71. A goblet of grasswine

The Barracks' attempt at a ballroom would have been incomplete without music, and so, true to expectation, four fae played violins at the furthest end of the chamber. They stood alone in front of the only visible window, which was a vast creation of metal framework cut through with prisms of glass. Moonlight lanced it through in stray beams, shining pale between the floating white gowns of the solemn players.

The violinists' music warbled thin and cold, though a number of couples had taken to the floor to dance together in slow circles. Their vivid costumes fluttered in stark contrast to the Hounds who walked amongst them, all dressed in robes of black with their lengths of chain. Ada remembered Solen's story of the sons that rich families had sent away to become Hounds, and here she saw the terrible proof. Boys stood speaking with their grown fathers, their voices harshly distorted behind the metal meshes fastened across their mouths. Beside them stood sisters with delicate scarves of lace, whose ends became unravelled when they caught in their brothers' heavy chains.

Ada's hand tightened on Lark's elbow as they walked through the ballroom, unable to keep her eyes from the dark revelry. She let him guide them as her gaze drifted, passing a little girl with rubies embedded in her narrow cheeks, then a man puffing on a pipe with smoke as purple as his tailcoats. Her eyes came to a halt on a raised dais, upon which were three chairs occupied by three men. The first two were Hounds like none Ada had seen before, their faces a mangled split between metal and flesh. Thick chains snaked around their shoulders and crossed over their chests, disappearing beneath their ribs into coarse robes.

In the third chair was Raeph. He wore a shirt of midnight silk, his buttons a scattering of obsidian flakes that he had neglected to fasten midway up. A loose cravat hung past his pale collarbone, startlingly white against his black outfit. He twirled the stem of a goblet between his long fingers, one leg thrown carelessly over the arm of his chair. Ada gasped, heat flushing through her chest as she found that his eyes were searing straight through the crowd of painted fae and into her own.

Before she could utter a sound, Lark had dragged her deeper into the fae crowd, their tall bodies obscuring the dais from sight. When they halted next to a small silver table scattered with crystal goblets, Ada unclasped her hand from Lark's arm and took an unsteady breath.

"Looks like you could use a drink," muttered Lark, grabbing the nearest decanter that brimmed with crimson wine. He filled a goblet and handed it to Ada. "Mulberry. It should take the edge off."

Ada took a sip and nearly choked. The wine was so vinegary it felt like fire was scorching down her throat. She teetered, already lightheaded, and thrust the goblet back to Lark.

"Oops," he said, reaching for a decanter of pearly green liquid instead. "Maybe that edge was a little too sharp. Try this."

Ada eyed him grimly, wiping mulberry droplets from her chin.

Almost smiling, Lark held up a palm. "An honest mistake. I forgot how supposedly sensitive human stomachs are. But you'll like this one, it's what parents give to their children when they demand to drink from goblets of their own."

"What is it?" Ada asked suspiciously.

"Grasswine." Lark pressed the goblet into her hand with a dramatic flourish. "Perfect to drink beneath the Harvest Moon."

This time, Ada only let the wine wet her lips. It certainly was weaker than the mulberry wine, though Ada suspected that was half due to the overwhelming sweetness that coated her tongue. After a mouthful, she felt a familiar dizziness, though not quite so terribly as before. She returned to surveying the ballroom, goblet in hand, when Lark stiffened beside her.

"Will you wait here a moment?" he asked. "If you keep your head down, nobody will have reason to approach you."

"What—" said Ada. "Where are you going?"

"Only a moment," repeated Lark, already plunging into the crowd.

Head down. Ada could do that. If there was one thing she could do best in Wysthaven, it was keeping her head down.

"Ada!"

Ada swore. A woman stood directly behind her, tall and slender, built with a faerie grace that could just as easily sigh as snap a neck.

"Oh, Ada! It truly is you!" the woman said, soft hands clasping Ada's. A cold ring pressed against her skin.

"Diane?"

It had been a long time since Ada had last seen Diane by the canal. Her long, white hair was impossible to forget, now falling loose and unadorned. She had been dressed in a gauzy pink gown, which was draped around her like a shroud. It did little to conceal her body, which was sallow and far thinner than when Ada had first met her.

"Are you alright?" Ada asked.

"I'm well enough," said Diane, though she spoke between thin breaths. "And yourself? What brings you here? It is no happy place to be, I'm afraid."

Ada stilled. Solen had been sure that Diane was trustworthy, though she had never revealed to her Ada's true identity. But Ada was now at least certain Min's Veil was working, because Diane's focus didn't seem to remain on her face. Instead, her eyes darted around the ballroom, wide and watchful.

"I'm here to find someone," Ada said truthfully, thinking back to their afternoon on the mudbank. "Solen's missing. Taken. By the Hounds."

Diane's throat bobbed, a sob caught somewhere beneath the smooth skin.

"I feared as much," she whispered. "I have not seen her in several days. No note or warning. It wasn't like her."

"We think she's here," Ada said. "Or nearby, at least. Beneath the Barracks."

The colour drained from Diane's face, leaving behind a hasty smudge of blush and pink, peeling lips.

Ada squeezed her hands. "Do you know the building at all? Where she might be?"

Diane shook her head, her whole body moving with it as though she may faint.

"No," Diane said. "No, not very well. But... But my husband is a general. He has"—a shudder rocked her body—"He will have a set of keys for the entire Barracks."

"Your husband?" Ada asked slowly.

"Up there. On the dais." Diane's voice was growing stronger. She unclasped their hands. "He's been drinking since sunset. I won't take long."

"Wait!" said Ada as Diane began to walk away. "I'm not asking you to do anything reckless. Solen wouldn't want anyone getting hurt."

Diane raised an eyebrow, her hair opalescent beneath the glittering chandelier. "You came to perhaps the most dangerous place in the city for Solen, though I know you haven't known her long." She gave Ada a small smile. "I know her better than anyone in this world. I would hurt for a thousand years if it meant she did not have to."

With that, Ada was left alone once again. She looked around for Lark, but couldn't spot his bright hair amongst the dancers. Then the crowd shifted and she saw Diane approach the dais, head bowed, holding out a small hand to the Hound Ada assumed was her husband. The General was a beast of a man, though Diane remained undaunted as he reared up before her. He thrust an arm around Diane's backside and propelled her against him, his smile all broken teeth as her skin met with his iron chains. Diane didn't cry out, even as the burns blossomed down her neck.

Ada looked away, her stomach churning as she took a gulp of grasswine. The goblet was trembling against her lips, so she set it down, then steadied herself on the silver table. She hadn't realised she was shaking. Diane and her husband reached the circle of dancers. They were given a wide berth, though not spared from the appalled glances toward the General's iron chains. That left only one man remaining on the dais.

Ada's eyes snapped back to the three raised chairs. Raeph was gone.

A deep voice spoke from above her. "Would you honour me with a dance?"