Chapter 21
CHAPTER 21
WENDY
P retending not to notice the way the air had thickened between me and the captain is a simpler task, given the view out my window. The mountain pass looks out over the glassy, shimmering sea to the east, then a snowcapped mountain range to the west. As we wind around the mountain, the view oscillates between the two, making the ride altogether pleasant.
Except for the captain’s looming presence, of course. The man exudes the energy of the sea on an uncharacteristically warm day following a cold front—the sky might as well be red, the wind treacherous and heady with the weight of a stirring storm.
“Charlie says I should have asked you before I forced you to train with me,” he says out of nowhere.
I blink, schooling my neck not to turn to face him. I’d rather not look at the captain at the moment. He’s traded his usual captain’s attire for a black suit and tailcoat, and he looks too much like the man I once danced with. The man who slaughtered my parents in front of me. Slick and handsome and sharp enough to cut me into pieces.
Because I’m hoping to end the conversation, I say, “Charlie also says I shouldn’t have expected to assist the crew without learning to defend myself.”
An aggravated huff sounds behind me, but I keep my eyes trained on the bustle of the docks below as we round the curve.
“I wasn’t thinking,” he says. “About how it might feel for you to be touched like that.”
I can’t help myself; I shift around toward the captain, though the sight of him sends pangs through my chest. “I assure you, grabbing my wrist isn’t what those men had in mind when they touched me.”
The captain’s eyes are trained on my wrist, but he won’t find my bruise. It’s long healed. Besides, it’s not like that fae eyesight of his can see through my satin gloves.
“But that is why you freeze up when you’re in danger. Your mother taught you that if you screamed, no one would come. She taught you not to fight back.”
I bite my lip. “Please stop.”
But the captain’s not done. “She made you train your body not to respond when it was in danger.”
“I’ve fought back before,” I protest, thinking of struggling with Tink in the ocean as she tried to shove my head below the water. But he’s right; I’ve only ever truly fought back against a woman. I suppose I’d attacked the henchman in the alley as he rounded the corner, but that was different. I’d launched myself at him first. Once he’d gotten his hands on me, I’d given up. “Fine. I seem to be paralyzed by a man’s touch,” I say, then shooting daggers with my eyes at the captain, add, “Are you satisfied to hear me admit it?”
“Not at all,” he says, but he remains silent the rest of the ride.
By the time the driver brings the carriage to a halt outside the Carlisle manor, even he can sense the tension in the carriage.
“Oh, how my wife and I love a little lovers’ spat,” he chuckles as he ushers us onto the pebbled drive. “Nothing beats the lovemaking afterward, I assure you.” He winks at the captain. “But I’m sure you already know that. Probably why you picked the fight with her to begin with, isn’t it?”
I don’t check Astor for his reaction. Instead, I retreat, allowing the world around me to go quiet as I examine the manor stretching out before me. Beautiful doesn’t seem a fair word to describe it. Massive panels of glass reflect the midday sun, making up the majority of the structure, the windows towering above us like watchmen protecting the sprawling land that cascades down the mountain. Bordering the glass are sections of ebony brick that stretch to the heavens in spiraling turrets that meld into the side of the mountain itself.
I can almost feel the brick underneath my black satin gloves, scraping against my fingertips. The rush that would spike inside my blood if I were ever to reach the top of one of those towers.
“Welcome to the Carlisle Manor,” says the driver, sounding pleased with himself, as if he were the architect of such a masterpiece.
“Strange,” I say, taking the captain’s arm as a footman meets us and leads us toward the ornate doors. I ignore the way the captain flinches under my initiated touch. “You’d think that people who deal in secrets wouldn’t have built a house with so many windows.”
“But isn’t that exactly what they’re selling?” asks the captain. “The luxury of peeking in where you’re not supposed to?”
I nod in concession, but something about the house bothers me. “Except that it’s just an illusion. You can’t see into the house, not really. Not with the way the sun reflects on the windows.”
“You can’t see in during the daytime,” the captain corrects.
The inside of Carlisle Manor is just as breathtaking as its exterior. Crystal chandeliers reflect scattered lights all about the halls. Wooden paneling and battens painted a deep teal line the walls, giving the place a soothing aura, which I immediately mistrust. Displayed in ornate silver frames are paintings of famous heists, all contributing to the manor’s air of intrigue.
“Is your interest piqued, Darling?” the captain whispers, though I can’t help but notice the way he doesn’t press his lips to my ear like he once did.
When I turn to look at him, he flicks his head ever so slightly toward the parlor we’re being led into. I catch a glimpse of blonde hair inside, so I flash the captain my prettiest smile, one that comes too easily due to my years of practice. When I speak, I sound like a girl who marvels at the world instead of fearing it. “I feel as if I’m being let in on a secret, don’t you?”
Astor blinks and clears his throat, stiffening under my touch. Or maybe it’s the feigned delight in my voice that has him cringing.
“Ah! Lord Rivers,” says a thin man with porcelain skin, blond hair, and wire-rimmed glasses. “What a pleasure it is to be graced with your acquaintance. And your wife,” he says, flashing a pretty set of teeth at me. “Well, aren’t you just a prize?”
