Chapter 22
CHAPTER 22
WENDY
T he Carlisles are more clever than either of us have given them credit for.
When the servant rings the bell that the first of the dinner guests have arrived, Lord Carlisle absconds to meet them at the door, while Lady Carlisle escorts us to the dining room.
It’s as extravagant as the rest of the manor. The western wall is made entirely of glass paneling, except for the golden rims that separate the individual panes. The result is a fiery sunset of pinks and oranges that works as a grander mural than any esteemed artist could ever hope to paint. In the distance, the sea shimmers, reflecting the sky as the sun descends on our dinner. The opposite wall is also made of glass and looks into a music parlor, where three blindfolded women in lavish gowns pluck at the strings of emerald-encrusted harps.
The table itself is carved of oak, with lace runners and crystal vases as centerpieces.
The only other guest to have arrived is a withered old man whose eyes rake over Lady Carlisle’s form in a way that reminds me of my dance with Lord Credence at the masquerade. Instead of wilting underneath his greedy stare, Lady Carlisle greets him by trailing her long fingernails down his arm with a practiced grin.
Lord Carlisle returns with the remainder of the guests, and a servant shakes his hand with both palms. Odd behavior, for a servant. I can’t help but notice how Lord Carlisle glances at whatever is in his hand, then tucks it into his inner coat pocket when the servant pulls away.
Not long after, Lady Carlisle has the servants show us to our seats. The usher leads us to the far end of the table, but when Astor goes to take the seat beside me, the usher clears his throat hesitantly.
“My apologies, sir,” says the usher. “But it’s the household custom for couples to sit at opposite ends of the table.”
Astor swivels his head toward Lady Carlisle in question, but our hostess just giggles. “My husband and I find dinner parties so much more interesting that way. I hope the two of you don’t mind. It won’t break your Delphian customs, will it?”
There’s a subtle challenge in her eyes, but Astor meets her stare. “No. As long as you don’t escort one of us out of the room, our customs will remain intact. Though I will miss dining with my wife.”
Lady Carlisle doesn’t appear to hear him as she takes the seat next to me at the head of the table opposite her husband. The usher herds Astor to the seat at Lord Carlisle’s right hand.
“What’s wrong, dear?” asks Lady Carlisle in a singsong voice. “I thought I’d be earning you a break. Don’t misunderstand me, Delphian customs are romantic, but woman to woman, surely you’d like a chance to get a breath away from your husband every once in a while,” she says conspiratorially behind the napkin she’s using to dab her lips, despite the fact we’ve yet to eat.
I choose my words carefully as I take my seat, trying to judge what exactly the lady of the house is looking for in my response. There’s mischief in her eyes, a hunger for gossip. I wonder if that’s her personality, or if profiting off others’ secrets has trained her to crave it.
“I do love Cortland’s company above all others,” I say, hesitantly. Lady Carlisle leans in closer. “But I must admit, it is a bit of a relief to get away. Just for a moment.”
“You’re not fond of your people’s customs?” asks Lady Carlisle, as a servant fills our silver chalices with faerie wine.
Charlie’s voice rings in my head, her interrogations coming in handy at the moment. She was smart to drill the facts into my mind, especially with the heady scent of wine threatening to distract me.
“Actually, I’m not Delphian,” I say. I can’t help but notice Lady Carlisle’s face fall when I evade her trap. I suppose it would be more thrilling if she caught me trying to impersonate Lady Rivers. Though perhaps she and her husband set these safeguards for all of their guests. Astor and I can’t be the first people trying to obscure our identities. “My family moved us to Delphi when I was nine. I’m Kruschian.”
“Are you?” Lady Carlisle says, her smile still painted on.
“Surely you knew that. After all, I thought you knew everything,” I say, more pleasantly than I mean.
Lady Carlisle laughs, more pleasantly than she means.
“Anyway,” I say. “Kruschians are much more stoic with our emotions. It’s unheard of for a man and his wife to sleep in the same room, much less never leave the other’s presence for a year. It’s taking…well, I’m adjusting,” I say, glancing down at Astor admirably for heightened effect.
I’m not prepared for him already to be looking at me.
We both avert our eyes. Quickly.
The servants bring the soup, setting it piping before us.
“Early on, being in love still feels a bit scandalous, doesn’t it?” says Lady Carlisle, watching our exchange intently. “The passion is so intense, it sometimes feels as if everyone around you can scent it. But I assure you, darling, we can’t.”
My spoon stops halfway to my mouth, until I realize she’s not identifying my name. Just using a common word. I let my shoulders sag with overt pleasure as the hot broth hits my tongue.
“You like it?”
