I was in a perfect mood.

  Everything was exactly what it should be. My day had been the perfect preparation for these moments.

  My morning and afternoon had been a constant blurring parade of faces and arms, and I spent the whole time with an uncracking facade of good cheer and good sportsmanship, acting the part of the gracious and patient participant. And one after another, throwing balls at a target to try to dump me into a tank of water. Some of them were clearly doing this for personal and vindictive reasons, and wanted me uncomfortable and humiliated to settle whatever grudges they had made up in their minds, others might just have a yearning to dump someone into water. Or maybe it was class, or maybe this was how they express a crush, I don't know. I just know that I did my goddamned part.

  I had thought that the sting of this abuse would be mitigated by seeing my treacherous brother in a tank next to me, getting splashed maybe not as often as me, but somewhat.

  No, he'd remembered a long-ago conversation where I had described a kissing booth. Now, he was not willing to actually sit for a real kissing booth, even though he's actively pursuing five different romance partners. But he'd compromised with something he's called a "whisper booth", for someone to lean in through a curtain from the shoulders up, so that they would be in a tiny intimate space with him where they could have a brief and confidential conversation, inches apart and all alone. I guess his various paramours were okay with that, but not with kissing hundreds of different people in a day.

  He was charging by the minute for the students of this school to tell him their secrets. Meanwhile I had spent eight hours finding out how many students thought it was worth their money to submerge me in water. I never found out for sure because there were still people waiting to get into the line when I finally called it off. I got five experience points and I advanced Kurumi's quest a little bit, the strike-through had receded a little bit more as if I was no longer quite so close to losing her entirely.

  It did not feel like much. And the way she doted on Nathan but gave me a perfunctory "thank you for agreeing to this" makes me think that I did not come out ahead here. She was not acknowledging that this was my idea, or that I've already done this once before. More of her time and attention went to him. I think he made more strides with his plot line than I did.

  Can't help being really annoyed by this. It feels like I took initiative, had an innovation, put more work in, put more adversity and discomfort and humiliation in, allowed him to take part, and watched him reap more of the rewards.

  His class, the spy, is definitely on the rogue track. Their specialty is making sure nothing is ever fair. The definition of "failing upwards".

  So after all that crap, and fighting all day to pretend this was all peach-keen A-okay... Well, now I'm getting dressed for a party. And there is no sign of a smile anymore. No affected patience or long-suffering good humor. This is as cold and haughty as my face ever gets.

  Elica is on the other side of the room, each at our own vanity. She had Rinnie, I had magic. Silver and air worked together to bring my hair up again. Three braids again, two fish-scale braids on either side that swept back and curled back up to get pinned, then swept again like the horns of a ram, or a demon. The last braid snaked around and formed a crown on top of my head, laced with silver and braced with diamonds. Plum-purple lipstick, deep brown eye shadow, eyeliner sharp enough to cut glass. Contouring to bring out the shape of my face and cheekbones, and accent my di-chromatic eyes.

  I've got an ice-white ballroom gown fully off-shoulder and one-third backless. The sleeves start below the deltoid, the chemise only peeks above my bodice. The laced bodice is a cold red, maroon with a grudge. The off-shoulder look is daring and provocative, but it is also a natural extension of the fashions of the past six months and their emphasis on women's neck, shoulders, collarbones and upper back. I could not decide between the ermine stole or the burgundy shrug.

  "This?" I asked, posing. I switched. "Or this?"

  Elica stared at me past her own reflection, she saw me over her own shoulder and she slowly turned to put me in front of her. "Oh, wow, is this what you're wearing?"

  "If I can decide between a wrap, that is," I said, frowning.

  "Well, you look like the kind of sorceress that offers people poisoned apples, so you should wear the skinned animal," she said. "These are some very bold statements for Fashion Week."

  "There will be bolder ones this time next year," I told her, curtly. I did not want to gesture or move, the makeup was perfect as-is.

