The low thrum of voices weaves through the air like a living tapestry, winding around me in loops of half-spoken promises and unspoken threats. I find myself drifting through the dining hall, more an opulent ballroom, really, where clusters of guests stand or lounge, each group its own closed circle of confidences. My senses, already ragged from the evening’s earlier revelations, feel on high alert. Every passing whisper, every lingering glance across the rim of a wine glass, sets my nerves on edge, as though sparks are popping against my skin.
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I hug a corner of the expansive space, nursing a half-finished goblet of something sweet and potent. The flickering glow of chandeliers overhead pools along the polished floors, and tall windows reflect moonlight, painting sinuous shapes on the
