The Falconer (The Falconer #1)

Chapter 19

19

I sit before the looking glass in my bedchamber, honing the edges of my blades until they gleam. Satisfied, I slide the twin daggers Kiaran gifted me into the boning channels of my corset, tucked out of sight. The cool kiss of metal against my skin steadies my nerves. Next, I strap a blade to each thigh, relishing the feel of leather straps over silk stockings.

“Going to war or a ball, darling?”

I cast a wry glance into the mirror. Derrick hovers behind me, his luminescent wings shedding pinpricks of golden light to dance across the burgundy rug. His amber skin glimmers, radiating an inner glow.

“I am a woman of many talents.” I hide another dagger in my skirts. “I plan to be prepared for any eventuality this evening.”

“Any eventuality? My, how ambitious.” Derrick darts forward, alighting on my shoulder to scrutinise my appearance. His inherent magic thrums against my skin, raising the fine hairs along my neck. “Although I must say, the effect is somewhat ruined by all the glowering. You seem ready to stab the orchestra, not charm potential suitors.”

I sweep my unruly copper hair over one shoulder, twisting it into an elegant knot low at my nape. Soft tendrils frame my face.

“Must you disparage my efforts?” I smooth the rich emerald silk of my gown. The colour reminds me of Sorcha’s cold, cruel gaze. I force the memory down. “I need a confidence boost before braving the masses.”

“You make it sound as though you’ll be battling a horde of wild boars rather than dancing and making idle chit-chat.” Derrick’s soft wings tickle my ear. “Never mind the knives.”

“Have you ever attended a society function? Boars might be better company.” I turn back to frown at my reflection. “Well? How do I look?”

Derrick gives me a sympathetic smile. “You look perfect. Stunning yet still refined. Like a queen holding court over the feeble-minded and desperately fashionable.”

“You’re certain?” I smooth my hands over the lustrous fabric. “Not too—” I wave at my de′colletage, plunging low.

“Darling.” Derrick lays a reassuring palm against my cheek, his eyes soft. “You’re beautiful. Truly. Anyone who disagrees has no taste whatsoever. Although, for maximum effect, I suggest you employ that trick where you arrange your features to appear moments from homicide.”

“You mean my smile?”

“Is that what it is?” Derrick flits back with an exaggerated shudder. “I thought you were baring your teeth to frighten people off.”

I swat half-heartedly in his direction as he darts away, tinkling laughter trailing behind him. Insufferable pixie.

My amusement fades. I force my expression to careful neutrality. “Kiaran says I’m to take you to the ball so you can alert him at the first sign of trouble.” I keep my tone detached. “Apparently, your wings are faster than—”

“Than when you call out to him in the darkness, and he comes like a pet?” Derrick asks, tone sly.

“You ought to tell him that. I think he’d pluck off your wings for insolence.”

“You want me to accompany you to a society ball, Aileana. I might ask him to pluck off my wings.” At my look, he heaves a sigh. “But for you, I’ll consider attending.”

“All right, you extortionist. What’s your price?” I know him too well to expect compliance for free.

His grin turns wicked. “Oh, the usual. Leave the cellar unlocked tonight so I can sample the Glenlivet. And have Cook leave out a generous slice of pear tart.” He strokes his chin, considering. “Perhaps with a dollop of clotted cream.”

“Just don’t drink yourself into a stupor and leave crumbs in my bed again.”

Derrick gasps, pressing a scandalised hand to his chest. “I would never. Last time was an accident.”

I shoot him a dubious look.

“Mostly an accident,” he amends. “Anyway, do we have an accord?”

I suppress a smile. “Fine.”

“Excellent doing business with you.” Derrick gives a satisfied nod. “Right. Now, let’s get you to this dreadful ball so I can spend the evening mocking your discomfort.”

I sigh. This will be a long night.

*

Hours later, I grasp my partner’s hand as the lively notes of the reel fill the lavishly decorated ballroom. I take in Lord Rutherford’s harsh features and the displeased downturn to his thin lips. He’s scarcely looked at me, let alone attempted conversation beyond terse formalities.

A tiny winged form darts by my ear in a blur of gold. “Good lord! I can’t believe I allowed you to drag me here,” Derrick complains. He settles on my shoulder, voice dropping low against my neck. “This affair is duller than Mass. No explosions or corpses anywhere.”

I resist the urge to dislodge the pixie from his perch as Rutherford and I skip through the intricate steps.

“This is torture,” Derrick moans. “Look at them hopping about. Where’s the excitement? The spectacle? Utterly pedestrian. When do we leave?”

I’m going to kill Kiaran for suggesting I bring Derrick along. This partnership is a disaster.

“That’s enough,” Derrick announces after a particularly mournful diatribe. “I’m off to raid the kitchens for sustenance before I perish from deprivation.”

With an exaggerated huff, he zips across the crowded ballroom, evading swirling gowns and coattails. I track his progress until the pixie vanishes through the open doors to the refreshment hall adjoining the grand room.

After what feels like an eternity, the reel ends, and I dip into a curtsey before my partner. I bite back a sigh of relief as Rutherford turns on his heel and stalks away without a word, no doubt off to inflict his scowl on some other hapless young lady. I watch him retreat and exhale slowly, sagging against the nearest marble column.

Well, that’s one down. Only four more dances to endure before I can make my escape.

“There you are.” Catherine’s voice at my elbow makes me start.

