Chapter Forty-Three
Fortblanche felt emptier with him gone.
Noé had been absent for about an hour, having left the estate shortly after I’d finally departed the library, when Mia came to inform me that a guest was awaiting me.
As I walked through the halls to the front entrance, I wondered at who it could be.
Mireille, perhaps—back with another missive from Dorian?
Or Nathalie, come to update me on her mouse’s findings?
Could it be Eliot?
But that last thought, I put away quickly. I did not want to look at it.
I glimpsed a blond figure chatting with Bernard as I arrived in the entry hall.
The pair of them were standing by the front doors, the former gesticulating animatedly with the silk parasol she was clutching, the latter listening on, his round head bobbing.
At the sound of my heeled slippers clicking over the stone floor, they glanced up.
I hesitated as I met my visitor’s gaze. “Anais,” I said. “What are you doing here?”
The fair-haired silkwitch blinked. She was dressed in a cheerful frock of periwinkle blue, her hair braided and bound by some impossibly intricate arrangement of white ribbons, which crisscrossed her skull like latticework.
“I’ve come for my gloves,” she said. “You mentioned your maids put them aside for me, but your butler”—here she paused to glare at Bernard—“insists they have done no such thing.”
The gloves. She was still fixated on those? For a moment, I found myself intrigued, but then a wave of exhaustion rolled over me, and I simply became too tired to care. “I don’t have them,” I said flatly. “My maids were mistaken. I’m sorry.”
She called after me as I turned to leave. “Is that what you’re wearing?”
I paused. I’d dressed in a plain frock before descending to greet Anais—drab cotton in a pale dove gray. Certainly not glamorous attire by any measure, but what did it matter?
I looked back at the other silkwitch, who crossed her arms. “You know the rest of the girls will be here in an hour,” she said.
When I gave no response, she continued in a prompting manner.
“For your final fitting? I came by early, so that I might catch you before their arrival. Have you forgotten?”
Shit. The final dress fitting—the last entry on Bastian’s bridal schedule prior to the wedding itself. In the haze of all that had preceded Noé’s departure, I’d forgotten.
A wave of panic crested over me. This fitting was an opportunity, I knew that—my last opportunity to question my bridesmaids before Bastian’s wedding-day deadline—and yet the thought of facing my fellow silkwitches made my stomach feel as though it were filled with rocks.
Even if I’d been wrong to accuse Clio, one of those girls had been in the turret room with me last night.
If Nathalie’s mouse hadn’t intervened, one of them likely would have killed me.
My pulse quickened. What was it that Noé had said? All it takes is a door left open…and all your beautiful plans will fall to nothing.
I was just so tired of having to defend myself. And now that death had drawn so close…I could feel its cold breath on the back of my neck, and the truth is, I was scared.
I’d been silent for a long moment. When I sensed Anais’s expression turning inquisitive, I gathered myself. “No,” I breathed. “Of course not. Just give me a minute.”
I ran back to my bedroom, not bothering to lock my door behind me.
A dress. I needed to find a new dress to put on—and a weapon to stow within it, in case any of my bridesmaids made a play during my fitting.
Would any of them make one? Or what if one of them already had?
I could picture it: a silkwitch sneaking into Fortblanche without my realizing, lying in wait until she found the perfect moment to strike.
My Wit tugged at my chest in the same second that I registered the sound of my door creaking open behind me. Heart in my throat, I grabbed the first bladed object I could find—a letter opener resting on my end table—and whirled around.
Anais’s eyes blew wide as she took in the sharp object gripped in my hand. “Sisters,” she said, releasing the doorknob she was clutching. “I’m not going to kill you. I’ll leave that to the rest of them.”
My face flushed. Turning around, I set the letter opener down, my back to her. “You’ve no right to come in here.”
I tried to make it come out bitter, but her unexpected entrance had left me too shaken. My voice was high and frightened. I sounded like a creature whose tail had been stepped on.
Anais gave no reply. I didn’t shift to face her, waiting with my shoulders hunched for her retreat. After several seconds had passed, she sighed.
“Did you ever have them?” she asked in a somewhat irritated tone. “The gloves.”
Had she really followed me up here to pester me about those damned gloves? My fingers curled over the edge of the end table. “Why do you care about them?” I asked dully. “They can’t have been worth more than fifteen twills. Have your betrothed buy you a new pair.”
