Chapter Text
Although it was true that Harrowhark's bloodline had been afflicted by a curse for as long as anyone in her house could remember, it wasn't very high on her list of priorities. She was preoccupied with the ongoing drought in her duchy and by the dread of her own impending engagement. Currently, she was also concerned with the creeping press of her future fiance's hand as it slid over the fabric of her gown to the small of her back.
"I understand that many will use the masquerade as an excuse to shirk decorum, but I will not count myself among them," intoned Harrowhark. She was adorned with a mask like the rest of the party's attendees, but her icy demeanor and conservative black dress set her apart. She looked like she'd double-booked her evening with a funeral.
"How fortunate we are to have you as the bastion of decency for us all," drawled Ianthe, but she retracted her hand.
“If I am to debase myself with something as garish as pageantry, then I will at least do so on my own terms."
“You may be lacking in many things, but you are always in abundance when it comes to aesthetics. You radiate solemnity and gloom, as always.”
Her twin shot Ianthe a look, then winked at Harrow from behind her lacy red mask. Coronabeth was an optimist, which sometimes made her more difficult to deal with than her cynical counterpart. "I know parties aren't really your thing, but this will be fun! You could invent a persona and be someone else for tonight."
"Perhaps someone with a sense of humor," suggested Ianthe.
There were no formal announcements made when anyone entered the ballroom, but attendees like the twin duchesses of Ida were impossible to mistake. Coronabeth was dressed in a frilly red gown with a plunging neckline, and golden ribbons were threaded through her hair. Ianthe walked alongside her like a pale reflection. Her dress had been a dull, frothy thing in the candlelight of the halls, but in the glimmering ballroom it was gauzy and white, with nearly as much tulle as her sister’s dress. Naberius was also in their party, but he and Harrow steadfastly ignored each other.
Drearburh's duchess, who was clad from head to toe in matte black, trailed a few steps behind them like an omen. Her feathered black mask obscured her peripheral vision, but it also concealed most of her face had the unanticipated effect of making her feel more at ease in her anonymity. It was a relief that she could avoid being the subject of the rumors that always followed her duchy and its denizens.
The summer palace of the Witch King had a massive ballroom that could have swallowed half of castle Drearburh without choking. It was decorated ostentatiously for the event, and its guests even more so. Everyone was dressed in either red, white, or black, and masks ranged from barely-there to full head pieces. Music could be heard over the cacophony of the guests' chatter, but Harrow's height didn't allow her to see past the crowd to where the musicians were.
Coronabeth attracted admirers like a sun attracted planets. She pulled people into her orbit until Harrow found herself part of a small procession. In turn, Ianthe became annoyed when Corona’s attention strayed from her for too long, and her comments increased in acidity until even her twin became exasperated with her.
On the surface level, they were still perfectly civil with each other, but Harrow had been in their shared company for long enough to know the signs. Corona fretted with one of the gold ribbons on her dress, curling it round and round her fingers. Ianthe had used the word ‘elucidate’ twice, which meant that she was double-pissed.
Coronabeth’s dance card filled up quickly and she spent nearly as much time gliding along the ballroom floor as she did bickering with her sister. Ianthe accepted a handful of invitations to dance as well. Harrow looked forward to the moments when both of the sisters were occupied and she could allow herself to breathe. Only one or two other people tried to strike up a conversation with her, but they were easily discouraged. Harrow briefly considered attempting to locate Archivist Sextus among the fray—she knew from their correspondence that he would be in attendance—but she didn't want to waste her time fruitlessly searching.
"Come now, Harry, don't be such a dedicated wallflower," teased Ianthe when Harrow declined another one of her offers for a dance. She plucked two glasses of wine from one of the servers that rotated through the crowd and passed one to Harrow, lightly clinking them together before taking a sip. "We're meant to be getting to know one another. Surely you don't intend to save all of our firsts for our wedding night? First dance, first kiss..."
Harrow's stomach twisted. She was already concerned that if they came to know each other too well before their potential wedding, then neither of them would want to go through with it. But Ianthe voiced another anxiety that she had been trying very hard not to think about: physical intimacy.
