Chapter Twenty
“Your fiancé wishes to see you, miss.”
I set down the newspaper I’d been studying.
It was the following day, midmorning. I’d slept late, having stayed up well into the previous night reflecting on all I’d learned.
Noé had already departed from my room by the time I’d finally woken, a fact which—in the moment—had cheered me.
A full day spent contending with my fellow silkwitches had been exhausting enough; I had no desire to begin a fresh one arguing with my husband-to-be.
Now Bernard stared at me from across the length of the breakfast table, where I was seated with a cup of coffee at one elbow and a pile of newspapers at the other.
I’d been rifling through the stack for over an hour, searching out evidence to support a suspicion which had occurred to me after further pondering Nathalie’s description of the veiled lady her mice had seen—with little success.
The information I was seeking eluded me, whether because I wasn’t looking in the proper place or because it did not exist at all, I’d yet to determine.
Setting down my reading, I replied to the butler. “When does he want me?”
Bernard cleared his throat. “Now, miss,” he replied. “He said it was urgent, I’m afraid.”
Did he? I doubted that meant much, except that Noé had finally realized I would not come when he called, lest he tacked some sort of ultimatum onto his summons.
Still, I pushed away my paper, rising from my chair and following Bernard out of the room without protest. With autumn’s arrival, I’d been forced to set aside my lighter summer frocks; today, I wore an ivory shirtwaist with pearl-buttoned bows down the middle, paired with a full plaid skirt in shades of gray and blue.
It swished around my ankles as we walked, the only noise in the otherwise-silent halls.
We strode onward without speaking. I tucked away my surprise as Bernard led me—not to the library, or any of the other rooms where Noé and I had met previously—but to the front of the house, past the grand entry hall and through the double doors, outside.
Daylight assaulted me. Directly beyond Fortblanche’s entrance was a circular gravel driveway where the cliffside road curled around a large stone fountain to deposit guests.
Noé was waiting toward its left, cigarette in hand, dressed in a light summer-weight suit despite the chill in the air, a white shirt with a rounded club collar, and a cap in a checked print.
He was leaning against an utterly bizarre contraption, the likes of which I had never seen before.
It had spoked wheels similar to that of a carriage—smaller in the front, larger in the back—and a stiff, wooden-framed body.
Rather than the enclosed carriage box I was accustomed to, though, there was only a leather booth and a padded, rickety-looking bench sticking off the back of it.
A number of strange instruments were arranged in front of the former, including what looked to be a rubber horn and a curious sort of wooden handle, attached to the vehicle’s hood at one end and featuring a leather-wrapped grip on the other.
The machine was lacking both driver and horses. It sat, crouched, over the driveway like a great black cat, coiled onto its hind legs and readying itself to pounce.
Noé lowered his cigarette when he saw me. “Darling!” he called out. “There you are. Isn’t it such a splendid day? I thought we’d do a little adventuring.”
He waved me over to him, Bernard already turning to retreat inside. Wary, I drew closer. Nearer to the—was it a vehicle?—I could see that the thing’s wheels appeared freshly painted, its leather booth shining as if brand-new.
I paused several paces away, not entirely confident it wouldn’t snap open its great hood and bite me. “What is this?”
Noé patted the vehicle’s side. It had no doors, I realized, just a wide, open dip where riders could step from the ground into its belly.
“Do you like her? She is one of only three in the world. My father calls her an automobile—had her custom-designed by our own artisans. She is powered by magesilk, naturally, though you can’t see her engine as it’s just beneath our seats. ”
My stomach dropped. I could only stare at him, affronted. “You cannot expect me to ride in this death trap.”
Noé’s eyes glinted. “Oh, but I do,” he replied smoothly. “We have much to discuss, and I am tired of creeping around Father in order to discuss it.” He lifted his chin toward the automobile. “There is no privacy like that of the open road.”
“And there is no solitude like that of the grave,” I hissed. “Besides, we cannot go anywhere now. Today is the Maiden’s Race—it was listed on the schedule your father shared.”
That damned schedule had been another factor preventing me from sleeping the previous night.
I still had no idea what exactly the next event—the so-called Maiden’s Race—entailed, nor had I any desire to ask.
The memory of the garotte in Nathalie’s pocket, of Manon’s hands flat against my back, pushing me off the ledge, told me all I needed; whatever today’s gathering was, I was certain my bridesmaids had already planned for it.
I was certain at least one of them would come for me before it finished.
Noé removed his cigarette from his mouth, holding it between his fingers. “So?”
“So,” I echoed. “We are obligated to attend.”
He tapped a spray of ash onto the ground. “You mean to tell me that my father is actively trying to have you killed, and you are—what—too polite to skip an opportunity for your own execution?” He drew again at his smoke, then exhaled. “I don’t give a damn about the race, Tamerlane. Let’s go.”
It was, admittedly, a fair point. Begrudgingly, I advanced toward the automobile’s open side, debating how to enter it.
“Would you look at that!” Noé cried. “She sees reason.” Smirking, he extended an arm toward me. “Help up, sweetheart?”
His voice was obviously mocking. I wanted to take the pair of calfskin gloves he had tucked in his trouser pocket and beat him with one. “Don’t touch me.”
He held up his hands innocently. Averting my gaze, I continued my examination of the machine. The gap between the ground and its floor was sizable—really, a supportive elbow would be a great help, but I refused to admit as much.