I could hear the other silkwitch shifting uncomfortably to my back. For a moment, I wondered whether she would answer me at all, but then she released another exhale and said, “They were a present.” Her speech was shy, reluctant. “From Manon.”
Ah. My resolve softened. I turned to face her.
“I found another pair,” I answered. “Different from the ones you said you lost. They’re gone now anyway.”
She met my stare head-on. Again, I waited for her to take my reply and leave; again, she remained where she was, assessing me. “You are behaving decidedly oddly this morning,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “I assume it has something to do with last night’s dinner?”
Her razor-sharp gaze was difficult to evade. She smirked when I glanced away, unsettled.
“I thought so,” she said.
Without asking my permission, she crossed to the armchair by my fireplace and curled up on it, studying me from beneath her lashes.
“You and Noé were gone for quite a long while,” she said.
“Were you quarreling?” Her brows lifted, as if an idea had just occurred to her. “Have the two of you slept together?”
She sounded delighted and fascinated by the notion of it. Blood surged to my cheeks. “Sisters three. No.”
Her lips quirked upward. The reaction made the heat under my skin stoke higher; I tried again, my denial firmer this time.
“We have not,” I insisted.
It was the truth, full and unadulterated. And yet…
Sisters dammit. Why did it sound like a lie?
Regardless, Anais sat back, apparently satisfied by the answer.
“Pity,” she remarked in a downcast tone.
“He is such a strange one, you know. I’ve always wondered if that wily temperament of his would carry over into bed.
” For a second, her attention drifted, seemingly lost to imaginings.
I hated the spark of jealousy which erupted, hot and potent in my core, before she sighed and continued, “Even so, I suppose you’ll find out soon enough. What about Eliot Lear, then?”
By the three. Why was she asking about this? How did I make her stop? “I’ve not slept with either of them.”
This reply appeared to stun her even more than my previous one.
“Really?” she said incredulously. “You’re at the pole position of a love triangle, and you’ve tried neither option?
” She clicked her tongue. “How disappointing. I encourage you to reconsider, Cecilia. Truly, you may never get a chance like this again.”
My neck burned. “I am not in a love triangle,” I hissed.
Speaking the words aloud made me feel utterly ridiculous. Why was I enduring any of this? Was it not my bedroom we were in?
Remembering it, my good sense returned to me.
“This discussion is pointless. The rest of my bridesmaids will be here in less than an hour, as you said. You should leave.” In emphasis, I pivoted away from her, back toward the end table.
When a minute had passed and I’d yet to hear the sound of my door creaking open again, my patience fractured.
I turned around. “Anais.”
She pulled her knees up to her chest, eyeing me from her armchair.
“Manon took me aside after you’d fled the table yesterday.
She told me that you’d paid her a visit—and what you said to her, about my aiding you in exchange for you forgiving her attempt on your life.
” Anais paused, her expression growing disconcertingly thoughtful. “You helped me.”
The change in subject threw me. I scowled. “Don’t be sentimental,” I said, deflecting her. “Why would I help you? There would be nothing in it for me.”
Anais seemed to expect the response. “I know,” she answered. “I thought exactly the same thing.”
She regarded me for a moment, saying nothing.
My cheeks warmed. She was right; I had spoken up for her to Manon, and I had no idea how to justify the fact.
I felt suddenly exposed standing before her—as if she’d dug out some hidden vulnerability, a book of poetry I’d stashed away, and presented it to me.
As if sensing her opportunity, Anais leaned forward. “So,” she started again. “You haven’t slept with either of them, but you must have done something, yes?” Her eyes gleamed. “Tell me.”
Her prodding brought me back. At her question, memories of last night emerged; hurriedly, I locked them down. “Anais, no.”
The other silkwitch pouted. “Fine. Though, for what it’s worth, I favor Noé.”
“I do not care who you favor.” I did, and I wanted to know more. Damn her for making me discuss this.
Falling silent, I picked at my thumbnail. Clearly, Anais had taken it upon herself to keep me company until the rest of my bridesmaids arrived, whether I desired her presence or not. But perhaps I could at least turn our conversation toward more useful subjects.
I straightened. “I’d like to know more about the noise you heard during the Midway Ball, while you were with Dorian,” I started. “You said there was the sound of a door opening, but no one ever entered the room to interrupt you. Am I correct?”
“Sisters’ sake.” Anais threw up her hands. “Are you carved of stone? Is this all you talk about with your friends—strange noises and past scandals?”