Harrow gulped down half of the wine when she thought no one was watching. And even if someone was, it wasn't as though they would recognize her. While Coronabeth was dancing with Naberius—a tactical decision that made Ianthe curl her lips unattractively—Harrow discreetly swapped her empty glass for a fresh one. She usually restricted herself to consuming alcohol during religious ceremonies and wasn't overly fond of the taste, but it didn't feel like it was affecting her yet.
Ianthe arched an eyebrow at the second glass, her mouth quirking with amusement. Like her sister, she had opted for a simple white lace mask that did little to conceal her expression.
Harrow was spared from whatever sly comment she opened her mouth to make when a new face joined Coronabeth's entourage. A woman in fine white attire and dark hair put a hand over her heart and bowed lightly to Ianthe, but there was something mocking about the gesture.
"My lady! Though I know not who you are, your beautious visage has enraptured me. I have crossed the dance floor, perused the fingerfoods, and gotten mildly lost in the hedge maze on my journey to you—"
“Enough,” said Ianthe, sighing impatiently. "Aren't there other people you could be annoying? Go join the circle jerk with the other lords' sons waiting on Corona."
Her unconcealed hostility made Harrow take interest. Ianthe was usually so careful with interpersonal politics; she'd even attempted to teach Harrow how to better navigate conversations with members of the court, but it felt too much like lessening herself. The newcomer's mask was an asymmetrical mosaic of broken mirror shards with narrow slits to see out of. It obscured most of the face and the eyes were completely hidden, but Harrow had a partial view of a smile and freckled brown skin.
"Wow! Who pissed in your cereal? I'll have to shake their hand."
"This party sucks," complained Ianthe.
"You suck," quipped mirror-mask.
"Why are you late? This is the prince's birthday celebration."
"Oh, you know. This and that. Official business."
“Do you mean to imply that your father is finally seeing some use from you?” Ianthe took a long, smug sip of wine.
This meant fuck-all to Harrow, but mirror-mask became very quiet.
“You’ll have to forgive my companion,” said Harrow, in a rare display of sympathy. She knew very well what it was like to be on the receiving end of Ianthe’s less charitable remarks.
Mirror-mask whipped her head in Harrow's direction, mask bobbing as she looked her up and down. She must not have been able to see very well and Harrow realized with amusement that she hadn't noticed her until now.
“She was insistent on being fashionably late for this event," Harrow gestured to Ianthe with her glass, "so I’m afraid that your timely arrival has made her quite envious.”
“Since you asked so nicely, I suppose I’ll have to,” said mirror-mask, abruptly switching to a more formal way of speaking and straightening her posture. "What your companion really ought to apologize for is neglecting to introduce us."
"I'm afraid that's another oversight on your part. A masquerade is an evening made for dyes and deceit," said Ianthe. She pretended to cough. "Excuse me, lies and deceit."
"Yes, well... Fuck me, I guess. I'll go have a gander at this circle jerk you've so enthusiastically endorsed." Mirror-mask inclined her head to each of them, then went off to mingle with the rest of Coronabeth's admirers.
"Good riddance," said Ianthe, but she looked significantly more cheerful. “Do you know who that was?”
“Wouldn’t knowing be in contradiction with the spirit of the masquerade?” Harrow asked.
“It would be. So, I shan't tell you.”
Harrow shrugged indifferently. It wasn't like she was ever going to see mirror-mask again.
Three glasses of wine was apparently how much it took to convince Harrow to dance with Ianthe. Her childhood had been a nontraditional one, but she managed to learn the minimum social etiquette required to keep from embarrassing herself. Plus, she had practiced, so it would be a shame not to.
Four glasses was how much it took to turn an inside thought into an outside one. They bickered over something inconsequential, but it had seemed very important at the time. Harrow stormed off, needing air and to clear her head.
The cool night air was a relief and the gardens were overflowing with fragrant summer blooms. It was less noisy out here, but there were still people about. Harrow gave in to her need to be unseen; she bypassed the rows of raised flower beds and entered the hedge maze. The noise of the masquerade was muted by the hedges and the only light came from the full moon that glowed overhead. She inhaled deeply, filling her lungs with the smell of green, growing things.
