Althea adjusted her mask with careful precision, the black feathers brushing lightly against her temple as she settled into the cushioned seat that a servant had guided her toward. The theater was vast, built in a grand circle that sloped downward, every tier of seats curving toward the stage at the far end. Heavy crimson curtains draped behind it, rich with gold embroidery, concealing whatever spectacle, or transaction, would unfold tonight.
This was no ordinary stage for plays or concerts. This was where nobles gathered, hidden behind jeweled masks and extravagant attire, for a different sort of entertainment... an open bidding night. Leisure disguised as commerce, socialization cloaked in pretense.
Althea’s ruby eyes, so often praised in song and sermon, caught glances despite the mask that hid the upper half of her face. She felt their scrutiny like pricks of thorns against her skin. Even in anonymity, they recognized her, the Saint, the Darling of the Capital, the Ruby of the Temple.
Gold hair, impossible to disguise, cascaded over her shoulders in soft waves that shone beneath the mana infused light. Her presence here, of all places, was bound to stir whispers.
Why would she, the kingdom’s symbol of purity, attend something so crass as a bidding night?
To her side stood Olga and Lenko, her companions for the evening. Olga stood as firm and composed as a statue, the woman’s gaze sharp, watchful, daring anyone to approach uninvited. Lenko, younger and restless, adjusted his gloves with a frown, his green eyes shifting constantly as though he wanted to peel back every mask in the room. Their presence was both shield and weight.
Althea smoothed the dark folds of her gown, the red wine silk flowing around her like a pool of blood. Black lace edged the frills, a bold choice, almost defiant, and far removed from the soft white and pastel gowns she was always forced to wear. This was not the attire of a saint but of a woman who chose to be seen differently, even if only for one night.
Her mask, black feathers and dark gems glimmering faintly under the light, obscured her expression. Yet she knew, and the nobles already know who exactly sat among them. That was the cruel irony of such masquerades... anonymity was the rule, but power always unmasked itself.
She let her posture remain composed, back straight and shoulders poised, but behind her mask Althea’s eyes moved discreetly, scanning the crowd. With practiced grace, she drew out a black fan from the folds of her gown and flicked it open with a soft snap. The dark feathers and lacquered ribs veiled the lower half of her face, the mask concealing the rest.
The theater was alive with low voices, the flutter of silks and brocades, the metallic glint of jewelry catching mana infused light. She recognized several faces despite their masks, lords and ladies who had once bowed before her at the temple or sent her carefully worded letters and gifts of favor.
Their postures, their servants, the faint way they carried themselves gave them away. Having dealt with these kinds of affairs before, they are very familiar with this place. Each was flanked by attendants or guards standing just beside their seats, eyes sharp, hands never far from hidden blades.
It didn’t surprise her. Mr. Genevra, the host of this night, was infamously indulgent with his guests. He allowed more than just the invited nobles to step foot into his theater. Companions, guards, advisers, so long as they were masked and properly attired, they were tolerated. Perhaps it was his way of ensuring the crowd felt secure, or perhaps it was simply good business... the more at ease his patrons were, the more they would spend.
Still, she knew the truth. Legally, there was nothing wrong with this gathering. Auctions were not forbidden, no matter how secretive or unsavory they seemed. But there was a reason they were always private.
Muzio had told her enough to understand, the items sold here were not baubles or tapestries, not jewels or horses. These were rarities of a more dangerous sort, things too valuable, too strange, or too perilous to be offered in the light of day. Things that would never appear on the temple’s altars or the royal court’s lists of trade.
Althea lowered her fan slightly, just enough to glimpse the rows of masked faces below. If the common folk ever saw what their betters bartered for in the dark, if they glimpsed even a fraction of the gold squandered here, they would not cheer the nobles’ processions, but spit in the dirt they walked upon.
Yet the common folk would never know. They would whisper only rumors in taverns and alleys, their outrage kept to the dark. And if by chance any dared to speak too loudly, one of the masked patrons here could ensure their silence, swiftly, and permanently.
