Chapter 27
CHAPTER 27
WENDY
T ertius Vale has returned from the docks and is already asleep by the time we sneak through his manor windows and into his room. We have to tiptoe over weeks-old meals left to mildew and clothes strewn about. The manor itself is large enough to demand servants, though Vale seems to be the only one inhabiting the house.
Explains why he felt the need to visit the Carlisles and sell them a secret. Though in the end, it wasn’t coin he asked for, but a night with Lady Carlisle. Perhaps that’s why he no longer has the capital to pay servants. Too much wealth squandered on prostitutes and opium down by the docks.
I’m not sure why my blood froths in the presence of this man. I don’t know him, and he’s certainly done nothing to me. But as I stare down at his wrinkled face, I witness a dozen others, all eager to get their hands on me, none of them deterred by my youth. There’s something that tells me that if Vale had lived in Estelle, he would have loved being one of my parents’ dinner guests.
Bet he wouldn’t have married me, either.
I can’t tell if it’s that hunch or the sickly scent of days-old milk left in a half-full bottle by his bed that’s rattling my senses.
I’m not at all sorry when Astor wakes Vale by nicking his throat with his blade.
The man jolts in bed, which only serves to dig the cut deeper, though Astor is prepared for such a reaction and angles the knife so that he won’t spill too much blood. No need to risk slicing an artery that might keep us from getting the information we need.
“You,” hisses the wiry old man as he blinks up at Captain Astor. They hadn’t been seated near one another at the table, but he must recognize him all the same.
“Me,” says Captain Astor with a feral grin.
I’m not sure whether he despises Vale for the same reasons I do, or if he just enjoys the thrill of threatening someone he perceives as weak.
My guess would be the latter.
“What do you want? I don’t have any money, as you can probably surmise,” Vale says, licking his chapped lips as he glances about his disheveled room. Almost like he’s embarrassed. It’s so sad, it’s a tad disgusting.
“Your poverty shouldn’t be an issue,” says Astor, snaking the blade of the knife around the man’s throat and lifting his jowls like he’s peering underneath a curtain. I have to hold back a cruel laugh.
“We want someone who can perform a Mating Bond removal ritual,” I say. Astor glances at me, crinkling his forehead like he’s surprised I spoke up, but he gestures for me to continue all the same. “Tell us, and tomorrow morning when you wake, you can tell yourself we were only a nightmare you’re glad to be rid of.”
Astor appears amused as he watches me. “A tad dramatic, Darling, but not untrue.”
Vale snorts. “I very much doubt I’ll think I dreamed this up, given the scar I’ll have from this blade.”
I dig my heels in. “You can pretend you cut yourself shaving.”
“Are you really planning on dying on this hill?” asks Astor, flicking his eyes over to me through his heavy black eyelashes.
My heart flutters at the laughter simmering underneath his expression. “We must die somewhere,” I volley back.
Astor sighs, then leans over the man, digging the knife in deeper. “Very well. You heard my companion. Tell her you’ll believe she was a nightmare when you wake up in the morning.”
The man rolls his eyes. “Surely—”
Astor knicks a chunk off Vale’s skin. He yelps. “Fine, fine. It shouldn’t be too much of a stretch of the imagination,” he grumbles.
It’s probably not the professional pirate—excuse me, privateer—thing to do, but I beam.
“Would you like to hold the knife, too?” Astor asks, his tone rendering his subsequent eye roll redundant.
“I’m tempted,” I say, which is a lie, but a fun one. “But I’m happy to be the one to do the interrogating this time. I’ll spare you having to clean up the mess. I know you hated it last time.”
Vale’s eyes widen, like he can’t tell whether I’m bluffing but isn’t willing to find out. Astor turns his face away like he’s bored, but I know he’s biting back a smile. He wouldn’t aim one of those in my direction if that knife was held to his throat instead.
“I hate to inform you, but you’re hours too late,” says Vale. “I sold that particular secret tonight. To Lady Carlisle. Though I imagine you know that.”
“Yes,” I say, trailing my finger along the bedside. “I also know that secrets aren’t exactly limited resources. They don’t burn after you use them like coal or oil.”
“Though they do become less valuable the more you tell,” says Astor, “so don’t be trying to weasel payment out of us.”
“Yes, sparing Vale’s pitiful life should be plenty payment,” I say. It’s rather easy to curl up my nose at the man.