If Harrow were at home right now, she would be writing in her journal or reading a book. She'd only been away for a week, but homesickness had struck her as soon as her train left the platform. Ianthe complained that traveling by train was old fashioned and not in a cute way, but Drearburh lacked the resources to match the fleets of motorized carriages that were popular in Ida.
Harrow became aware that she was being followed. She was not afraid, but she was deeply annoyed. When she arrived at a crossroads, she darted behind a tree planted at the middle of the intersection. She pulled back one of the lower branches, and waited.
The dirt and mulch muffled the footsteps that followed her, but she heard them come to a halt. The person following her sighed a very put-upon sigh that she recognized instantly as belonging to Naberius. He approached the tree, and Harrow let go of the branch. It thwacked into his mask with a satisfying sound and he yelped in surprise.
As he stumbled backwards, she hiked up her dress and kicked him in the knee, sending him onto the ground. It was a mean, childish thing to do, but Harrow had so rarely been allowed to be a child. She grinned and ran down the closest pathway.
Harrow made her way randomly through the maze. The breaks in the narrow hedge-lined paths sometimes opened to reveal areas with water fountains and places to sit, and decorative assortments of plants and flowers. She was beginning to tire when she arrived at another crossroads that was presided over by a towering statue of a woman with long hair and a sword.
And there, leaning on the marble base and holding a half-eaten plate of chocolate cake, was mirror-mask.
Harrow pulled up short and tried to catch her breath. She could hear Naberius approaching and looked between the three branching pathways. She eyed mirror-mask with suspicion and hoped that her glare was evident even through the filter of two masks. Mirror-mask's expression was inscrutable, but Harrow held what she hoped was very intense eye contact as she rounded the statue and tucked herself low behind it.
She heard Naberius enter the small clearing. There was the clink of a fork on the plate as mirror-mask took a bite of cake.
"She went that way," mirror-mask said around a mouthful.
Naberius grunted and took off. When Harrow could no longer hear him, she emerged from her hiding place. She and the stranger regarded each other.
"Sup?" Mirror-mask took another bite of cake.
"What are you doing out here?" Harrow asked. She hadn't seen anyone else past the first few rows.
"That's a weird way to say thank you. And I'm drunk and eating cake, obviously."
"In the middle of the garden maze?"
"Yop. Guess we're both hiding."
Harrow wanted to protest that assumption, but she had just been witnessed crouching behind a statue. "Earlier, you seemed to be enjoying yourself well enough.”
“I was, for a while." Mirror-mask scraped the fork against the plate, collecting a mound of icing. "It's strange, but I used to think I'd kill to get into a party like this. Now that I'm here, I'm realizing there's all this pretense and secret rules and, honestly, I'm not very good with crowds. I usually do best with groups of two people or fewer."
Harrow supposed that was understandable, being that she was admittedly of a similar disposition. She considered leaving, but did want to take a moment to rest. A scion of Drearburh could not be witnessed doing something so pedestrian as lounging, but right now she wasn't anyone in particular. Harrow joined mirror-mask in leaning on the marble base of the statue, but kept a respectable distance between them.
"Why are you hiding from Babs? Is he being weird to you?" Mirror-mask finished her cake and set the empty plate down on the statue.
"No more than usual. However, he may be upset that I knocked him into the dirt."
"Really? Nice. I've also put him on his ass a few times. It's a highly satisfying experience."
"You've brawled with him?"
"It was technically a fencing match."
So, mirror-mask was well acquainted with both the duchesses of Ida and their hound. That made Harrow a little wary of her, but at least she didn't appear to be on good terms with Ianthe.
She strained her ears to listen, just in case Naberius decided to double back, but all was silent. "I suspect he's keeping tabs on me for his mistress."
"Gross. Sorry you have to hang out with her."
"Have to?" Harrow echoed.
"Unless you want to?"
"No," said Harrow, so earnestly that the other woman laughed.
"Exactly. Ianthe is like if a tall, nasty glass of curdled milk gained sentience and decided that its life's ambition was to be a huge bitch." Mirror-mask held up her hands, palms out. "Unless you're into that."