  I turned to my own mirror, and she to hers. I turned to admire myself, a pastime I do not often afford myself. I am usually in a hurry and any time I spend in my room I am usually working, preparing, or asleep and also working. I know what I look like, my sleepless soul can see well enough, but most of my images of myself are asleep, barefaced, with a silken scarf binding my hair. So, taking time to see myself in best light, with the makeup and styling, is a rare treat for me.

  The vigorous workouts are showing. There's defined musculature in my neck, trapezius and my arms. A second mirror confirms that when I move my arms, the play of muscles over my shoulder-blades can be seen clearly.

  I don't just look pretty, and I don't just look fierce, I look dangerous. Like an assassin closing on her target, a raptor spotting prey.

  After the day I've just had, I want the world to look at me and see a girl who is not to be fucked with.

  I put the ermine shrug over my shoulders. It tickled against bare skin, but it was shockingly warm just on its own. And, after one more check in the mirror, I looked particularly deadly for a fille fatale. If I were hosting a party and I saw me arriving, I'd want me checked for weapons. Fortunately the only weapons I have is that I'm one of the most dangerous mages on the continent.

  It feels good to remind myself of this.

  Tonight is the opening of Fashion Week, and all bets are off for Fashion Week. We were at the big one, and stakes would be high. Of all the social events for this half of the year, this is one of the most important. This was one of those spectacles that would draw lots of attention and direct lots of intentions. We would not see any vendeuses tonight, but their assistants and spies would be everywhere. This was the scouting mission ahead of the major foray. The vendeuse would be nearby, adjacent buildings, rented spaces. On the move so their enemies could not pin them down. Spymasters and counterintelligence experts as well as designers and dressmakers, these were the backbone of House warfare. Almost nothing could bring a vendeuse out into the open, away from their countermeasures and resources. But this is one of them. For this, even Lade Hanje would chance getting close to the action.

  That means that definitely I'm not going to be meeting anyone from the Federalist or Independent houses. Their shot-callers and deal-wheelers would be avoiding me like I had a blight, ha ha. Crichard Pentle had spoken to me weeks ago about an understanding between his people and mine. But there could not be a breath or a glance about that tonight, not with half the kingdom actively scouting for plots, alliances, intrigues, power plays and turncoats.

  Tonight is a night to play some of my cards very safely, and play others extravagantly. I have a huge "look at me" message in my outfit, right alongside the "not in the mood for your shit" message. Extravagant. Here is Harigold, pay heed! But some cards, very carefully tucked away.

  And I could expect this to be a test. The people I will be dealing with would probably like to see evidence of my patience, discretion and restraint. They would not approach me, I would not approach them. I am attempting to broadcast a nuanced and complex message with my participation tonight. I am ready to make alliances. I am ready to be a part of this world. Include me in your plans. Make a space for me in this dance. I am strong, smart, capable, and everything you have heard about my potential is more true than you thought. I bring the Harigold honor and wealth, but I am not for the claiming or taking, nor for the wooing and seducing. Spoken to as a person, bargained with as a power.

  Next year I would be sending a different message entirely. This time next year, my Fashion Week costume would be about declaration of allegiances and intention. The message there was going to be "you all need to decide if you want me for an enemy", and convince them that they do not. This time next year, I'm taking the future in my teeth.

  At this time next year, I'll have at least two of the factions backing me up, to some degree or another. That's going to be a big change.

  But right now, I'm technically an unknown. This year I am, strictly speaking, just past debut, just introduced to society, and just now being allowed out of the wading pool.

  "Elica, I physically cannot look at myself in a mirror any longer, and eyeliner does not keep long. We leave shortly, and if you say 'just one more minute' I'll leave you to ride in a rented carriage."

  She opened her mouth to say it, I could just tell, but apparently she has played cards with me long enough to tell when I'm not bluffing, because she scooped four items into her clutch and gave Rinnie a pat on the wrist before she stood and gave me a nod. "Sorry about this part," I said, "I'll make it quick."

  The glare of the void makes me want to squint, and squint hard. Also to shove my hands or an arm over my eyes. But I can do none of these things. Even to close my eyes hard would crinkle my look and I could maybe smooth it out without having to start from scratch.

