The Changeling

16

Cetlali changed back into the original clothing Athua had picked for her, the outfit she had wanted to wear. The bodice she adorned was sleeveless, and the silvery shirt she'd hidden at the bottom of her trunk was the gorgeous accessory. It was a little frilly looking and cut lower on her neck as to not be confining. Far from being as deep cut as her previous frock, though, that monstrosity made even her paltry bosom look squashed upon a plate.

Buttoned up, the silver shirt stopped beneath her collar bones. It framed them so well. The glittering sheen of silver draped over her skin like a midnight fog over the ocean. She adored it not only because it was so exquisite, but also was the softest thing she'd ever felt.

She never wanted to take it off. Her gauzy and flowing split skirts were a dark slate color, comfortable enough to dance the night away in.

She felt more than ready.

Cetlali inspected her reflection in the tall mirror and thought she looked far prettier and more confident than she did in the bright red eyesore. It's reflection glared in the mirror so she scowled at it. She knew it would need to be cleaned, so the greatest temptation was to leave it in a heap on the floor. Perhaps by accident someone might spill some wine on it. Then, despite their best intentions, trample it in the efforts to save its delicate fabrics. Instead, she left it lying on the bed. Deciding to forget it as soon as she closed the door, she met Xocthl waiting in her solar.

Xocthl walked Cetlali down to the feast. She helped her get a drink on their way through the crowds. Cetlali took her time to bask in her surroundings. She wasn't a stranger to drunken frivolity, but she'd never stayed the entire night for feasts in Anidozja Palace. Not unaccompanied. And never welcomed with a bellow of glee by Masha, already halfway across the room, her arms flung wide open with a beaming smile on her face. Masha embraced Cetlali and Xocthl promised her a dance later

and then slinked off. Athua met them with much more fluid grace than her sister, but did not waste time in dragging them back over to the table.

The Enharouq Clan had gathered with some of their friends and retainers. Sivoy and Zoya sat next to each other. Flushed cheek to flushed cheek, they embraced in the way loving parents do when their children are hellbent on being themselves. A few of Sivoy's guards sat sipping on ale and happy to chuckle with their commander. Athua and Masha secreted themselves in a little corner with snacks and ale.

It was still rather close to the intended Emperor's table in case he was interested in conversing with his future wife. He often wasn't, though. He was rather insipid and standoffish with people around, unless someone could do something for him.

Eraughn was engaged in a heated

discussion with the Financier Elect. It couldn't be good, but Cetlali refused to care for long.

Athua swept her up and onto the dance floor, snatching Masha on the way. They piled out

into the large throng, joining into the wide circles of billowy dancers, spinning, clapping, and stomping to the beats. They turned around one another, cheering, ululating, and singing in tune to the joyous melody. The loud chorus thrummed along with the troupe performing with lutes, drums, and horns. Cetlali hadn't been so joyous or laughed so hard in what felt like a lifetime.

It was easy to slip on and off the dance floor with the table they sat at. Between each song, they would return to their cups and snacks.

They sat out the ones that were too slow or too formal. They cheered the other dancers on, especially when Sivoy took Zoya onto the floor for a more romantic tune. Zoya looked regal as ever, gazing at her husband with unabashed love, but the surprise was in the small, tight, and downright endearing smile playing on Sivoy's lips as he beamed back at her.