"I don't know." Harrow supposed that she'd never really considered if she was attracted to a type of person. Certainly women, but beyond that there were so many other things to worry about with a potential spouse. She knew it was the wine that made her ask: "Does it matter?"
"It absolutely matters," mirror-mask said emphatically. She stood and brushed off her trousers. "Would you like a tour of the maze?"
Harrow wondered if she was actually going to be given a tour, or if her supposed guide would just wander around randomly. Although, she wasn't worried about getting lost and it wasn't like she had anything better to do.
"Why not?"
To Harrow's surprise, mirror-mask did seem to know where she was going. She led them deeper into the maze, pointing out this statue or that fountain as they went. She spoke informally, not bothering with the polite pretense that she'd attempted when they first met in the ballroom. It put Harrow at ease, despite herself, to think that their encounter was random and unlikely to be part of some larger scheme.
They eventually arrived at a large clearing that was decorated with checkered tiles. Oversized chess pieces stood poised at each end, ready to be ordered into battle.
"Welcome to the center of this botanical nightmare." Mirror-mask stood in the middle of the tiled area and spread her arms wide. She spun on her heel with a flourish. "The players stand at either end and a couple of poor schmucks run around moving the pieces. Do you play?"
"I'm out of practice, and somewhat inebriated," said Harrow. She ran her hand over the horse head of the knight, the top of it reaching her chest. The pieces were all carved from wood.
"I'll go easy on you."
Harrow smirked. "And you'll be my poor schmuck?"
Mirror-mask laughed. It was a very nice sounding laugh. "You can boss me around as much as you want."
It was fun to bait mirror-mask by sacrificing a bishop early in the game, but it was also highly enjoyable to watch her heft the pieces across the board. She removed her jacket and rolled up her shirtsleeves, and Harrow wished she had some water because the wine had made her mouth very dry.
"If you're hoping that I'll put in a good word for you with the duchesses of Ida, then you'll be disappointed." Harrow slowly circled the area, watching as mirror-mask considered her next move. "Neither of them are interested in my opinions on social dynamics."
"Corona and I are just fine, thanks. And her sister can suck a fuck." It was always obvious when mirror-mask was looking at Harrow. The visibility in her mask was so bad that she had to do it straight-on or not at all. She looked at her now, then quickly away. "Look, I know it's none of my business, but why are you hanging out with those two if you don't even like them?"
"You're right. That is none of your business." Harrow idled behind mirror-mask, staying out of her line of sight as she studied her broad shoulders. "Let's say I'm here as a networking event."
"If you’re here for networking, then why weren't you talking to anyone except the twins?”
“Why were you watching me?” Harrow asked sharply.
Mirror-mask lifted a rook and moved it to box in Harrow's queen. When she was done, she turned and grinned rakishly at her. “Because you’re gorgeous.”
Harrow didn’t know what to say to that, but she was deeply thankful to have most of her face concealed. She resumed moving in slow circles, pretending to study the board.
"How about a wager?" Mirror-mask suggested. "If I win, you owe me a dance."
"And if I win?"
"I'll give you anything you want."
Harrow twisted her hands together behind her back. "Anything?"
"Anything that's within my power to grant."
"Alright," agreed Harrow.
It took her three moves to win the game.
"You hustled me." Mirror-mask stared at her, mouth agape.
"You underestimated me," said Harrow.
"Gorgeous and ruthless. I never stood a chance. Alright, what prize do you want?"
Harrow wanted a lot of things, but so few of them were for herself. Currently, what she wanted was for Ianthe to not be the sole contributor to her understanding of how intimacy worked. What she really needed was a metric. Enough data to build a rubric and a scatter plot would be ideal, but was unrealistic when she factored in her aversion to being touched.
Maybe she just wanted to know what it was like for someone to touch her, and to not hate it.
"I want you to kiss me," said Harrow.
Mirror-mask looked surprised but not displeased. She thumbed the edge of her mask, which concealed part of her mouth. "I'd have to take off my mask."
"Is that not within your power to grant?"
"You are devious, aren't you?"
