[P] grinning mad, light blue and golden. || party

[Adonai]

« maybe i'm sick of sleeping longer nights with lesser feelings »
—

M

y curling signature inks the end of many invitations, yet I recall only three of them at any given time.

The first, to Pilate's Warden of Delumine. The second, to the famed dancer of the Benevolent. The third—to a man I know neither title nor allegiance yet only a name. My eyes slit in momentary discouragement; the possibility of him showing is low, anyway. Abbadon might not have even found him. It was a difficult mission from the start and I had refrained from going to the owlery to check.

Nonetheless, all three are my guests. I will go out of my way to show them every princely courtesy, if they do me the honour of showing. 

I pull my father's cloak tighter around my throat when I am jostled by a girl giggling into the ear of her companion. I smile down at her, and she blushes her apology. In the chaos of the first rush of guests, I have lost Miriam, and after searching in vain for a head of brightly braided red, I have ended up, somehow, near the oaken doors of the dining hall. My tongue presses to the ridge of my mouth. Pilate is just past those doors mixing up an entire catalog of drinks. I have resolved to stay as far from his orbit tonight as I can manage.

The party began an hour ago yet so far I have escorted no one, and therefore, my facade is still hours from being bulletproofed. To speak civilly with him, I must be accompanied. By Miriam, by Ruth, by—

A pegasus clad all in black slides past me and my smile is a white, white gleam. 

By the Warden himself. His appearance is a stroke of fate.

He moves slow enough for me to lengthen my strides and join easily into step besides him, my breath keeping even and slow. Before leaving my rooms I had shot down a vial of bitter medicine the new Terrastellan doctor had left for me, and so far, it is holding. I am barely coughing; the shadows beneath my eyes are nearly in remission. 

I keep smoothly besides him for a few steps yet I don't think Andras has noticed me. The hall is crowded, and I am not particularly striking when I am not trying to be. I wonder where he is headed. If it is Pilate he seeks, then he is moving farther from him the longer he strides.

This fails to concern me. My good humour remains well intact.

"Andras. I am pleased to see you," I say at last, raising my voice to be heard over the crowd. My words carry, bright and warm. 

In my smile is an echo of my brother’s.

@Andras speaks

♢