Violet Shadows

52

"John," She said, recognition chasing away the burning of her flamed cheeks. Aware that she didn't know his last name, or if carpentry held some form of title, she bit her tongue in asking and rambled on. "You're also a guest for tonight's gathering? I haven't seen you since the attack on Mr. Solamaand's ship." He looked the same, gray eyes no different than a cloudy day and an odd but adorable brown cowlick stuck to his forehead. She restrained herself on the obvious staring. Although his elf costume—or what she assumed it to be—crawled with intrigue, she crumpled within her chest as the silence prolonged. Damn it. Say something.

Luckily, John filled in for her. "Speaking of that, how are you fairing?" He swept over the reminder of her crowd. Nicol's posture held rigid as their stare caught a bridge between them, neither end holding much animosity between them. But when John grinned, Nicol broke his posture and bristled. Then forced a smile only Christine caught recognize was ill-intended. John said, "Although I know it's been months, but..."

"Just a few bruises, nothing serious." She noticed the tension between them, but was unsure on how to address it. Or if she should at all. Hoping to gain his attention, she took a step forward after picking up a tuft of her wool at her underskirt. "How did you manage to survive the attack?"

"I held onto a railing for dear life and prayed that it would be over soon." He glanced across at her friends and his expression looked mainly unfeeling, but not entirely welcome. He returned a smile when Henri beamed at him, and both nodded to Maze and Eric, but the politeness drained into earnestness when he addressed her. "Well, would you like to walk around?"

She glanced at Nicol, studying his reaction. He, as well, did the same. Neither spoke.

"I would love to, but..." Silence overcame her words. She wasn't here to integrate within the district society, nor enjoy her evening apart from her millennia of sorrow. People like her were expected to apologize, not meander off when the opportunity came. Nicol also wanted something of her—forgiveness, perhaps, but maybe there was something else. She refused him on his offer to join in on their discussion, unsure if it was the wrong decision, or if she was allowed to make one after everything, but then why else was she here?

"You go ahead," Nicol said, and Christine stung with surprise. He nodded in agreement when she continued to gape. "I'm sure Mistress Trevett would be honored for your company." His golden eyes simmered. "As cheap as it may come."

John's smile tightened, but nodded. "Very well."

"Are you sure?" She blurted. "I still have to apolog..." Her phrase was cut short by the peering eyes of John, drinking in the conversation as if he knew the topic. Attention pressed in around her like a beam of light and she squirmed underneath it.

"We'll meet with our company and then join you," Nicol said in a way that insisted no harm was brought by her evening wander. If anything, it almost sounded encouraging.

Nearby, Henri reached over and squeezed her shoulder. "Enjoy your night."

"Meet us back here in an hour," Eric echoed.

Christine made a show of clarifying their location, before separating in different directions. Lifting the wool from her outrageous costume to not drag around the cobblestone paths, since they'd be expected to return the clothing in pristine condition, she followed John to a denser location with benches to sit at. She pulled away from him to claim a bench that overlooked the grim of the canals, and though dirty, it was distanced enough from other seats as to not overlap their conversation with other guests. She kneaded her hands after removing her hooves in hope of gathering warmth, since the metallic chilled with the touch of evening air and spread across her skin.