He takes my hand and kisses my knuckles. I silently thank Astor for thinking to supply me with the satin gloves.
Lord Carlisle’s wife soon follows him, though if I hadn’t memorized Astor’s notes on these two, I would have assumed she was his sister. Her fair complexion and general roundness of face are similar enough to his to be eerie. She looks to be about my age, so much so it takes me a moment to remember that she’s seventeen years my senior.
“Why, Lady Rivers, I just know we’re to be the best of friends,” she says, an expression I’ve always found off-putting since it is almost always spoken upon a first meeting based on nothing other than appearance and preconceived notions. Or, in Lady Carlisle’s case, wanting something from me. Thankfully, my mother gave me her smile, and I wear it dutifully.
“Congratulations on your union,” says Lord Carlisle. “From what I understand about the customs of Delphi, it seems the two of you must be residing in the heavens at the moment.”
“Isn’t it so romantic, Arthur?” says Lady Carlisle, clapping her hands together. “Say, we should take a year, just the two of us, to never be apart.”
Arthur Carlisle winks at his wife. “But then how would we divide the duties of our business to make it flourish?”
The mention of money must be an aphrodisiac for Lady Carlisle, because she bites her lip and blushes a deep scarlet.
The couple leads us into the parlor, and after half an hour of chatting about things of no importance over tea, Astor begins tapping on the cedar armrest of the loveseat they insisted the newlyweds share. “As you well know, my wife and I are not here simply for a social call.”
I fight the urge to roll my eyes. Astor might mock me for being an heiress, but at least I learned tact. “What my husband means is that we’ve spent our entire journey hoping, desperately really, that you might be able to help us. We’re quite in love, you see,” I say, taking Astor’s hand from where it’s resting on his knee next to me. I imagine it’s taking every morsel of self-control in him not to flinch underneath my touch, but slowly, he sinks into the role of adoring husband and begins stroking my fingers, as if lost in thought.
I ignore the way my skin heats under his touch, even with the satin of my gloves separating us.
“Yes,” says Lord Carlisle, crossing his foot over his knee as he leans backward in his chair. “We have to admit, we were a tad surprised to hear a couple so acclaimed for their ardent love needed our help. Usually, people come to us a few years into marriage.”
“You mean when the love dwindles and one spouse is looking to undo the other with a secret?” Astor asks, his fingers tensing in my hand.
Lady Carlisle purses her lips through her smile. “That is typically the case, but we expect it will not be for the two of you. Especially considering you’ve come here together.”
“I assure you I’m not the type of husband to betray my wife,” says Astor, and though I wait for him to feign adoration for me, he keeps his stare level with Lord Carlisle’s. I wonder how often Astor has to repeat those words to himself as he’s planning to rid himself of his Mating Mark, the last strand of magic that binds him to his dead wife.
I wonder how much unnecessary guilt plagues him.
“Our problem, you see,” I interject, pinching Astor lightly in an attempt to get him to behave, “is that my husband and I are both Mated.”
“So we can see,” says Lady Carlisle, her blue eyes dangling on my Mating Mark ravenously. “I must say, I’m a tad envious. Not only has the idea of a Mated Pair always stolen my heart, but those golden freckles of yours are quite fashionable. I imagine, now that you’ve gained a Lady’s status, girls from all over will be painting their faces to look like yours.”
I try not to wriggle uncomfortably. It’s easier than it should be.
“The problem is—”
“We’re not each other’s Mates,” the captain says, finishing my sentence hastily. Like he’s been waiting this entire visit to clear the air on this matter. I wonder how much it’s been killing him to masquerade as if his Mark belongs to me, not to the woman he so obviously adores, even in death.
Lord Carlisle glances between my freckles and Astor’s Mark. The captain has kept his sleeves covering his forearm, so the only part of the Mark visible is the portion that still glows gold. From here, his Mark appears as alive as ever.
“I had been wondering why they don’t match,” Lord Carlisle says. “Though now you’ve assuaged my curiosity.”
“We want them gone,” I say.
The lady quirks her head, but she purses her lips and says nothing. I try to avoid her assessing gaze.
“Yes, I see how those could complicate matters should you ever come across your true…” He stops, reconsidering his word choice. “Those with Mating Marks to match,” says Lord Carlisle, folding his hands together.
“So you’ll help us?” I say.
Lord Carlisle strokes the ebony vase resting on the side table next to his seat. “That depends. Exactly what is it that you want to know? The process to remove a Mating Mark?”
“That is unnecessary,” says Astor, freeing his hand of mine to prop his elbows on his knees in front of him. “We’re informed of the process. It’s someone to perform the ritual that we’ve yet to uncover.”
I quirk a brow at Astor. Already, he’s kept me in the dark. Other than the fact that a shadow soother is necessary to the process, I was under the impression he didn’t know how to remove the Mating Mark. Unfortunately, I don’t manage to school my expression before the lady of the house cocks her head at me. Her eyes shift greedily between me and Astor, digging for the reason behind why he’s kept back information from the object of his affection.