I blushed, taken aback by her frustration. “I don’t have friends.”
The other silkwitch made a disapproving noise. “You’re extraordinarily untalented at making them, it is true,” she grouched. “You’re fortunate that all my social circles cast me out after the Vainglory. Otherwise, I’d never have been reduced to trying with you.”
Sitting forward in her armchair, she placed her hands in her lap.
“It seems as though I must be forced to lead by example,” she said. “I’ll start.” She fixed me with a meaningful look. “I lied to you about my engagement with Adélard.”
I perked up, intrigued.
Twisting at her engagement ring, Anais grimaced.
“I told you that he proposed to me, yes? As a counteractive measure, to patch up the Drake reputation after what his nephew did? No.” She shook her head, the motion sharp—brittle.
“No, Bastian Alaire came to me. He arranged our union. He knew about…” She stopped; her eyes darted briefly to mine.
“About Dorian, naturally, and our affair. I was given a choice: Marry Adélard and keep quiet about all that passed between his nephew and me during the Vainglory, or leave for the cloisters that night.”
She glanced down at the toes of her slippers, then lifted her head, evidently waiting for me to dispense my own confession.
My mind buzzed. “Why would Bastian intercede on the Drakes’ behalf?”
Anais frowned. “I told you,” she replied, annoyed. “He didn’t want me spreading stories about Dorian. He said he’d invested considerably in his future and didn’t want to see him fall further than he already had.”
It sounded a rather weak excuse to me. Whatever gossip the silkwitch might or might not have spread to the papers regarding her affair with Dorian, there had been plenty of rumors circulating the scandal sheets after the Vainglory.
Not to mention, arranging a marriage seemed…
extreme. How had Bastian convinced Adélard to agree to such a scheme?
But I could tell Anais had given me all she would on the subject. “So he offered you two paths forward,” I confirmed. “And you chose Adélard.”
Anais winced, then nodded. “Two years ago, my father began to suspect that there was something deeper than friendship between Manon and me. He never found proof—we were far too careful for that—but he took me to visit the cloisters nonetheless. A precaution, to show me what would happen if I refused to marry a Weaver.” She paused.
“The girls there…Adélard makes them wear Woven lockets, enchanted to encourage obedience. Whatever he commands, they do, regardless of whether they wish to or not.” Her throat bobbed.
“You can’t imagine the dread I felt when I first saw them.
You don’t need to look them in the eyes to know how miserable they are.
I knew then that I would do anything to keep myself from sharing their fate. ”
My heart tugged. “Anais.” I crossed to her, laying my hand on hers. Her cheeks were wet—when she had begun to cry, I was not certain. “Don’t marry Adélard.”
Her expression darkened. She pulled her arm away. “Did you hear nothing—”
“He’s lying to you.” I grabbed her wrist before she could retreat too far, forcing her to look at me. “All the Weavers are lying to you.”
Our stares locked. Anais’s gaze was uneasy; I could tell I had her attention, but nothing beyond that. My heart pounded. Gathering my confidence, I prepared myself to speak—
A rapping on my door cut me off. “Miss Cecilia.” It was Mia’s voice—meek and sweet. “More guests are arriving.”
The other silkwitches. Damn. I looked back at Anais, my pulse still racing away in my chest. “When is your wedding?”
It took a moment for her vision to un-fog. “A month from now.”
A month. I felt a surge of relief. We had time. “After Noé and I are married, come to me, and we will talk,” I said, releasing my grip on her wrist. “As friends.”
The word felt overlong and strange, in my mouth. Even so, Anais smiled.
“All right,” she agreed. “As friends.”
I returned her grin. The atmosphere was too easy between us—I almost felt relaxed. With the rest of my bridesmaids on their way to meet me, it was a dangerous emotion to indulge.
Rising, I pulled myself together. Still, I couldn’t keep myself from glancing down at Anais before we departed. “Why do you favor him?” I asked. “Noé.”
She didn’t seem put off by the switch in topic.
“I’m not sure,” Anais answered. “The two of you seem suited to one another, I suppose. Eliot is so neat, you know, so procedural. He clings to his code of chivalry so tightly that it threatens to strangle him. You need someone who will let you break things.”
My stomach flipped over. I didn’t ask her to expand beyond that.
Still, I heard her voice, echoing in my ears as I made my way to the door.