I turn to find her standing beside me, a vision in pink silk and seed pearls, two crystal champagne flutes clutched in her gloved hands. Her blonde curls shine in the glow of the chandelier overhead.

“I come bearing fortification,” she says with a dazzling smile, pressing one of the glasses into my hand.

“You are a goddess among women.” I take an indelicate gulp. “Mmm. Delightful.”

Catherine surveys the dance floor over the rim of her glass. “You survived Rutherford, I see.”

I snort. “The man dances with all the warmth of an Edinburgh winter. I’m convinced he’s never smiled in his life.” I glance at her in suspicion. “I don’t suppose you had anything to do with his presence on my dance card?”

Catherine widens her blue eyes, the picture of angelic innocence. “Whatever do you mean?”

“Or did his name appear there of its own volition?”

She winces. “I may have encouraged one or two gentlemen your way this evening. You can’t hide behind columns and curtains forever. I want you to enjoy yourself.”

“Rutherford looked ready to enjoy himself straight into an early grave.”

“Yes, well.” Catherine has the grace to seem slightly abashed. “It was well-intentioned.” At my indignant look, she rushes to add, “Oh, look. There’s Gavin.”

Before I can protest, she takes my empty champagne glass and steers me through the crowded ballroom toward where her brother leans against a far pillar. He straightens at our determined approach, his handsome face lighting up with a grin.

“How wonderful to see you,” I tell him. “I was beginning to fear the debutantes had carried you off to parts unknown.”

Gavin gives an exaggerated visible shudder. “They nearly did, I assure you. I was ruthlessly assailed from all sides. Only narrowly escaped with my life.”

Catherine scoffs. “Oh yes, those vicious debutantes brutalised you, didn’t they?”

“Wounded me to the core, I say. I’ve never encountered such cruelty.” He slants me a conspiratorial grin. “You’ll defend me, won’t you, Marchioness?”

I arch a brow. “Perish the thought. I wouldn’t dare come between you and your adoring public. I’m enduring being here. So should you.”

“Hmm.” Gavin strokes his chin, musing. “Though I seem to recall spotting you attempting to hide behind the draperies earlier this evening.”

“I wasn’t hiding. I was assessing the quality of the upholstery.”

“Ah, yes. Of course.” His eyes gleam with barely contained mirth. “Do tell, did you find it satisfactory?”

“Oh, quite.” I nod. “Very suitable for hiding—I mean, appreciating . Thoroughly.”

“Excellent news. I’ll pass along your glowing assessment of my mother’s taste in draperies to her when she returns.”

I roll my eyes. “Always glad to be of service.”

At that moment, a blur of gold zips back into the ballroom, moving faster than human eyes can track. Derrick makes a beeline across the dancefloor and lands on my shoulder with a graceless plop, nearly upending my meticulous hairstyle.

I sigh, bracing myself.

“Aileana,” he croons, nuzzling my neck in drunken delight. His words slur together almost incomprehensibly. “I partook of the most wondrous ambrosia. Your friend had honey hidden in the larder. An entire jar of it!”

He hiccups, one iridescent wing smacking me in the jaw.

I resist the urge to groan aloud. Of course. I’d stopped keeping honey in the house for precisely this reason. Now I’m stuck with a drunk pixie draped across my shoulder for the rest of this interminable ball.

Gavin’s eyes flicker to my shoulder, brows drawn together in consternation. Alarm skitters through me once more. Can he see Derrick? Impossible. Gavin has never shown any hint of possessing the Sight before now.

Ugh, I’m so irritated that I’ve started imagining things.

I force a smile. “Well, it appears the first waltz is imminent. I believe I just spotted Lord Milton approaching, and I promised him this next dance—”

But Gavin steps in front of me, cutting off my escape. He grasps my elbow and propels me toward the gleaming parquet before I can slip away or protest.

I aim a half-hearted glower up at him as we take our places across from one another. “That was rude.”

He executes an elegant bow, then begins the first steps of the dance. “I saved you from Milton’s clumsy feet. You can thank me later.”

“The last thing I need to pair with the mutterings about being a reclusive madwoman is you being rude on my behalf.”

“Terribly forward of me,” he says. “Forgive my impulsiveness, I needed to speak with you.”

Derrick warbles drunkenly along with the lilting music. “Lovely whirling...simply lovely! Faster! Faster! Have him toss you overhead! Whirling and tossing!”

I flinch at a particularly off-key screech in my ear. Good lord, but honey makes pixies insufferable. And amorous, given the way he’s nuzzling into my hair like a sotted feline.

Gavin’s hand tightens almost painfully at my waist. Through gritted teeth, he says, “What the hell is wrong with that pixie?”

I nearly stumble and crash into Lady Carstairs in shock. “You can see him?” I whisper. “You’re a Seer?”

“Seer!” Derrick crows in delight. “Can’t fight like Aileana. Can’t do anything fun like slicing your enemies to ribbons.”

Gavin’s mouth falls open. “Is he... drunk? God almighty, please tell me your pixie isn’t drunk at a society ball right now.”

I flash him a weak, apologetic smile. “He’s rather spectacularly intoxicated on honey.”

As if to illustrate my point, Derrick chooses that moment to release a string of slurred and tuneless singing along with the orchestra. I wince at his shrill voice.

Gavin does not look amused in the slightest. “I need to speak with you. In my study, after this dance. Leave the pixie elsewhere.”