Chapter 42 A Ball
The castle had never looked so alive. Lanterns bled orange onto the snow-blind lawns, and inside, the ballroom was a living wound, raw gold, mirrored walls, the whole thing pulsing with music and the kind of laughter that cost real money. Daisy knew she didn't belong the second she crossed the threshold, arm hooked through Eleanora's.
The glamour held at least for now. Samuel's last-ditch enchantment pinched at her scalp, but her face stayed smooth, skin human. The dress was ridiculous, satin and lace and stitched with what felt like a thousand tiny knives, but Eleanora had insisted. Daisy imagined Xeris laughing his tail off somewhere in the night, but she kept her eyes up and her mouth shut.
Eleanora set the pace, heels clicking over inlaid wood, a floating column of white in the churning sea of nobility. Heads turned. The Duchess made an entrance; Daisy was her pet monster, leashed and ready for show.
At the far end of the room, under the biggest chandelier Daisy had ever seen (and maybe ever would), her siblings stood gaping at the display. Sam and Mina both wore borrowed suits, hair slicked back and faces wiped clean; Rose had a dress two sizes too big, her hands knotted into fists at her sides. They looked lost. Maribel sat in a high-backed chair just behind them, her hands folded in her lap, the spiral on her neck hidden under a gauze scarf. She looked smaller, faded. But alive.
Two guardsmen in blue, but dressed as attendants, stood at either side of the family, pretending not to watch them. Daisy burned the sight into her memory, then forced herself to look away.
Eleanora steered them toward a knot of guests, all black coats and bird-bone cheekbones, their laughter high and glassy. A servant appeared with a tray of drinks, the glasses floating two inches above the silver. Eleanora plucked one and offered it to Daisy; Daisy took it, hoping her hand wouldn't shake.
"The new ward is quite the spectacle, Lady Ravensworth," one of the men said. His hair was so blond it looked like bone.
Eleanora smiled. "Thank you. We aimed to keep the wind out and the riffraff in."
The circle laughed.
Another voice, soft and cold: "And this must be your guest. I don't believe we've met."
Daisy turned. The woman wore a veil so thin it was barely there, but her eyes shone through: violet, sharp, a surgical instrument in a face that otherwise blurred into featureless grace. Mira Stone. The name flitted to Daisy's tongue unbidden.
Eleanora gestured. "May I present Daisy Green? My ward is from the east slums. She's taken to city life remarkably well, considering the, ah, roughness of her upbringing."
A ripple of polite snickers.
Daisy put on her best curtsy. "Charmed."
Mira's gaze traced the edge of Daisy's cheek, the line of her jaw, searching for seams. "Charmed," she echoed. Then, to Eleanora: "Is she magically inclined?"
Eleanora's smile was predatory. "Only what the city allows. She's a model of restraint."
Another round of laughter.
Daisy gripped her glass so hard she worried it might shatter. The blood glamour wobbled, just for a second, and she felt a bead of sweat trickle down her spine.
Next to her, Mira murmured, "You should be careful. This crowd smells blood."
Daisy risked a look at her. The veil shimmered, almost alive. "I can handle myself."
Mira nodded, as if Daisy had passed a test. "I hope so. You're the most interesting thing here tonight."
The crowd shifted, attention moving on, leaving Daisy and Eleanora alone by the edge of the dance floor. Eleanora leaned in, her voice a private needle. "You're doing fine. Just a little longer."
Daisy watched the spinning couples, the way the magic flickered above their heads, little bursts of colored light, benign amusements. She wondered how many of them could sense the spellwork binding her up, how many cared. Her jaw ached from holding in the rage.
Eleanora's fingers dug into her arm. "Don't look at your mother. They're watching for it."
Daisy forced her gaze away, focusing instead on the line of old portraits over the mantel: a history of city monsters, each more smug than the last. She almost laughed.
"You're out of place," said a voice to her left.
Daisy flinched. Oliver stood there, a glass in each hand and a look on his face that said he'd rather be anywhere else.
"You look…" He stopped, searched for a word. "Like the kind of trouble that eats people for breakfast."
Daisy almost smiled. "That's the idea."
He pressed a glass into her free hand. "If you're planning to burn the place down, give me a heads-up. I'll open a window for you."
She drank, grateful for the warmth.
They stood in silence, watching the room swirl.
"What's the play?" Oliver asked, not looking at her.
"Don't die," Daisy said. "Don't let them see through me. Wait for the signal."
He nodded, just once. "Easy."
In the center of the room, a chime rang: a single, pure note that silenced the crowd. Every head turned toward the stairs.
Lord Ravensworth descended, his suit perfect, his hair a precise storm of silver, his eyes two coins of nothing. He glided to the center of the floor and raised his hand. The crowd parted around him, instinctively, like animals making room for a predator.
Daisy felt her blood surge. Her jaw clenched; the glamour threatened to split. She tasted copper at the back of her tongue.
He began to speak, voice low but somehow everywhere. "Tonight is a celebration of progress. We have bled for this city, bled to keep its walls strong and its people safe. Now, we usher in a new era, one where all power is properly harnessed. For the good of all."
The applause was polite, automatic.
Daisy's nails dug into her palm. Under the skin, the scales itched to break free.
Eleanora's voice stabbed her mind: "Steady."
Xeris spoke next, a resounding echo under her thoughts: 'Control yourself, little spiral. This is not the moment.'
Daisy swallowed her hate. She let the glamour snap back into place, holding it with every thread of will.
Lord Ravensworth swept his gaze over the crowd, pausing on Daisy for a heartbeat. He smiled, thin as a knife. "Let us enjoy the fruits of our labor. Eat, drink, and remember: the city owes its future to those who embrace their nature."
The crowd dispersed, the music swelling.
Eleanora pulled Daisy to the side. "Breathe. You almost lost it."
Daisy exhaled, the effort like lifting a stone off her chest.
Eleanora's eyes softened, just for a second. "He knows you're here. But he doesn't know who you are. That's our advantage."
Daisy nodded. "What now?"
"Now," Eleanora said, "we get close. And we wait for the right time to break his heart."
She guided Daisy back into the crowd, every eye and spell in the room on them. Daisy caught a glimpse of her family again: Sam had seen her gaze, just for a second, and smiled. It was enough.
She straightened her spine, forced a smile, and let herself be led. For tonight, she would play the game.
But tomorrow, she would set the rules.