The two days leading up to the reception were an exercise in absolute discipline. Catherine was subjected to a regimen of intense polishing, a series of rituals designed to transform her into a flawless work of art.
Hairdressers came to arrange her hair into a complex style that seemed both simple and impossible.
Aestheticians tended to her hands and skin with scented oils and creams.
Tailors took her measurements for a new gown, a masterpiece of silk the color of a starless night sky, embroidered with silver threads that seemed to mimic the secret constellations only she could see.
Through it all, Catherine remained a docile and silent pupil. She let their expert hands mold her, but her mind was elsewhere.
Every touch, every measurement, every moment of silence was used to sharpen her focus, to solidify the persona of the Oracle until there was no longer any crack between the mask and her being.
She was no longer Catherine playing a role.
She was the Oracle.
The evening of the reception arrived.
Looking at herself in the grand mirror, she saw a stranger.
A creature of supernatural and distant beauty, her dark eyes holding secrets no mortal could fathom.
The gown fell on her like a cascade of liquid night, and the simple silver ring on her finger seemed to be an artifact of ancient power. She was ready.
Dolores led her to the grand salon.
The room was buzzing with the hushed murmur of powerful voices.
A dozen men magistrates, wealthy merchants, minor nobles were gathered, drinking wine from crystal goblets. Among them were several women of exquisite beauty, the house's other collections, silent and decorative.
And at the center of the room, like a sun around which the other planets orbited, stood Magistrate Valerius.
He was exactly as Catherine had imagined him.
Corpulent, with a ruddy face, dressed in the finest velvet.
The threads surrounding him were of a bright, arrogant pink and a thick, golden greed. He laughed loudly, dominating the conversation, a man clearly in love with his own importance.
Dolores guided Catherine to a quiet corner, whispering, "Speak only when spoken to. Observe. Wait."
Then, the main attraction of the evening began.
The dancer from the Jade Isles was presented.
She was stunning, a supple body moving to a strange, haunting music played by a lone musician.
Her dance was a mixture of grace and reptilian danger, and it captivated the room. All eyes, including Valerius's, were fixed on her.
All, except for Catherine's.
She watched Valerius, noting the pink thread of his vanity vibrating not with desire for the woman, but with pleasure at the idea of possessing her, of being able to show her off as a trophy.
When the dance ended to polite applause, an older woman dressed in black and diamonds, whose threads of power indicated she was the mistress of the house, Madame Eva, spoke.
"A marvel, is she not? But our collection has recently been enriched by another... novelty. A pearl of a different kind." Her gaze fell upon Catherine.
"An Oracle."
A curious silence fell.
A wealthy cloth merchant, a man whose threads revealed a deep insecurity behind a boastful facade, scoffed.
"An Oracle? Come now, Eva, are you offering us carnival tricks now?"
Madame Eva smiled, a smile as thin as a blade.
"Perhaps you would like a demonstration, Lord Corbin?"
All eyes turned to Catherine.
The moment had come.
She rose and walked slowly to the center of the room. She looked at Corbin, seeing clearly the frayed thread of his business that threatened to snap, and the secret, shameful thread of his terror of ending up like his father, bankrupt and in disgrace.
"You wear your father's cape, Lord Corbin," Catherine murmured, her voice carrying effortlessly in the silence.
"But you fear it is too large for your shoulders. You count your ships returning to port, but the real storm is not at sea. It is in your ledgers, where the red ink sings a song louder than the shanties of your sailors."
Corbin turned white as a sheet.
The revelation was so precise, so intimate, that it was tantamount to a public assault. He could only stammer an excuse and retreat to the buffet, completely undone.
The room was stunned.
The power of this demonstration was far more brutal and impressive than the exotic dance. Catherine felt Valerius's gaze on her, burning.
The pink thread of his vanity had exploded, but a new, much stronger thread had just appeared.
A thread of twisted gold, the color of a collector's covetousness upon finding his masterpiece. He no longer looked at the dancer.
He now saw only Catherine.
The party ended soon after, the atmosphere having been irrevocably changed. As the guests took their leave, Valerius approached, escorted by Dolores.
He looked at no one else, only Catherine, with the focus of a man assessing the world's finest diamond.
"Your talents," he said, his voice deep and full of smug authority, "are wasted on a crowd. I find myself in need of... a certain clarity."
He turned to Dolores, his tone becoming that of a man giving an indisputable order.
"A private consultation is required. Arrange it. She will be my guest for the rest of the evening."
Dolores bowed. "Of course, Magistrate."
Catherine said nothing.
She merely met Valerius's possessive gaze with her calm, all-knowing Oracle eyes, and inclined her head in a slow nod of consent.
The deal was struck.
The prey had just claimed her as his prize.
The real game could finally begin.