Chapter 87: Chapter 87: Zara and the ball
Zara Astranai smiled as she greeted the nobleman standing before her.
He stared for a moment too long, then coughed. His wife nudged him from the side and he adjusted himself a little embarrassed for his blunder.
"Forgive me - ahem... I was caught off guard by your beauty, Lady Zara. I’m certain you will be every bit as charming as the Duchess your mother when you’re older."
"Thank you," Zara replied, her tone warm on the surface and entirely empty underneath.
She had heard variations of this compliment so many times since turning thirteen that it had ceased to land as anything at all.
Her charms had started drawing attention around that age , the attention she had never asked for and had learned to receive without expression.
Maria stood at her side, guiding each guest onward after their greeting. Several more came through. Several more said the same things in different arrangements.
Zara was visibly managing her boredom when she caught the insignia on the coat of the next arrival. She straightened up a little.
Marquis Roban of Valamdor. Lower in rank than her father, but still deserving of courtesy. She composed herself and smiled more genuinely this time, executing a smooth curtsey.
"Welcome, Sir Roban."
He said nothing.
She waited. Most guests faltered at her smile and recovered quickly with a compliment. This one simply stood and looked at her, and the longer he looked the more she understood that what she had taken for stunned appreciation was something else entirely.
His eyes moved across her with a slowness that made her skin crawl, tracking every opening in the fabric of her dress with a smile, his eyes Seemed like he could lick her with it.
Every instinct she had told her to cover herself.
She held still and kept her expression neutral, because appearing rude was not an option she could afford.
He finished his survey and greeted her at last, extending his hand. Zara gave hers with the composure she had been trained to maintain at all costs.
He kissed it.
She was fairly certain he had also sniffed it.
"Marquis Roban."
The Duchess’s voice arrived like a change in air pressure. Zara felt the shift before she fully registered what was happening. Her mother stepped into the space with the unhurried and elegant authority.
Roban dropped immediately into a bow. "It is an honour to have your presence, Duchess Astranai."
She gestured graciously and drew him away.
He looked back at Zara once before following.
"What a creep."
The whisper came from directly beside her. Zara turned and felt her expression unlock for the first time since the evening began.
"Lisa! " She pulled her into a hug. Lisa hugged back and they both laughed quietly into each other’s shoulders.
"Are you finished with greetings?" Lisa asked when they separated.
Zara glanced toward Maria, who was already consulting the small booklet she carried for occasions like this.
"All major houses have arrived, Lady Zara. Only the minor nobility remain. Your presence is not required for those."
Zara nodded and took Lisa’s hand.
"Come on. The ball doesn’t start for a few hours yet." She tugged her toward the stairs. "I want to show you something first."
------
Percy’s own face stared back at him from the window glass.
He surfaced from the daze when Craig spoke.
"The church. I should pay them a visit personally. We don’t know when Senior Charles will be back from his mission, and it’s better we share information regarding the incidents now rather than wait. The connections need to be made."
They were in the office. Margerete stood at the table with the straw puppet in front of her, turning it over with careful hands, eyes hazy.
After a long moment she set it down.
"This is a Revenant-bound Anchor." She looked between them. "A strong one. It sits at Semi-Saint Oath level."
Percy looked at Craig.
"Classification only," Craig said, with a hint of surprise in his voice. "We use it for Anchors since Haunted cannot reach Saint level unless they’ve been cursed. The fourth Oath is Saint. Semi-Saint sits just below it."
Percy nodded slowly. "So this Anchor is Semi-Saint level."
"It should rank even higher," Margerete said, "if not for its disadvantage."
"What disadvantage?" Percy asked.
Craig answered. "The fact that we currently have it. And not its owner."
Percy’s brow drew together. "You mean, when triggered, it risks ending up in the hands of whoever killed the user."
"Exactly." Craig leaned forward slightly. "This Anchor is designed to save the owner from death once. It teleports them to the nearest safe proximity at the moment of a fatal strike, and simultaneously transforms into a corpse bearing the user’s appearance, convincing enough to deceive whoever delivered the killing blow." He paused. "But the moment the deception works, the Anchor remains behind. In the hands of the killer. Or in this case, us."
Percy sat with that but a bit of expectant in his eyes .
"So he’s still alive?"
"Almost certainly," Craig confirmed.
Percy felt a weight lift off from his chest.
"What I can’t account for," Craig continued, "is how a Second Oath Poltergeist came to possess a Semi-Saint level Anchor. This would sit comfortably among our top-ranked Anchors in the district’s chambers." He folded his hands on the table.
"By any chance, could he be of a higher Oath than you assessed?" Percy asked
Craig shook his head slowly. "If he were Third Oath, I don’t think you’d be sitting here. From what you’ve described, a Third Oath Poltergeist could have bounced the kinetic energy of the bullet back at you. Or redirected it entirely."
Percy felt a dread to his core.
"If the man had been one Oath higher, I would have been the one on the ground."
-----
Zara clapped twice.
Clap, clap.
The doors opened and a row of maids filed in, each carrying a dress on a hanger, laying them out one by one across the length of the room.
Lisa went very still.
Then her eyes widened.
"Are these...."
"They are." Zara’s answered, thoroughly self-satisfied. "I told you your designs would look incredible as actual dresses. I was right. As usual." She buffed her chest slightly.
Lisa’s eyes filled.
She moved along the row slowly, touching each one, checking the seams, the fall of the fabric, the way the details had been interpreted from sketch to cloth. Her lips pressed together.
"Thank you, Zara. Thank you so much." Her voice was slightly uneven. "But , who made these? It’s almost exactly how I imagined them when I drew them. Almost exactly."
Zara tilted her head. "Let’s just say he was a particular type of person." She waved a hand. "Anyway. The point is your designs are extraordinary and deserve to be seen. I was thinking we could wear them before the ball begins , let everyone get a proper look."
Lisa spun toward her. "No! Zara, no, you can’t tell anyone I made them"
Zara took both her hands. "Relax. They’re beautiful. Do you not trust me?"
"I do, but..."
"Then?"
Lisa looked at her. At the dresses. Back at Zara’s blue eyes waiting patiently for the answer she had already decided on.
She exhaled.
"Alright," she said quietly. "Let’s show them."
Zara’s smile widened. "That’s my girl."