  So we had to face it practically with our eyes open for the second it took me to open the second door and walk us out.

  My night vision was completely shot to shit but I resisted the urge to scrub and knuckle at my eyes as if that would help, and I held Elica's hand while I caught my bearings. Stretching my senses out, I could feel stone grass air boxwoods steel glass wood silk leather cotton flax silver gold and gemstones. I could draw out a shape of a small brick-paved plaza with a grand gate and lampposts, a carriage nearby with a horse in traces, and several empty places in the air that included the fabrics and precious metals of clothing and jewelry. And with that I could hear murmurs of surprise, a horse snorting and leaning against its traces, footsteps, and a few shouted exclamations.

  My eyes cleared enough to pick out the nearest herald, with the brass trumpet hung at her hip. I smiled in her direction. "Ah, and good evening. Our cards, if you would."

  Elica heard me and she understood my prompt, she withdrew a small printed card with her names and titles and held it out with a gracious smile and curtsy, I tugged her arm slightly so she was offering it in the correct direction. My card as well, and the herald nodded towards the cards, and then bowed towards the two of us before handing the cards off to a runner for the main gallery. "My lady earl, my lady princess, enter and be welcome. We shall have an attendant to meet you at the doors and show you about. Please enjoy your evening."

  She bowed, and we curtsied back, Elica was getting her vision back. We walked up the paved drive to the Royal Arts Gallery of Cliffside. Heralds never curtsy. Once when we were small, Taeril told me she wanted to grow up to be a herald so she could bow like a man. I don't know that she ever grew out of it, or just gave up on it.

  "Fuck, so dark out here," Elica lamented. "I know they just do that so it's more impressive when we get inside, but someone could turn an ankle out here!"

  Most people don't arrive flash-blind from infinite light, but she did have a point. "I suppose once we're inside you'll be needing to sit with your allies," I said.

  "Quite," she said. "All right, once we're inside I don't know anything about you and you don't know anything about me."

  "You go to my school and I gave you a ride," I agreed.

  The foyer was glutted. The ocean-noise of conversation washed out past the door, and bodies slowly sifted past each other within. The lights here were warm and orange-toned, the ceilings were high and domed and painted with murals of such intricate detail that from the ground they were just a moody colorful mess. Chandeliers hung low from the high ceiling, adding light from their sigiled candles, serving mostly to make sure that at all times one's eye line included some gold furnishing to remind everyone that this is expensive, and therefore important.

  "Her Ladyship, Earl Elica Dandston of Wanfarrun Brunblings," the doorman called out, using the correct tone and volume rather than trying to bellow out over the echoed, reverberated, multiplied noise of the conversations of the crowd.

  Elica stepped in and was greeted by an attendant that offered to take her coat and bag as he guided her around the left side of the foyer. Most of the space here was defined by people, I had an impression of how far the walls were and I could see the glossy texture of the tiled floor, but mostly this was a space to be filled and people who served no purpose but to fill space.

  "Her Grace, the ducal princess Natalie Harigold of Meadowtam," the doorman called out, and the three dozen or so people nearest the door turned in surprise, because princesses are always in short supply.

  A gallery employee stepped smoothly around a potted plant to arrive at my side. "You Grace, how may I attend you?" this helpful arrival asked. "May I take your coat and bag?"

  "I could follow you to the coat check if the coat check is on the other side of this foyer," I said, using only enough voice to be heard by this one person.

  "Of course, your grace. I may lead the way. I am Ethriz, should you need me."

  "Thank you Ethriz," I said, and followed them around the right side of the crowd. Ethriz peppered the air with "pardon us please" "oh please do excuse me" "I apologize, I must get past" and "good evening, if I may?..." and with gestures, energy, and tone they were able to get the people to step into the crowd far enough for us to walk past without scraping elbows against anyone. Ethriz did an admirable job, they got me about halfway across before a boor stopped us.

