He couldn’t tell if she was angry. Mad as hell, he reckoned, but he’d told her he’d back her, and he’d told her truthfully, liar as he was. There was little he could do, now that the miraan had torn a hole in the proverbial bag and was clawing its way out. Lucrezia and Tatiana were both looking at him, too: Lucrezia with a pleased, warm look, and Tatiana with warning and worry. But he only looked at Cerise.
Once again, he’d’ve sworn there was a touch of warmth in her pale cheeks. He lifted his chin a little higher, bracing himself with a deep breath. The dress really was damned good, with the sharp flare of the shoulders and all that deep, blood-red velvet, all the black braided embroidery. And Sish draped over her shoulders like some funny acrobat, one foreleg stretched out to its utmost with a gleaming claw caught in her dress – one back leg caught up against her shoulder, the other draped lazily, the head at rest but one lively eye peering curiously about. (He was grateful she hadn’t left Sish with him to go with Tatiana, and not just because he was worried about Cerise.)
She did match the chignon pin. And the braid, which was holding damned well after all. And the slit in the glove, which – well – but he thought it could’ve been dashing on a duelist at a party.
Whatever it was that had compelled him to say that, it was filling him up so that he ached in his bones; it was a sharp pain caught underneath his ribs, pressing and twisting. It made him smile, one of his own crooked, messy smiles.
He looked away when she did, shifting his weight and raising his brows at Tatiana. Tatiana looked away from both of them, and Cerise went on.
Lucrezia’s eyebrows rose, and her lips parted slightly. I’m very good, Cerise added.
“Something to behold,” he put in after her, still feeling so full up with something that he might float off his feet and out through the open doors. “I watched her practice on the three; I’m looking forward to the Exhibition.” A grin slipped out.
Lucrezia’s eyes were wide on Cerise, and bright. “Dueling,” she said. “Why – oh – Maria would be so proud.”
Tatiana shifted from foot to foot; her expression soured slightly. He glanced at Cerise, trying not to study her face too closely.
“D’Alessi women are meant to take the spotlight,” Lucrezia said, lifting her chin and drawing in a great breath, “with their beauty and their talent. To shine brightly. When Mariuccia was at Anastou, it was quite improper for women to participate in duels – though of course, she was beside you on the lawn a great many times, was she not, Volpacchiotto?”
“Ah –” He kicked himself, jerking his eyes away from Cerise.
Lucrezia did not seem much to care. “Improper, for a woman’s display of arcane prowess to take a performance duel. Pah! You all must think me terribly old-fashioned.” She shook her head.
Tatiana still looked on-edge.
“Of course, I can hardly approve of combative dueling,” she said with a slight frown. “It is all – quite safe, is it not, Ciliegietta? I have not heard that the physical conversation is widely-used in performance duels.”