Drawing in a breath, I lifted my skirts, clambering awkwardly into the vehicle. My left foot wobbled in its heeled boot as my right one connected with the automobile’s rim; I cursed as I lost my balance and tumbled forward, one knee colliding painfully with the wood.
Straightening, I hoisted myself into the leather booth and shot Noé a glare. My confidence wavered as, with deliberate showiness, he reached down toward the automobile’s bottom rim and popped something free: a footrest.
My cheeks flushed. Maneuvering to the front of the automobile, Noé turned a hand crank, which I now noticed was attached to the hood.
I stiffened in my seat as the machine roared to life, the engine announcing its presence beneath the booth with a noise like the yowl of a cat.
The sound sent a thrill down my spine, but I held my composure as Noé stepped onto the footrest, then swung himself easily into the booth beside me.
Once he’d gotten settled, he took the wooden lever—a steering mechanism of sorts?—in hand. My heart pounded as, seemingly of its own volition, the automobile began to roll forward, picking up speed until we were bumping down the driveway at a steady clip.
I yelped as the vehicle jerked unsteadily to the right, then the left, tipping us dangerously close to the edge of the cliffside and the steep drop beyond. “Sisters three! Have you driven this before?”
“How could I have?” Noé called back over the growl of the engine.
“It was delivered only yesterday.” His cigarette was still clenched in his mouth, twitching along with the machine as we heaved onward; noticing my horrified expression, he chuckled through his teeth.
“Oh, don’t look so frightened. I’m a quick learner—there we are. ”
Another shriek escaped me. I clutched at my caul as Noé threw the lever to the right, the automobile lurching along with it to narrowly avoid plunging straight past a bend in the road, into the open air.
I caught a glimpse out the vehicle’s side as we swung back toward safety; far below us, the ocean seethed, frothy white jaws snapping.
“Do we have a destination in mind, or is your only goal to drive us off a cliff?”
Noé took a final draw of his cigarette, then stubbed it out on the auto’s rim. “Patience, Tamerlane,” he replied enigmatically. “You’ll see when we get there.” Keeping one hand on the steering lever, he glanced over at me. “You’ve been holding something back from me.”
His voice was too casual. It made me go rigid. What was he going to accuse me of now?
“When were you going to tell me that Lear is engaged?”
For a moment, surprise rendered me silent. I had to keep my hand from drifting toward my skirt pocket, where I’d placed my coin before departing my bedroom earlier. Now that Eliot had given his up, there was no point in my carrying it, but I couldn’t bring myself to leave it behind.
If I kept a piece of him near me, it was almost like he hadn’t left at all.
“I didn’t think it would matter to you,” I lied, carefully, a few seconds later. “Seeing as you have insisted to me—multiple times, and rather melodramatically, I might add—that the two of you are no longer friends.”
Noé huffed. “Well. Are you all right?”
I turned toward him, lured by the strangeness of his question. “Excuse me?”
He looked vaguely uncomfortable, as though he’d drunk a swallow of spoiled milk. At least that made two of us. “How are you faring?” he elaborated. His eyes darted briefly my way. “I am guessing he did not inform you prior to his proposal.”
My cheeks burned. “What do my emotions matter to you?” I snapped. The automobile thunked as we rolled over a dip in the road; we were descending steadily now, winding down the cliffside toward the capital. “Is that what this expedition of yours is?” I asked abruptly. “A—a pity drive?”
Noé smirked. “No, it is not a pity drive,” he replied. Clearing his throat, he angled his chin in my direction. “You can speak openly with me, you know. I’m familiar with the trials and tribulations which accompany loving Eliot Lear. Who can say—perhaps you may even find that I can relate to you.”
His attention flicked toward me, then back to the steering lever, quick as a change in the wind. It disturbed me—the gray bristle of his stare, like a wire brush scraping away my protective cover. Perhaps you may even find that I can relate to you.
I thought of his moral ambiguity, the vices which he wore like bruises, arrayed for all to see.
How he’d worked like a puppet master during the Vainglory, steering me this way and that, sending me missives through candle flame and then turning me loose, to succeed or fail of my own accord.
How eventually, even his best friend had come to despise him.
I would not let myself be like him.
“You misunderstand, dear,” I said coolly. “Nothing is amiss between Eliot and me. Just because he cast off your friendship so easily does not mean he wishes to do the same to me.”
I smiled as I said it, driving the barb home.
Noé’s features tightened; I watched his knuckles flex around the steering lever, then relax.
“Is that so?” he returned. “So he did tell you of the engagement to Clio, then? He didn’t hide it from you until after the deed was done, because he knew you’d disapprove and wanted to avoid tarnishing his precious moral purity with your dissent? ”
My heart lurched. To Noé I said, “He tells me everything.”
My fiancé chuckled. “Then what a lucky girl you are.”
We had nothing more to say to one another after that.
Around us, the city sprouted; we’d descended past its wealthy crust and were now plunging toward the mud-bottomed lower quarter where I’d lived with my brother before Eliot had found me.
Pedestrians stopped to ogle the automobile as it passed, their gaping expressions making me wish I had a hat to pull over my eyes.
Where was Noé taking us?
As if in answer to my unvoiced question, our vehicle rolled to a halt. Removing his cap, Noé ran a hand through his hair, glancing over at me.
“Here we are.”
I followed the path of his raised finger and felt my stomach drop.