The Mythos Trials

Chapter Seventeen

Gwen was beginning to fidget, and not just because the servant had forced her to sit still for the past fifteen minutes while she piled her hair into an elegant network of loops and braids.

She caught Forneus's amused glance in the mirror, his usual black dress shirt, frock coat and slacks replaced by a resplendent white uniform. It reminded her a little of Asclepius's uniform, with its high collar and gold-fringed hems along the sleeves and the split coat tails. Silver buttons gleamed from the button holes, and that's where the similarities ended. The rest of the material was unmarked, save for the black pin stuck into his left lapel. From Gwen's vantage point, it reminded her of the paper pinwheels she'd played with as a child.

She had seen the symbol on several banners through Eurus's palace, and was given to wonder if it was his coat of arms, or the symbol of the Wind Gods in general. She would have to ask him about it, provided she didn't wind up sick with nerves first.

"Relax, Gwen," Forneus said, as if sensing her unease. "It's just a dinner party. I'm sure you've attended several of those, given your father's line of work."

"Yeah, but nothing this"—she cast around for a word, the servant frowning when she waved her hand—"extravagant. And definitely not a masquerade ball! Balls were held by royalty in olden times."

"Yes, I know," Forneus remarked dryly. The tilt of his lips and the way his eyes gleamed behind his grey domino mask was enough to make Gwen giggle, albeit nervously.

"I guess you would," she admitted, doing her best to stay still. "Then you should also know they don't throw balls anymore. At least ordinary people don't."

"Eurus is anything but ordinary."

Gwen sighed, trying to force back a grin. "That's not the point."

Forneus knew it, and she knew that he did; his chuckle was confirmation enough.

"Between you and Phenex, it's difficult to say who is dreading this more."

"My money's on me," she countered, earning another chuckle from him. "Phenex may not like stuffy clothing, but at least he's been around and gone on enough undercover missions to know how to dance. I've barely got a handle on normal dancing, let alone ballroom dancing."

"Don't worry, you'll learn," Forneus promised. "I'll be there to guide you."

Gwen grumbled, but let the matter slide. Forneus was enjoying this far too much, but the ball itself wasn't what worried her. It was the entire pretense behind it. Even with Meryt's vow of cooperation, she couldn't shake the feeling that the plan would backfire, that Reeves would catch word or somehow just know, and that he and Lucas would cause no end of trouble as a result.

At least retrieving Terra Ventus's pure ether went a lot better than expected. As it turned out, the pure ether point lay within one of the other centaur clan's encampments, and with signed permission from Adras—who fortunately had only suffered minor injuries during Reeves' attack, though to Gwen's regret, had lost several of his clansmen—they had gotten the pure ether fragment without incident. Absently, Gwen's hand dropped to the folds of her gown, seeking out the reassuring weight of the flask. Feeling its cylindrical shape within one of the gown's hidden pockets, she allowed her hands to fall limp in her lap, hoping the female servant styling her hair—Nanri—hadn't noticed.

It seemed she hadn't. Stepping back, Nanri cast a critical eye over Gwen, icy blue irises flicking from the honey-blonde hair piled on her head, to the slender, silver gown she wore, taffeta lining from the waist down. Gesturing for Gwen to stand, she lowered her gaze to the sparkling silver flats adorning her feet, her mouth puckering in a frown.