The Black Tide (Outcast 3)

I walked across to the small wardrobe and paused, glancing at him. “Is footwear in or out at these things?”

“Out in the actual ballroom, but required until then.” He drained the rest of the alcohol. “The streets are rather unclean, after all.”

The streets were pristine in my opinion, but then we had been raised in very different environments.

I slipped on a pair of silvery sandals, grabbed a coat to cover my near nakedness until we got to the ballroom, and then smiled at Charles. “Right. Ready.”

His gaze swept me and came up approving. “Perfection. I have transport waiting.”

We headed out. Said transport was a two-person air taxi. The driver opened the door and ushered us inside then, once we were seated, climbed into the driver side. As the vehicle rose, I said, “Where exactly is the Crystal Ballroom located? I’ve heard of it, but never been there or talked to anyone who has.”

“It’s within the Government House complex.”

“And everyone from the House of Lords is expected to go?”

“As well as anyone who is any position of power within governmental halls.” He glanced at me sideways, his expression curious. “How can you not know any of this?”

I smiled, though it felt tight. Uneasy. “As I said, it's not as if I've ever had the good fortune of receiving an invitation to such an event before now.”

“Yes, but the intricacies of the government and the House of Lords is something that is taught at primary level.”

“Which was a long time ago for me, Charles.” I placed a hand on his thigh and lightly brushed my fingertips across his groin. His cock responded instantly. “And it's very cruel of you to remind me of that.”

He laughed softly then drew me in his arms and the matter of my education gap was quickly forgotten. As the taxi came to a halt, Charles released me. “Shall we continue this matter later?”

“Of course,” I murmured, and looked past him.

We'd landed on a rooftop rather than in the street in front of Government House as I'd expected, and there were dozens of other air taxis zipping in and out of the airspace around us. Men and women walked sedately toward an elevator tucked in one corner of the roof, a vivid parade of color and style. Lining either side of the carpeted walkway were at least a dozen armed guards. I climbed out of the taxi and glanced upward; two gunships hovered above us. They definitely weren't taking any chances when it came to security.

I slipped my coat over one arm then my other through Charles’s. As we joined the queue walking toward the elevator and the scanner in front of it, I said, Cat, Bear, do you want to start checking everyone, and see if you can find Nuri's missing charms?

They immediately raced away. My stomach tightened as we drew near the bioscanner, and fear skittered, even though my RFID chip had been fully programmed for this identity.

“Shoes and coat in the tray, ma'am.” The guard’s voice was deferential but firm.

I obeyed, then walked through the scanner. Light swept my entire body and my RFID chip oddly tingled as its information was calibrated with the scanner results. No alarms sounded and the guard politely motioned for me to continue.

I collected my items and then stopped nearby to wait for Charles. The elevator took us down two floors and opened to utter opulence.

The Crystal Ballroom was well named. The room itself was a long, rather narrow expanse of white, with a stone floor that was shot with veins of silver and gold. Three rows of beautiful chandeliers ran the length of the entire room, filling the space with a glittering, almost surreal light. There were no windows; instead, vast mirrors lined every wall. They not only gave the room a feeling of space but also reflected the light and the riot of color that was its inhabitants.

A blue-clad figure appeared in front of us and bowed lightly. “Your coat and shoes please, madam and sir.”

We handed them over. Charles placed his hand against my spine and guided me toward the stairs that led down to the ballroom proper. Another man waited here, and he was holding a thick golden staff with some sort of bird of prey atop of it. He hit it against the floor three times and then said, in a voice that echoed, “The Lord Charles Fontaine, first son of Jacob, heir to the seat of the Fontaines, and potential initiate to the House of Lords. Accompanying him is Catherine Lysandra.”

It was the first time I’d heard the surname I’d been given, and it was one that meant “she who was freed.” It made me wonder if Nuri was simply having some fun or trying to tell me something. The last surname she’d gifted me with—Zindella—had meant “man’s defender.”

“Potential initiate?” I said, as we made our way down the stairs under what felt like a million critical gazes.

“Every initiate is a potential until they are officially confirmed by the ceremony.”

“Ah.” I ran my gaze across the nearest cluster of people. The shop owner had been right when she'd said my outfit was demure compared to many. I'm not entirely sure why any of them had bothered getting dressed, because the bright gossamer scraps that probably cost a fortune hid absolutely nothing.

Charles guided me through the room, stopping at the various clusters of people to introduce me. I sipped wine and made polite conversation, but the tension in me was growing and I had no idea why. Certainly there'd been no one so far who even slightly tweaked the psychic part of my soul.

Cat and Bear returned, their excitement and wonder caressing my skin like electricity and making the small hairs on my arms stand on end.

I love balls! Cat said. We should hold one of our own when all this is over.