“It’s marvelous,” I say, grateful for something truthful to be coming out of my mouth tonight. The broth tastes of lemon and rosemary. There’s a freshness about it that feels clean. Pristine, even.
“Let me ask you, Lady Rivers,” says Lady Carlisle. “If, by chance, my husband and I are unable to procure the information you seek, is there some other secret I might search out for you in its place?”
I swallow too quickly, the soup scalding my throat. My pulse hammers at my jaw, but I try to contain my excitement by waiting to respond until after I’ve dabbed my mouth with my napkin and set my spoon down. “Perhaps there is a predicament you might help solve. Though I wonder if the answer would be the same for both questions. You see, I have a friend afflicted with a Fated curse.”
The lady’s eyes sparkle. “What’s the nature of this curse?”
I bring the chalice of wine to my lips and pretend to drink, potently aware of the sparkle of the wine swirling in the cup. Down the table, Astor glances at me, a flicker of concern rippling across his jaw. My getting myself drunk isn’t exactly in the best interests of our scheme.
“I’m afraid my friend’s secret is not mine to tell,” I say, ripping my gaze away from Astor’s and back to Lady Carlisle’s. “But if I by any means could find a way to free her of it, that information would be of great value to me.”
The lady sits back in her seat, contemplating. “I could look into it for you. Assuming we’re unable to get the information your husband desires.” I don’t miss the blade in her words, seeking to sever my will from Astor’s. If only she knew how unnecessary such an attempt is. “Though I worry that, too, will be difficult to come by. I’m afraid the Sisters haven’t been known to give up their secrets easily, nor do they make a habit of gracing us with their presence.”
“That’s too bad,” I say.
“Perhaps you might have another question.”
I don’t know why I say it, why I let it slip out. But I spent weeks trying to get information from Astor in the cave on Neverland, to no avail, and the question has haunted me since that fateful night of the masquerade.
“What do you know of…” I almost say the Darlings, but then again, I don’t know how far news of my Mating Mark has traveled, so I pivot mid-sentence. “Of Captain Nolan Astor?”
I don’t know if it’s my imagination, but it’s as if I can feel Astor’s pointed ears tilt across the room.
“I know he’s a vicious pirate who fancies himself a privateer,” scoffs Lady Carlisle. “I know he’s left bodiless heads up and down the coast of the Shifting Sea.” She takes a sip of wine and, over the edge of the chalice, says, “Repeat customers, too. But he’s as elusive as trying to hold back a waterfall with your bare hands. No childhood to speak of. No parents. No anything tying him to the rest of the world. If you have information on him, I assure you, my husband and I will go to the ends of the earth to get you whatever secrets you want.”
I shake my head, mouth going dry, then pretend to nurse my wine. “No, nothing about him.”
Lady Carlisle raises a brow at my choice of drink. “You can cease pretending. I know you haven’t taken a sip of your wine.”
I chuckle nervously. “It’s not for lack of being tempted.”
My hostess doesn’t bother being subtle about the way her gaze worms its way to my belly. “That’s bound to happen if you never leave the room without one another.”
I flush, but make myself smile all the same. If only so I don’t have to explain why I’m not touching the faerie wine.
“What’s your interest in Captain Astor, darling?” says Lady Carlisle. Again, I’m taken aback by the pet name.
“It’s not really a question about him,” I say as the servant places a plate of blackened salmon and braised asparagus in front of me. Normally, food like this would make my mouth water, but for some reason, I’ve lost my appetite. “It’s about his wife. Do you know what happened to her?”
The lady’s shrewd gaze rakes me over. “You can’t have known her. She died fifteen years ago.”
“She was my nanny,” I say, having no idea whether this information will match up with what Lady Carlisle knows about Iaso, but she seems appeased as she nods her head, looking off into the distance like she’s numbering years.
“Yes, I suppose that makes sense.”
“She disappeared. My parents wouldn’t tell me where she went. But then, years later, they told me she’d married a pirate and died shortly after. But they wouldn’t tell me what she died of.”
“That’s because they didn’t know.” A pleased smirk overtakes the lady’s lips. “I’m afraid that kind of secret is going to take additional payment.”
I open my mouth, unsure of what my soul is about to spill to find out what happened to her, why it makes Captain Astor hate my parents so. Perhaps that’s why I’m so surprised when I lean over to her and whisper the most awful secret I know in her ear.
“Well, darling. That’s quite a secret indeed,” she says, her gaze skating over me.
Down the table, Lord Carlisle clinks his fork to his crystal, readying to make an announcement. I can hardly hear him over the buzzing in my ears as Lady Carlisle leans over and whispers the story of how Iaso Astor met her end.