Althea’s ruby eyes flicked toward Lenko, seated just behind her shoulder. He looked far more restless than she liked, shifting in his seat, his gloved hands tapping idly against his sides. The boy wore his role well enough, dressed in a sharp, tailored suit, his green mask hiding half his youthful face.
To others, he might seem composed, merely another noble’s attendant, but Althea could read the subtle stiffness in his posture. Antsy. Too aware of the eyes in the room. He was to act as her attendant tonight, but the burden of his inexperience in such a role draped over him like a second skin, a suffocating counterpoint to his formal attire.
Olga, by contrast, was stone still at her other side. She wore her knight’s garb beneath a heavy cloak, her mask plain and white, without ornament. Though stripped of her bow and arrow, hidden somewhere for later, she has another weapon carefully hidden away beneath the folds of her cloak, the aura of a huntress never left her. Even here, amid silk and perfume, she carried herself as if she were still patrolling. Her gaze, though hidden, swept the room in steady patterns, marking doors, exits, and the placement of the guards. Check latest chapters at N0veI.Fiɾe.net
Their cloaks had been chosen with care, not simply to conceal but to blend with the indulgent atmosphere. Althea’s own was crimson, trimmed with black feathers at the lining, echoing the bold decadence of her gown. Olga’s was the opposite, stark black with white and golden accents, a balance of severity and refinement. Lenko’s cloak was dark green, edged with gold and white, understated yet elegant, framing him with the faint air of a young attendant in training.
Simple, yet distinct enough that they could be recognized without revealing who they truly were. It was, of course, Muzio’s idea. Every detail, every piece of their appearance, had been measured to the tone of the evening. Not flashy enough to draw suspicion, but stylish enough to be seen. They were to be noticed just enough to be overlooked, a necessary decision for what was about to happen in just a few minutes.
The auction had already begun, though the items presented thus far were little more than trinkets, jeweled pendants, antique rings, ornamental daggers polished to gleam under the mana infused lights. The real treasures, had yet to be unveiled. Althea knew this was only the opening act, a warm-up before the stage revealed its darker prizes.
Still, she remembered Muzio’s instructions... ’You must bid at least once. Make them believe you are no mere observer. Participation is its own disguise.’
So she sat, fan half-raised before her lips, waiting for her moment to raise her hand, to play the role he had crafted for her.
A sudden pull. Like a thread of mana snapping taut against her skin. Althea’s breath caught as she glanced down at her wrist. The same hand. The same place where she had struck her bargain with Muzio. The faint sigil hidden beneath her glove burned faintly, and she bit back a grunt, shoulders stiffening.
And then the whole place itself seemed to lurch.
A deafening boom tore through the theater. The very floor shuddered, the chandeliers overhead trembling as if ready to crash down. The heavy red curtains billowed, and the air was filled with the clatter of glass and the gasps of startled guests.
Screams erupted, sharp and panicked, as the gathered guests scrambled to their feet. Servants rushed in, herding their lord and ladies toward the nearest exits, voices overlapping in frantic cries. "This way, my lord, please, my lady!" The elegant affair dissolved in an instant into chaos.
On the far side of the stage, Mr. Genevra stood frozen for a heartbeat, his expression twisting from shock to fury. His obnoxious red frock coat flared as he spun toward his people, shouting orders above the din.
"Find the source! Secure the halls! Keep the guests safe, or I swear you’ll answer to me!" His mercenaries surged like hounds unleashed, half rushing to the exits, half barreling toward the stairwell that led below.
Althea, however, did not move with the crowd. She turned instead, her ruby eyes cutting through the disorder, finding Lenko and Olga standing steady at her side. The three of them exchanged no words, none were needed.
With deliberate grace, Althea rose from her seat. One hand lifted to her face, slipping the dark-feathered mask from her features. She held it loosely at her side, her fan folding shut with a sharp snap.