“It seems I’m a dead man either way,” Vale says. “And no offense, little lady, but I fear the Carlisles more than I do you. They don’t take well to people double dipping with the secrets that are supposed to be exclusive to them. Last man who did ended up bird food after being skewered at the top of the lighthouse.”
“Well, if it’s Lady Carlisle you’re worried about,” I say, picking my nails, “then I suggest you’d better run when we’re done with you. I can’t imagine you’ll miss this place much, seeing how you don’t seem to bother to take care of it. As for Lord Carlisle, I wouldn’t worry about him.”
“And why not?”
Vale’s looking a bit too apathetic for my liking, so I bat my eyes coyly. “Why, because I killed him, of course.”
This time, Astor slides his eyes over to me with such annoyance, I almost laugh. I’m not sure what’s come over me. Maybe it’s my body’s strange reaction to the fear that jolted through me when I thought Peter was going to force himself on me, maybe it’s because Carlisle’s blood still coats my tattered gown from where his head rolled onto my chest. Maybe it’s more than that. Maybe it’s just that I’m tired of being timid.
Maybe I’ve snapped.
“And you?” asks the old man to Astor.
I answer before the captain can respond. “He does what I tell him to.”
Astor tenses, but the corner of his lip twitches upward.
This, the old man seems to believe well enough. He’s probably had plenty of secrets coaxed from his lips by shrewd women.
“And you’re sure Lord Carlisle is dead?” he asks. Like he thinks he has some rapport with Lady Carlisle now that they’ve shared a bed.
“Positive,” says Astor.
The man sighs, slinking into his pillow as he closes his eyes. “I can’t tell you where, but I know the name of the man who does.”
I pick at my nails. It’s something I saw the leading lady do at a production my parents took me to when I was young. That was before I fell ill of the plague, of course. Before everything changed and they feared letting me out of the manor.
“Dear,” I say, running my finger along Astor’s shoulder. He tenses underneath my touch but doesn’t pull away. I don’t know why I’m doing this, but it’s as if I’ve stepped into a persona that’s swallowed me whole. “Explain to Mister Vale here why that’s not going to be good enough.”
“Of course, Darling,” Astor says as he allows the tip of his blade to hover at the curve of the man’s eye.
Vale pants, blinking furiously. “Please, it’s good information. You’re looking for the Nomad. He’s got what you’re looking for.”
Astor stills, cocking his brow.
“You’ve heard of him?” I ask.
Astor doesn’t answer. He just stares down at Vale, desperation written all over the man’s face.
“You’re sure?” Astor asks.
Vale looks like he’s about to nod, then thinks better of it as Astor lowers his dagger and Vale’s drooping skin scrapes across the blade.
“Yes. He knows the secrets of the dead, you know.”
“What does that have to do with removing a Mating Bond?” I ask.
Astor chooses his words carefully. “The dead possess a different sort of magic than the living.”
I snap my head toward Vale. “You’re saying the Nomad can talk to the dead? Get them to perform the ritual for us?”
“Not talk to them,” says the man. “The Nomad’s been there, to the realm of the dead itself. Made friends…and enemies…of those past.”
The hairs on my arms stand on end, but my shrill laugh sounds convincing enough. “And we’re supposed to take your word for it?”
“Lady Carlisle did.”
I bite my lip.
“And who else have you told?” asks Astor.
The man peers up at him with glittering eyes. “Now, you know I can’t tell you that. But don’t get to thinking I’m the only one other than Lady Carlisle who knows.”
“Perhaps you’re bluffing so I won’t kill you to keep it a secret,” says Astor. “As it is, you’re no good to me, dead or alive.”
My breath catches. “Astor—”
“Close your eyes, Darling. Unless you’d like to do it yourself.”
In the end, I leave the room. I tell myself it’s because I hold all life sacred and that it bothers me that Astor’s taking one.
But really, I just don’t want to witness another throat slit by Astor’s hand.
It reminds me of what he is, who he’s killed, and why. And for reasons I don’t care to admit to myself, I don’t want to associate any of that with Astor anymore.
When he’s done, he climbs out the window, following me, wiping the blood off his blade and onto his pants before he sheathes it.
Then he sneaks a glance at me. I’m expecting him to scold me. Or mock me for being unable to watch him kill that man. Or perhaps ask me what came over me. Why, for a moment, I became someone else.
Instead, he says, his green eyes glittering, “Well done, Darling.”
Then he offers his arm and escorts me away.