“You’re aware it’s an unpleasant ordeal, then,” says Lord Carlisle.
“Shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Hm,” Carlisle says. “Well, I’m afraid I don’t possess the information you need. But my wife and I are hosting a dinner party tonight, and I have a feeling that one of our guests might be able to enlighten us on this subject.”
“Which guest?” I ask.
He flashes me a grin as practiced as mine. “If I told you, that would take the fun out of it, wouldn’t it?”
Astor stands to leave, shrugging at his coat. “We’re unable to stay. As it is, we’ve already lingered too long. If I’d known this was going to be a waste of time—”
The lord stands to meet him, a head shorter with his chin jutted upward to meet the captain’s gaze. “I assure you, Rivers. Stay the night with us, and we’ll have the information you need by the morning.”
I crane my head, feigning confusion. “I thought you said you could have the information by the end of the dinner party.”
“I said the guest would be attending the dinner party. I didn’t say that’s when we’d procure the information,” says Lord Carlisle, glancing at his wife, who grins mischievously at him from her seat.
Unease twists in my belly, but I can’t quite pinpoint its source. Lady Carlisle turns her attention to me, examining my every move.
A test.
I jump from my seat and grab onto Astor’s arm. “Cortland, please,” I say, with all the desperation I can muster. “Don’t be stubborn. They’re offering us a way out. I can’t…I can’t bear the thought of my heart being stolen away from you. Please, it’s just an evening.”
Astor flicks his green eyes down to where my fingers are clutching his arm. For a moment, I think he’s actually going to shrug me off. But then the tension in his shoulders loosens, and he cups my cheek in his hand. “You know I’d do anything to keep you, Darling.”
Without my permission, my mind flashes back to the first night we met, the captain’s thumb on my jaw. You missed a spot , is what he’d said as he’d stroked my Mating Mark where my maids had forgotten to apply paint.
I douse that moment in the sticky scent of my parents’ blood, the thud of their bodies hitting the floor.
“Of course, as awkward as it might be, we must discuss payment,” says Lord Carlisle, attempting to break the stare Astor and I share.
“I was under the impression you traded in secrets,” says Astor, without taking his eyes off of me.
The lady of the house giggles. “Well, we have to make our money somehow. Most of our guests pay, but for those who can’t afford it—which is not the case with a wealthy couple like yourselves—occasionally a secret will do. So long as it’s worth our while.”
“You mean so long as it’s the type of thing someone else would pay good money for,” says Astor, ignoring her aside about the Rivers’ wealth.
I turn toward the Carlisles. “Isn’t the knowledge that the Rivers’ marriage is on a treacherous path due to our Mating Marks valuable enough? You don’t think someone would pay good coin for the lead that there’s a woman out there somewhere who’s capable of stealing my husband’s heart…and his inheritance?”
Astor shoots me a warning look that I don’t need words to read. You’re not exactly being the weak-minded girl the Carlisles want you to be at the moment , he seems to say.
Still, there’s a glint of amusement shining in his eyes.
“You assume the worst of people, Lady Rivers,” says Lord Carlisle, lips strained at the edges.
“Surely you can see why I fear the information spreading,” I say, allowing my eyes to cut across to Lady Carlisle, who is tapping her sharp, blood-red fingernails against the side table. “The scheme would be simple to organize. All an enemy would have to do is find my husband’s Mate, then trap the girl in a contract to split the inheritance in exchange for the information about her Mate’s whereabouts.”
Lord Carlisle leans forward, matching Astor’s posture, then rests his thumb against his bottom lip. “And if your husband’s Mate is already spoken for? She might not agree to the scheme.”
My heart pounds against my chest, my Mating Mark searing against my cheek and neck. My answer comes out stilted, but resolute all the same. “Trust me. She would agree. She wouldn’t be able to resist.”
Astor doesn’t move, except for the slightest twitch of his Mated hand. Lord Carlisle’s grin is cruel, slithering up his cheeks. “You two are in a precarious position, aren’t you?”
“Lady Rivers makes a decent argument,” says Lady Carlisle. “Your secret would fetch a high price among several of our patrons. Except the secret becomes worthless once the two of you break your Mating Bonds.”
I flash her a grin, pleasant enough that my mother would have been proud. “Then you’d best sell the secret with haste instead of trying to benefit from it yourself. While it’s still worth something, I mean.”
At that, I think I catch Astor smile, though it’s in the periphery of my vision, and by the time I turn to him to check, all evidence has vanished.
“You found yourself a clever wife, Corbin—Cortland,” says Carlisle, correcting himself effortlessly. “I’d tell you those are more valuable than beautiful ones, but it seems the both of us have been fortunate in both arenas.”
Astor plays his part well, turning to admire me as he places his hand at the crook of my neck and grazes his thumb across my jaw. If I didn’t already know it’s channeled loathing simmering underneath the surface, I’d likely mistake it for something else. “Fortunate, indeed.”