Chapter Nineteen #3
I spoke quickly. “Did your mice see where she went once she’d entered Fortblanche?”
Nathalie shook her head. “They lost her in the crowd. She may have taken off her veil—if so, they wouldn’t have been able to distinguish her face from the rest of the guests’. More likely, they could pick up on her scent, but…” She paused, narrowing her eyes. “Why are you so eager to find her?”
I’d wondered when she would ask that. “I have questions for her,” I said evenly. “As I had for you.”
Our stares met. I took my next shot before she had a chance to react.
“Did you kill Sybil Dabos?”
Nathalie blanched. “Miss Dabos?” she asked. On the other side of the room, Anais had gone still, her face paling. “No—I thought her death was an accident. Was it not so?”
I glanced at Anais, who nodded in confirmation.
Nathalie was still under the influence of her Wit.
Telling the truth, then. Considering the dark-haired maiden had been removed from the Vainglory prior to Sybil’s death, she’d been an unlikely suspect in the murder to begin with; even so, it was nice to have someone crossed off the list. “I’d like to return to this veiled lady,” I said. “Did she—”
“Ah!” Both Nathalie and I jolted at the sound of Anais’s screech. Her features were flushed; hastily, she dropped Good Sister, cradling her arm against her chest. “The dreadful creature bit me,” she hissed.
“Darling!” Nathalie flew out of her chair and knelt on the ground, her arms spread open. The white mouse rushed to her, curling into her cupped palms. Settling the animal in her lap, Nathalie cooed over it for a moment, then glanced back up at me. “Apologies, Miss Lovett. What were you asking?”
Anais scoffed. She was sucking on her thumb, looking generally aggravated. Her cheeks were so pink, it appeared as though she’d been slapped. “It’s no use now,” she spat. “That horrid little thing broke my concentration. My Wit won’t hold her any longer—whatever she tells you next may be a lie.”
Nathalie glared at her. Her expression was odd—part revulsion, part intrigue, as if Anais’s admission had stoked her curiosity. A second later, she turned and smiled innocently at me.
Anais’s warning in mind, I relented. “It seems as though you and I shall be seeing a lot of each other these next few weeks, Miss Moreau,” I said instead.
“A wedding is a stressful enough affair without taking into account threats from within one’s own bridal party.
I’d prefer to make allies where I can, not enemies. ” I arched a brow. “Will you help me?”
Nathalie regarded me, still holding Good Sister in her lap. “Miss Tremblay just told you that I may lie.”
“I suppose we’ll have to do things the old-fashioned way, in that case,” I answered. “And trust one another.”
The other silkwitch crossed her arms, examining me from where she sat hunched over on the floor.
“Yes,” she said a moment later. “I’ll help you.
” She tossed me a wink. “I quite like you.” Setting Good Sister aside, she rose.
“And I’m sorry about the garotte,” she added as she stood.
“My mother insisted. She has her heart set on me marrying an Alaire.”
I found myself amused against my will by her simpering pout. “I have no mother, and I likely would have done the same,” I replied.
Turning back to the mirror, I examined myself in its reflection.
“That will be all for today, ladies,” I said over my shoulder. “I’ll see you both soon.”
—
From the fitting, I made my way to the billiards room.
The space was quiet, done up in shades of dark green. Checkered drapes hung over the windows; from their posts on the far wall, several hunting trophies eyed me as I entered. A stag was at their center, his antlers throwing great knobbed shadows over the floor.
I’d been meaning to come here since the previous day, when Anais had identified this room as the site of her and Dorian’s rendezvous during the Midway Ball.
She hadn’t given me much during that conversation—certainly not enough to justify the deal I’d made with her—but there had been one part of her confession which had caught my attention.
I thought I heard a door open…it must have been one farther down the hall.
Closing my eyes, I summoned my Wit, letting my vision flood with gray. It only took me a few seconds to find what I was searching for. There. Beneath where I knew the hunting trophies stood, an outline had emerged. A door—hidden when my eyes had been open, visible now that they were shut.
An entrance to the tunnels. Was it possible that this was the source of the sound which Anais had heard?
Had someone—Nathalie’s mysterious veiled woman, perhaps—attempted to exit into Fortblanche through this door during the Midway Ball, only to hastily retreat again once they realized the room was occupied?
That woman. Though I couldn’t place it, there was something about Nathalie’s description of her which felt familiar. Where had I seen a person like that before?
I examined the door a moment longer, turning theories over in my mind. Then, at a loss, I departed.