Chapter Twenty-Four
Noé set me down.
Seated in the drawing room were two people, a man and a woman.
It was the former who’d spoken—a stout, barrel-chested fellow in a dark suit, with pale skin and a shell of oiled brunette hair slicked back at his temples.
At first glance I put him well into his forties, until I looked again and saw that in reality, he was quite young—likely no more than a decade older than me.
His features had a maturity about them which made him appear more aged than he truly was, like the stiff, handsome refinement of a glass of whiskey.
Sitting across from him, her teacup pulled up to her chest as though scandalized, was his partner. Her, I knew.
“Miss Tremblay.” I wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or unnerved by Anais’s presence in the drawing chamber.
To be certain, she was far less likely to kill me than the silkwitch whom Noé and I had just outrun, but as one of my bridesmaids, she was still technically a competitor in the Maiden’s Race.
In this matter, was she on my side or against me? “I…didn’t realize you were visiting.”
Anais set down her drink. Compared to the rest of the house, the murk in the drawing room was thinner, allowing me a glimpse of her features.
Still, the difference was minimal; the windows along the back wall had their drapes drawn, just like their siblings throughout the estate, and the gas lighting was turned down low.
“Mr. Alaire banished us here at the start of the game,” she replied stonily.
“Seeing as Adélard refuses to play.” Her gaze swept over me, narrowed in the relative darkness.
“He told us you were running late. Good to know you’re still alive, then. ”
“It is a child’s game.” Opposite her, Anais’s companion spoke up—and had she given Adélard as his name? My heart gave a squeeze, my awareness of the ongoing race briefly dissipating. I was standing in a room with Adélard Drake. Anais’s fiancé, master of Balmoore’s cloisters.
Of course. Now that I knew what to search for, the resemblance between the Cloister Master and his nephew, the boy I’d met during the Vainglory, was apparent.
That hair, the same shade as Dorian Drake’s—the strong brows and sharp chin, just like the former judge’s own.
Even Adélard’s eyes were blue like Dorian’s, though the elder Drake’s were rounder, with a watery sheen to them that reminded me of a rabbit’s.
“Noé.” Adélard seemed to notice my fiancé for the first time, his inquisitive gaze drifting to where Noé was still lingering by the door. “Which implies that you are Miss Cecilia Lovett.”
His interest swung back toward me. I had the impression of a collector stopping to peer at a curious object on a shelf.
He wet his lips. “I have heard so very much about you.”
We all jerked as a burst of banging issued from the other side of the door. Delphine. Wincing, I bowed my head. “Excuse me,” I said to Adélard; then, turning to my fiancé, “I’ve asked the door not to admit her. She won’t be able to follow us inside.”
Noé nodded. I’d begun to face forward again when a horrible cracking noise pulled my attention back to the entrance. Where Noé’s shoulders had been pressed against the door only minutes prior, a sharp, pointed object now pierced the wood grain: the tip of Delphine’s knife.
Anais made a small, startled sound. I waited until Delphine had yanked her weapon free again before I spoke.
“I apologize for the commotion, sir,” I said to Adélard. “As you can see, my bridesmaids are rather…competitive.”
Unlike his betrothed, the Cloister Master didn’t seem to have been disturbed by the appearance of the knife. His stare was fixed on the drawing room entrance, his head tilted slightly to the side.
At my address, he glanced back at me. “It is to be expected,” he responded neutrally. “Your Wit has to do with doors, does it not?”
His change in subject briefly threw me. I looked over at Noé, who was watching the Cloister Master with a careful expression, before answering him. “It does, sir.”
Adélard hummed. “How intriguing. A rather mundane talent, one might think, and yet…it can be that the plainest tool is the one a person most frequently finds themselves reaching for. Like a hammer, for instance.” He clucked his tongue, drinking me in.
“My nephew, I believe, found you to be rather formidable during Bastian’s tournament.
A pity that I cannot add you to my little menagerie. ”
My stomach clenched at his reference to the cloisters.
Aside from the basic fact that silkwitches who were admitted to the institution never left it again, very little was known about what occurred beyond its arched gates.
I recalled Noé’s remark when I’d asked him whether Bastian was buying product from Adélard not long ago: Father has always said cloister product is substandard…
The enchantment in them is there, but weak—more chaff than wheat, as if someone has shaved off all the best bits and left only the scraps behind.
What kind of dark realm did the man in front of me reign over, that the magesilk formed from his witches was so diluted?
But there was another mention Adélard had made which interested me. An opportunity I couldn’t afford not to take.
I smiled. “High praise indeed,” I said. “The younger Mr. Drake is a difficult man to impress.” Widening my eyes, I drew in a breath.
