Ice and Fire

Masks

Killian hears it first. A door creaks open in the distance. Thunderous footsteps follow. He pulls away, although he leaves his hand on my neck, and looks over at the source of the sound, as visibly anxious as I suddenly feel.

Were we overheard? Recorded? Discovered? My heart races at the possibility.

Is he minutes from death? Will they kill me, too, because I know? His life is forfeit, of course, but what happens to me? It's not my fault. It's not my fault. I am innocent, aren't I?

No. No, because I let him speak. I didn't object. I am complicit. Complicit. His crime is mine. And even if I was blameless, the Board clearly has no qualms about killing whomever they please. About killing a Bellona.

But when a familiar giggle begins echoing across the walls, Killian relaxes. Felix cuts through the smoke, a fresh cartridge for Killian's burner in one hand, a decanter filled with a russet–colored spirit in the other. Bourbon, I'd wager. Valerius rarely drinks anything else.

"My brothers!" He calls to us. "I come bearing gifts!"

Although Felix is cheerfully oblivious to most things, he's no dullard. Of course, he notices our tension. That I am quivering. That Killian will not release me from his grip. That our eyes are red from tears.

He raises an eyebrow. "Killian," he chides. "Have you been making sordid confessions to Cassius without me? That is not very nice. You know I like to gossip."

He teases, but his jocular voice has an unexpected edge to it, as if he senses the gravity of whatever we were discussing. I wonder, would he approve? I doubt it. Although Felix is certainly less ethical than Killian, he is more selfish. And he would never sacrifice himself—never compromise his already–precarious existence on the edge of our Society—for anyone, much less me. I suspect he's far too craven to even contemplate such a risk.

But Killian is spared from answering when it becomes apparent that Felix is not alone. I hear light footsteps shuffling across the slick tiles behind him. Too light to be Gold. As always, their characteristic scent precedes them. An aphrodisiacal mix of mandarin and bergamot, deepened by myrrh, sweetened by jasmine and carnation, fills our air.

Six smirking Pinks appear in the steam, lingering on the edge of the pool, awaiting our commands. Their diaphanous clothes, emblazoned with the Bellona seal, an eagle in flight, conceal nothing. But I don't bother leering at them. Their bodies are as familiar to me as my own.

The woman in the center, to whom the rest defer, is called Leonora. A Rose in her prime, she is a voluptuous vision with twinkling eyes and a wry smile, a fantasy made flesh. Hers is a face that could've launched a thousand ships in a bygone era. In this one, it's a face every Peer can possess—and most do.

But it's the man and woman at the periphery that ensnare my gaze. He is, by far, more beautiful, utterly devoid of physical imperfections, but she is foxier. His smoldering eyes, sharply lined with onyx, melt me like I'm chocolate left in the midsummer Venusian sun. Her naughty smile, lopsided by design, makes my heart race like a hare on sol dust.

Myrrh and Daphne. I am honestly not sure who I prefer. But luckily, I never have to choose.

It's strange to see both of them here, in Agea, rather than home. Felix notices my perplexed look and chuckles.

He gestures dramatically to them. "As I said, dear cousin, gifts." He places his hand on his chest in mock sincerity. "I cannot, in good conscience, send you off to the Institute without making sure you've been properly slagged first." He laughs.

"And neither can Ari. She frets over the quality of Pandemonium's stock, you know. Can't say I disagree."

He strips quickly, accidentally snagging one of his dangling citrine earrings on his shirt and nearly ripping it free unknowingly. Splashing us playfully with water as he wades into the bath, his narrowed eyes still retain a hint of curiosity and more than a little concern when he offers Killian his burner and he doesn't immediately take it.