Mirror-mask was quiet for a moment. She glanced at their surroundings, then stepped towards one of the stone benches intended for game spectators. She sat down and beckoned Harrow to come closer.
Harrow steeled herself and crossed the board to meet her, passing through the graveyard of discarded pieces. She started to sit next to her, but a hand reached for her hip. Harrow flinched, then pretended she hadn't.
"Alright?"
"Yes," lied Harrow. She allowed herself to be guided onto mirror-mask's lap and was acutely aware of the way their thighs pressed together. Her feet didn't touch the ground, making her feel a little ridiculous. "I'm failing to understand how this will work if I'm facing away from you."
"I'll show you. Don't turn around."
Harrow kept her face pointed towards the black knight that she'd won the match with. She could hear the burbling of a nearby fountain and her own measured breathing, then there was a rustle of fabric behind her and the mask was placed on the bench. Its faceted surface glittered in the moonlight.
A hand smoothed over her waist and her heart hammered in her chest. There was the unexpectedly soft touch of a mouth on her nape, just above the high collar of her dress, and Harrow bit down on her lip. When the woman behind her spoke, Harrow could feel warm breath on her skin.
“Still good?”
“Yes,” said Harrow, speaking quietly so that her voice wouldn’t shake.
She felt fingertips trace the shell of her ear and then comb lightly through her black curls, trailing down to the collar of her dress. The top button came undone, and another kiss was placed on the newly revealed skin. Harrow held herself very still and swallowed once, twice.
“Do you wear a lot of dresses with high collars?” The second button was deftly undone.
“Yes?” Harrow pushed her voice down to a whisper.
“Good.” The third button followed. She pressed her mouth to Harrow’s seventh vertebrae.
Harrow held a hand over her own mouth as a meandering trail of kisses wound its way over her neck and back. Another two buttons were undone and calloused fingertips traced the bumps of her spine, spreading the fabric of the dress further and exposing her skin to the cool night air. She shivered and reached blindly for the hand on her waist, squeezing the other woman's forearm.
There was an appreciative hum and the kisses became open mouthed. Skin on skin contact was a marvel, and the wet heat shocked her. Teeth bit into her upper trapezius, just on the edge of pain—which was alarming, but also made her learn several things about herself. A small, embarrassing sound escaped Harrow. The hand on her waist moved over her ribs, drawing her closer.
The mouth pulled away, leaving Harrow suddenly cold. Mirror-mask tensed, raising her head and Harrow searched for what had disturbed her. After straining her ears, she could make out the far off sound of a clocktower chiming the hour.
"Shit." Mirror-mask tucked her face against Harrow's shoulder and groaned in disappointment. "Sorry. I have to go."
Harrow scrambled to mentally collect herself. She didn't know what to do with her arms and held them out awkwardly. "I, ah, suppose you've paid your debt, so I've no reason to delay you."
When mirror-mask laughed, she was pressed close enough that Harrow could feel the sound.
With their clothes and masks all back in the appropriate places, mirror-mask led them out of the maze. Harrow wondered who she was to know the garden so well, but she supposed it didn't matter. It wasn't as though they would see each other again after this. As though sensing her thoughts, mirror-mask caught Harrow's hand when they were about to leave the privacy of the hedges.
"Will you tell me your name?"
Harrow smiled unkindly. "You would not thank me for telling you."
"Not even a hint?"
"I would prefer if we kept to the convention of the masquerade and did not divulge personal information."
"If you don't volunteer a name, then I'll have to make up something to call you."
"That will be of no consequence to me, since I will not be present to hear it after tonight."
There was suddenly a swell of music from the ballroom, accompanied by less musical singing as all the party guests joined in: "Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday, Prince Kiriona—"
"Well," said mirror-mask, raising her voice, "thank you for improving an otherwise mediocre evening. I hope that we're able to meet again, penumbral lady."
Mirror-mask brushed her thumb over Harrow's knuckles. It made her stomach feel strange, so she took her hand back and turned to leave. "I doubt it. Goodnight."
Mirror-mask smiled ruefully and Harrow was almost sorry to be the cause of it. “Catch you on the flip side, sugar lips.”