Masquerade [Kuskovo Estate]

[Sofia Vasilieva]

Sofia was on her father’s arm when he welcomed the Ascendancy, she assured it. Konstantin had long been friends with Myshelov of course; the Patron wielded an iron fist beneath a velvet glove of congeniality, but they had always gotten along, and Sofia had girlhood memories of the opulent VIP rooms of the casino, filled with smoke and whiskey and the convivial business of important men. Growing up she’d called many of them uncle despite no shared blood relation – all the children had been brought up with old world respect, and never been hidden away from the world to which they had been born. Business and family were one and the same. The Vasiliev women were like jewels, the utmost of family treasure, but they were primed for power.

Between her father’s greeting and his steer of the conversation she complimented both men on their choice of attire and mask, using the Ascendancy’s title of course when she addressed him. A message of assured obedience that came smoother from her lips than Pasha’s. Sofia was an engaging and practised hostess. And she was dressed like a goddess. The gown was deepest crimson couture, looped in a silk tie around her neck that cascaded down her bare back. It was detailed at the hip, and fell in luxurious waves that would part when she moved. The mask was pearlescent white, adorned with teardrop diamonds that accentuated the perfect red lips beneath.

She talked with them a while, and certainly long enough to be seen with the most powerful men in the room. Her father was affable and unruffled in his conversation, and he pat her hand where it rested in the crook of his elbow when he felt her shift.

“Ah, I have spied your son, Uncle Myshelov, and I must make sure to go and say hello.” She smiled, made a pleasant retreat, kissing her father on the cheek and informing Myshelov in good and teasing spirit that she expected him to save a dance for her. Then she looked at Nikolai Brandon, and added with a graceful tilt of her head, and smile, “And the Ascendancy too of course, if he dances.”

The excuse she made to leave wasn’t entirely true. Daniil was indeed loitering by the staircase, watching with his shark eyes, but it was a figure in white and blood red who’d teased the edges of her attention by then. She was not displeased to see the ripples he created in his wake, and she would expect him to make the effort to find her. Sofia fully intended to be noticed as she made her way over to Daniil, for the dress was most beautiful in motion. Nothing at this party was incidental for all the exquisite frivolity. She’d invited Zixin, and it was a statement.

“Danya, how wonderful that you came,” she said with a pleasant smile in the meanwhile. Not that they were overly close, but they had grown up together and it afforded the familiarity. Her gaze ghosted the woman at his side, but saw nothing she needed to acknowledge. Daniil could introduce her if he wished. Sofia would not be rude.