  "Oh I say if it isn't little Natalie!" chortled a red-faced mustache with a belly and a sash, slamming between me and Ethriz like a portcullis. I took all in with a second. Sash of office, court officer, years in service. A fine garb two years out of season, freshly ironed but not recently tailored. The red of his cheek apples looked like brandy, at least two snifters swallowed like wine. A pin with the Freckentop heraldry worn as a lapel pin, red and green with a small gold chain bearding it.

  "Lord Inspector with the Royal Treasury," I said with a very precise smile. "I'm afraid I've quite misplaced your name."

  "Oh, not to worry child!" he said with a effusive friendliness. He grabbed me by the upper arms and leaned in to kiss me on the cheek.

  My hand on his sternum, just an inch below the hollow of his throat. My fingers spread in a delicate-looking move, but with channeled steel essence my fingertips felt like a fire poker. I was as immovable as a statue- for all that he loomed six inches taller and outweighed me by (I shall be polite) at least a hundred pounds, he suddenly was confronted that my fingertips held him back, and that I did not even need to put a foot back for balance.

  The grab-and-kiss with a guffaw and a 'child' reminded me now. A tax assessor sent by the throne, we would see him every year in Meadowtam around harvest time, making sure that the crown squeezed every copper clip that the citizens of Meadowtam owed. He was given an honorary title to make sure he was authorized for high-level meetings and precedence at appeals, and like most court officers with an honorary title he thought that made him one of the peerage and so practically family. I was encouraged to be nice to him as a child because Father was negotiating seed ratios out of the taxable harvest. I mostly avoided him then, too.

  "I do beg your pardon, Lord Inspector Nesdor," I said with a dip of the knee, "but I really must visit the coat check before I let myself be distracted."

  I said pleasant things with a pleasant face, but my arm extended itself slightly, moving him back a few more inches and breaking his grip on my arms.

  Like hell I'm going to walk into this party and have him slobber on my cheek and scrub off half my makeup with a swipe of that bristle-brush mustache. I did not work this hard to look this good and lose it all ten seconds in. If I'm going to be reduced to a display piece for the evening I am for goddamn sure not going to be a sloppy display piece. The family needs to dress me up and show me off. After this, I'm blowing some shit up.

  Ethriz gave me a look as they led me further into the foyer, towards the event space. "I play camogie," I said, raising my voice so they could hear. Ethriz nodded as if that actually did explain what happened. I am hardly a little slip of a girl - more wiry than waifish - and it was just believable that I could move that man that easily using only my own strength.

  But for real how the fuck did he recognize me? It's been ten years, two feet of growth, the dress, the makeup, a complete change of coloration-

  Oh. Not complete. The eyes. It's always the eyes that give me away.

  At the coat check I handed over the ermine stole and my clutch, which had a few coins and a pair of gloves just so that I would have a clutch that wasn't empty. It looks odd to arrive empty-handed. They were checked in under my name, and Ethriz paused to give me directions to the washroom, the exits, the event space, and a map of the gallery posted as a brass plaque opposite the mezzanine stairs. I gave Ethriz my thanks and let them scoot back to the front to attend the next guests.

  In the meantime I need to get out of the foyer. The room has wonderful flow, funneling people from the front door to the main galleries with only a couple of easy turnoffs. This was all ruined by the fact that some people would rather stand in a cluster near the door and chat there because it's close and convenient. and they forget to give a shit whether that turns them into an obstacle for other people walking in. And as they spot other acquaintances entering they pull them into the conversation, and the knot grows and accretes and divides and forms a maze and hits critical mass and congeals into an immovable milling mob.

  So sue me, I've gotten spoiled by the structured style of a stair-top introduction, a single-or-double receiving line, and then a waiter to offer a drink and steer you towards a tour around the space. It's a system that works. And it requires less staff than this mess.

  The vestibule and foyer were filled with people who don't know better than to just congregate wherever they see someone they know, and the gallery was a much different tone. Far less crowded, and far less breathless. I saw many more familiar faces here, people that understood what we do here.

  Gods, I hope the rest of this night isn't going to be so long.