Fox had expected him not to recognize her.
“Celeste Auger. And yours?”
His smile showed how pleased he was with himself. He had addressed her in the right language.
He gave the hint of a bow, which showed that he did not like to curtsy. “Tennant. Orlando Tennant.”
Fox was surprised. She had expected a false name. Or...maybe it was false.
“Mademoiselle Auger.” He offered his arm.
“Under one condition.”
He smiled. Fox suspected everything was a game to the Barsoi, maybe even more than to Jacob.
“Which is?”
Fox cast a furtive glance toward Jacob. He was still talking to the Tzar. The Tzar’s companion, however, had eyes only for Kami’en.
“I decide the topic of conversation,” she said. “I cannot bear another dance spent talking about the newest hat fashions.”
The Barsoi laughed. “Pity! My favorite topic. But I shall do my best to find another.”
This time Fox accepted the arm.
“Is it more enjoyable to serve Wilfred of Albion in Moskva or in Metagirta?”
Ah, his eyes said, you know more about me than I about you. That needs to change. “To serve is never enjoyable.”
She liked the answer. The vixen caught the scent of duplicity, but no deviousness. Still, her senses hadn’t warned her of the Bluebeard, had they? The memory briefly made Fox pull back her hand as Orlando Tennant reached for it, but she caught herself. She did sometimes fear she might never again completely trust the touch or the smile of a man. Even Jacob’s face was forever linked to the Bluebeard’s blood chamber.
The dance floor gleamed in the light of the chandeliers like a frozen lake. The orchestra was playing a polka. Fox felt the music like a second heartbeat.
“Is it true the Tzar has made the daughter of a serf his lover?”
“Oh yes. He’s even had a palace built for her, where he keeps her hidden. She has a beautiful voice, but she may sing only for him. All his other lovers are just to show his nobles he doesn’t prefer a serf’s daughter to theirs.”
The Barsoi was a good dancer, a very good one. Fox had rarely enjoyed her human body more.
“Would you like such a life? The lover of a Tzar, your own palace, as a prisoner of love?”
“Love is always a prison.” The words came easily, as though Fox had spoken them many times, yet she hadn’t even known she felt that way until this very moment.
“Interesting. What makes you say that? Experience?”
“I decide the topic, remember?”
“Touché. The men we serve, the women we love… What shall we speak of next?”
“Will the Dark Fairy bring her magic to Moskva?”
It’s hard to hide your surprise when you’re dancing, even for a spy. But the Barsoi only skipped one beat.
“I’m afraid I don’t know the answer, and neither does the Tzar’s secret service.” He leaned forward until his lips nearly touched her ear. “I promised Wilfred the Walrus to telegraph an answer within a week, but I promise you will have it even before him.”
Now it was her turn to smile. She felt light in his arms. You’re dizzy from the dance, Fox. That’s all.
She kept asking questions so the Windhound wouldn’t notice she’d only been after one answer. “What is the most precious item among the Tzar’s magic treasures?” “Is it true the Tzar exiled two of his half brothers to Yakutia because they were after the throne?”