“Our meeting today is serendipitous, sir. It has been my dearest wish that your nephew attend my upcoming wedding, so I may thank him for the role he played in bringing my fiancé and me together, yet thus far I have been unable to reach him. Do you know where he is currently staying? An address I may write him, perhaps?”
Anais was studying me scrupulously. I ignored her, focusing on Adélard, who wrinkled his nose.
“Dorian is busy,” he said with a wave of his hand.
“Bastian has requested that I represent our family at your nuptials in his place. Of course, I told him it would be a pleasure to aid his son as a groomsman.”
He smiled thinly at Noé, who tensed beside me. Groomsman. That explained the Cloister Master’s presence easily enough. Noé had said the Maiden’s Race was meant to be run by both sides of a bridal party; since only my half was attempting to kill me, though, I hadn’t given much thought to his.
Is Adélard the only member? The question came to me unbidden. If the Cloister Master had been asked to replace Dorian—one of the Vainglory’s two judges alongside Noé—as a groomsman, would the other have been enlisted as well?
Eliot. Was he here?
“Yes?”
Adélard’s voice was like a whip—I stiffened, fearful it was me he was speaking to, only to realize a second later that his attention was trained on Anais. His fiancée straightened in her seat, as though she’d been flicked with a switch. “I didn’t say anything.”
The Cloister Master’s tone grew colder. “You appeared intrigued just now,” he replied. “Did you hear a name which interested you? You are eager to find my nephew, too, hmm?”
Her cheeks colored. Brow creasing, Noé stepped forward, but I spoke first. “I’ve been meaning to offer my congratulations, sir, on your own upcoming union,” I offered.
“You couldn’t have picked a better match for yourself.
Your fiancée and I grew close during the Vainglory—I count her among my dearest of friends. ”
Anais glared at me from her chair. I let my lips quirk for a half second before Adélard’s arched brow prompted me to flatten them again.
“Oh?” He glanced over at Anais, his tone like that of a man who has just been informed that his dog has done a clever trick.
“I wouldn’t know. I told Bastian I disapproved of that event.
Females throwing themselves about like hens for plucking…
I refused to step foot in Fortblanche until the proceedings had concluded. ”
He sighed.
“I must admit, I am endlessly fascinated by the notion of female friendship. Your kind does not seem capable of true platonic love, I think. You draw near to one another only in the way that wolves do—so that you might tear out one another’s throats.
” He nodded vaguely in his fiancée’s direction. “I have informed Anais of this.”
The fair-haired silkwitch’s expression was forced. “Many times, dearest.”
Adélard’s response was cut off by another loud thump from the corridor. The noise was heavier this time, and somehow less human; Delphine, I guessed, had fetched some sort of makeshift battering ram and was hurling it against the door.
It was as good an excuse as any to depart.
“We didn’t mean to disturb you two,” I said with another glance toward Noé.
“We must continue with our game, but…Perhaps if you hear from your nephew, you will share the news with me?” I asked the Cloister Master.
“I should love nothing more than to meet with you both before my wedding day.”
Adélard’s interest in me visibly waned at the reminder of my upcoming nuptials. Desperate to get it back, I added, “I’d be happy to tell you more about my Wit.”
His eagerness was palpable, like fingers on my skin. Still, he demurred. “Anais manages my correspondence.” Turning to his bride, Adélard asked, “You will handle it?”
The other silkwitch jolted. “If that is your wish,” she replied evenly. She looked at me. “I would exit through the windows, if you cannot use the door,” she stated flatly. “Mr. Alaire told us he had them all unlocked for the race.”
It was the first time in the course of our encounter that she’d sounded even mildly like herself.
I paused, debating. I’d directed Noé toward this room with the intention of utilizing the tunnel door I’d sensed hiding within it, but that was before I’d realized Adélard and Anais were taking their tea here.
I didn’t know whether either of them was aware of the passage’s existence; was it worth the potential exposure?
Briefly, I let my gaze skip to the place where my Wit had detected the entryway lurking, in an alcove filled with a stern-looking marble bust. The Cloister Master followed the path of my stare. When he saw what I was looking at, he frowned as though intrigued.
“I wonder,” Adélard said abruptly. “This race. Is it true that if I were to succeed in taking the young Mr. Alaire’s crown, I would earn Miss Lovett’s company for the evening?
” He blinked at the ivy garland on Noé’s head, then at me.
“I do rather like to observe silkwitches without their keepers around. Their Wits…It is fascinating, how far their magic may be pushed when paired with a knowledgeable teacher.”
His statement, along with an additional thump from the hallway, made my decision for me. I reached out to touch Noé’s wrist. “We’ll use the windows.”