran Lindy Ayres

Copyright 2016 by Bran Lindy Ayres

All rights reserved.

Cover design by Eleonore Eder

Editing by Evil Eye Editing

No part of this book may be reproduced in anyform or by any electronic or mechanical means including informationstorage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing fromthe author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quoteshort excerpts in a review.

This book is a work of fiction. Names,characters, places, and incidents either are products of theauthors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance toactual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirelycoincidental.

Masquerade

Genevieve flicked her fan open, waryof the razor sharp edges. Heavy perfumes and musky odors swirledbetween the masked dancers. She fanned herself as she looked at herdance card. She could cross off the final name. Relief flowed overher, doing more to ease her discomfort than the slight breeze fromher fan. She tucked the card away in her clutch purse.

She watched the crowd through thefluted white marble columns and wished the orchestra wasnt so loudso she could better hear the conversations around her. She neededmore leads; her investigation into which factions opposed theGalien Prime Minister had yielded nothing so far. The Vermiirnobles were masters at obfuscation and reluctant to speak withanyone they considered an outsider. The masquerade was supposed tohelp her gain visibility among the Galien nobles and also offer arare chance for some entertainment, a nights respite from theinvestigation for which her Queen had sent her to Galey. So far,amusement was proving elusive.

A plain mask for a plainface, a snide voice commented at her elbow.

She turned and cocked her head,observing the elaborate gold and ivory mask inlaid with rubies andsapphires that matched the womans dress. Pale blue eyes challengedher, the look haughty and defiant.

Genevieve closed her fan with asnap.

Better a plain facebehind a plain mask than a boorish personality that no mask,however ornate, can hide.

The woman stiffened, the exposed skinof her chest and neck turning red as her pulse jumped in herthroat.

You have no idea who youare talking to.

Nor do you. MonsieurDAramitz made every effort to ensure that the most deserving andgracious of Vermiirs elite were invited tonight, so Im notcertain how you obtained an invitation.

A man in a bear mask appeared at thewomans elbow and bowed to Genevieve. My apologies, my dear Lady.I fear my companion has had a few too many glasses ofchampagne.

Perhaps you should escorther to a sitting room where she can recover her wits,then?

Yes, of course. Come,Josseline. No need to antagonize the foreign guests.

Genevieve narrowed hereyes at the foreign and turned away. The couple didnt deserve any more of hertime. It wasnt as if she was unused to being singled out, even athome in Orandon. At least for now the only thing that marked her asdifferent was her accent. Shed chosen the plain white full facemask to remain as inconspicuous as possible, only to achieve theexact opposite. Monsieur DAramitz had commented on it when she metwith him before the masquerade had been officiallyunderway.

Only the Marchioness ofCaleah could wear such a plain thing and remain as stunning asever, hed told her.

If shed had to stay to listen to hisplatitudes for long, she might have started drinking. Right now, asitting room sounded like a good idea. Her feet ached; the newdancing slippers had yet to be broken in and were pinching hertoes. Avoiding the gaze of yet another would-be dance partner, shefollowed the rude woman and her companion at a discreet distance,overhearing the mans furious whisper as he chided her.

Josseline, did you notsee the corsage? That was one of Monsieur DAramitzs personalguests. What am I to do with you?

Finding an empty sitting room,Genevieve sank onto a plush couch that sat in front of a large baywindow. She kicked off her shoes and stretched out her legs,flexing aching toes. The ornately carved mantel graced a cold andempty fireplace, the only light in the room coming from a small oillamp next to the sofa. Smoothing out the green satin damask skirtof her ball gown, she contemplated removing her mask, then decidedagainst it. She didnt want to upset her host by not adhering tothe rules of the ball, though she was certain her make-upunderneath was ruined by now.

She glanced at the clock that hung onthe wall between two pastoral paintings. Twenty till midnight. Notlong to wait. She could rest here and make one last appearancebefore leaving. That should be enough to satisfyDAramitz.

A waiter pushing a cart walked by thedoor. She was parched. Shed had little to eat or drink thatevening. She kicked her slippers under the sofa to keep them out ofthe way should anyone enter and went after the waiter. He wasleaving to refill the carafe, but offered to bring her water assoon as he finished. As she thanked him, the bells struck a quartertill midnight. She needed to retrieve her shoes and go meetDAramitz as promised. At least the thick carpeting had soothed theaches, and her toes no longer tingled.

Careful of her gown, she bent toretrieve her shoes. She found the left slipper but not the right,and cursed herself for not paying attention. Peering under thesofa, she couldnt see anything in the low light. Her fingers metnothing. It must be out of arms reach.

Last thing I need tonightis a ripped dress, she muttered as she knelt down behind the sofa.She felt around for her shoe, and found it resting against the wallunder the curtain.

This will do. Shut thedoor.

Genevieve froze at the muffled voice.Who was in the room? She peeked over the back of the sofa. Twomasked men stood between herself and the door. She ducked backdown, her thoughts tumbling over each other. There was no mistakingGeneral Mael Desroches ornate gold lion mask. Desroches was theleader of Galeys military and a staunch supporter of theAbolitionist movement. The same movement that had sent so manyfleeing to Orandon. The other she didnt recognize at all. Shednot have forgotten the sinister smile on the black and whitemask.

This is highly irregular.Why did you ask to meet here? Why not just contact one of myagents?

The familiar gruff voice tempted herto look again. Was that Commander Ashmore, the Queens SecurityAdvisor? That wasnt possible. He was at home inOrandon.

I wanted to talk to youpersonally. Some things should never be committed to paper,Desroches said.

I see.

Genevieve held her breath as footstepswalked past the sofa.

Take a seat, Desrochessaid.

Does this mean you arewilling to help our cause?

Genevieve pressed herself to the backof the sofa as the second man sat. Looking up, she saw his arm andhand draped along the backrest. No rings, no distinctive cufflinks,nothing to identify him. She craned her head upward until she couldjust see the profile of his mask; it completely covered his facewith only slits for eyes. There was no way to even guess who hewas. If she could only place his voice.

Yes. Though I have someconditions, Desroches said.

Of course. Namethem.

I want access to theplans and schematics. If you will guarantee that I can give you mybacking to remove Queen Rona.

Genevieve covered her mask as a gaspthreatened to escape her. She snatched up her fan from where ithung at her wrist, and flipped open the catch. She waited, lungsburning with a held breath. Discovery now meant death, theirs orhers.

You have my assurancethat you will have our full cooperation.

So when is this plan ofyours to take place?

Soon. I have a list ofdates and times when she will be vulnerable. The soonest I canmanage to make preparations is three weeks from now. She meets withher head scientist on Wednesday mornings in her private library.She never has more than two guards with her. The library isconcealed with only two entrances. No one will suspect anythinguntil it is too late. It will be the perfect time to get rid of herand secure the scientist as well.