Just say yes. It's one word.
She could not. She absolutely could not.
Rametta chittered at the girl, waving her hands, telling her to be silent. The girl apologized, but Rametta chased her out of the room.
Moria looked in the glass again. She no longer saw an awkward girl in an awkward dress. She saw half a girl. No wildcat at her side. No twin sister either. The loneliness rose up and washed over her, and she wanted to cry. Fall to the floor in her silly dress and sob.
When she felt a hand stroking her hair, she saw Rametta beside her. She tried to straighten, to suck back her loneliness and despair, but the blasted dress seemed to drag her down--shoulders slumped, chin lowered, even her gaze barely able to reach up to the looking glass. Rametta stroked her hair and then pressed something into Moria's hand. The figurine. Moria didn't even need to look down--she knew it by touch. She wrapped her fingers around it, and she thought of Ashyn and of Daigo, and she made her decision.
She would not merely look about for a chance to escape tonight. She would make that chance. If she failed and Gavril cast her back into the dungeon, then that would be the risk she took for trying. Because she would try. She had to.
"This isn't going to work," Gavril said, pacing Moria's cell. "It's a preposterous plan and it will fail, and when it does, we'll pay the price."
He'd come in a few moments ago. Rametta had heard him approaching and made Moria stand in the middle of the room, where she'd be the first thing he'd see when he walked in. Then the old woman had waited beside the door, beaming like she was presenting a bridegroom with his bride. Gavril had stalked in, cursing and snarling, his gaze passing over Moria as if she were a piece of furniture . . . much to her relief. Anything else would have been unbearably awkward.
Rametta had not been nearly so pleased. As Gavril paced and fumed, she kept trying to draw his attention to Moria until, finally, she planted her tiny body in front of him, jabbed a finger at Moria, and admonished him in her native tongue.
Gavril cast a quick glance Moria's way. "Yes, yes, I see. She's all ready for the reception, which is a relief, considering that's where I need to take her."
Rametta waved at Moria, talking fast, her words laced with annoyance.
"All right. All right." He turned to Moria. "I'm looking. I have no idea what I'm supposed to be looking at. All I see is the Keeper in face paint and a rather ridiculous dress."
Moria bit her tongue to keep from laughing. Rametta looked ready to smack him. From the doorway, Brom stepped forward quickly, his face lighting with alarm.
"I don't think it's ridiculous at all." Brom turned to Moria. "You look beautiful, my lady."
"I'm sure you think so," Gavril said dryly. "However, if you knew Moria, you'd know you did not need to jump in with compliments. She's hardly insulted by the lack of them. Now, if we failed to notice her prowess with a blade, that would be another story."
Brom cleared his throat. "It would still seem only polite, my lord. She does loo
k beautiful."
"Then perhaps you ought to take her to the reception. That would solve all of our problems."
"You could take ill," Moria said.
Gavril looked at her as if the furniture had spoken.
"I believe you appear slightly queasy," she said. "Something you ate earlier might not have agreed with your stomach. You could, with deepest regrets, bow out of the reception, and Brom could escort me."
"And would you like me to drop my dagger as I leave?"
"Please." She plucked at the sides of her gown. "I could probably even hide your sword under here, if you chose to leave that behind as well."
"You could not wield my sword, Keeper."
"True. I should probably try it out to be sure. If you could give it to me and stand right there . . ."
A snort of a laugh, and he glanced at the other two. "You wonder why I don't shower her with compliments."
Rametta replied, her words still sharp, but with an overtone of sympathy. The latter was wasted on Gavril, who only snapped back something in her language, any trace of good humor falling away. The healer sighed and shook her head.
"What's wrong, Lord Gavril?" Moria asked.
His shoulders tensed at the title, but she wasn't mocking him now. That was what she would be expected to call him, out there at the reception, and she couldn't afford to make a mistake.
"You're upset about tonight," she said. "What's happened?"