Chapter Forty-One
Alora Pennigrim had realized some time ago that Marshall Merridon played a game. A long one, where he’d rigged the rules from the start so that he would always come out on top. She didn’t realize until this moment, though, quite how intricate those riggings were.
It began with the grounds themselves. “Mind your step”, she’d been told. But why? What would happen to her if she didn’t? What secrets might she uncover? Because that’s all those warnings were good for. Keeping secrets.
The special bees in Renwick Forest.
The windowless dwellings of Opulence employees.
The oversized rake and wheelbarrow of the groundskeeper.
Outside, Alora and Bash stepped off the white-pebbled front lane and into the shadows of gargantuan topiaries. There, her hand reached out, visible from fingertips to wrist, the rest of her unable to be seen. By all but Merridon and his enchantment.
Alora crouched, where she ran her fingers through a lawn that’d always looked too green.
“Care to elaborate on the specifics of your plan here, Miss Pennigrim?”
“I’m still thinking of new specifics, Captain. Since I wasn’t able to burn my contract, I’m a little limited right now.”
She’d not come out here on a whim, though.
This was where it’d all began. With glittered lanes and shadowed hedges and grass she could not touch.
Alora sank fully onto her knees, ripping up the oddly textured greenery.
She eyed the fistful from every angle. “This grass doesn’t feel like any I’ve touched before. ”
“It’s synthetic.”
“Fake?” She peered around a topiary, eyeing the arrival of patrons, noticing the hoods being lowered, the cloaks being folded and handed away. She startled when she recognized both Mr. Pottenbaums.
Twin torches burned at the matching bases of the specter wolves, lighting their stone fangs and intriguing more than one member enough to circle them. An ill feeling settled over Alora at their delighted perusal. To distract herself, she reached out for the nearest topiary.
“Fake also,” he said.
Alora dropped her hand away. “I suppose that explains why no rain or wind was allowed in. There wasn’t a need.”
Opulence Mansion had been kept in a petrified perfection. Another veil with which to hide its rotted insides. Alora studied its front from where she was obscured—every golden stacked stone. Something niggled at her. Something not right. She shrugged off her coat.
The Urchin captain made a sound of protest beside her, and Alora turned toward him. He was covered still, completely obscured in his dark coat and hood, so she couldn’t read him at all. She raised an eyebrow.
“I’m tired of hiding. Aren’t you?”
The golden gown she wore hugged every curve, heavy and resplendent. She couldn’t tell if Bash cared for it at all, or if he hated it as much as she did.
“Is this your plan then? Reveal yourself to Opulence?”
Alora surveyed all she could see. The lawn and topiaries, the stone walkway and flame-washed stairs. “I think so. Merridon has done a lot of work painting over his secrets. I think the best place to start is by washing some of them clean. Could you wish for rain?”
Bash did, and the skies rumbled in answer.
Seconds later, the downpour began. Alora felt badly over the shouts of protest from the elegantly dressed as they rushed inside, but not so badly that she thought about stopping.
The rain pummeled the grounds, splattering the path in fat drops that sent bursts of glitter into the air with their velocity.
Alora watched as the white lane began to run with gold, the mansion’s walls losing their luster moment by moment.
Gray stone lay beneath, plain as a mountain.
She watched as the topiaries wilted, too, beneath the onslaught.
In a matter of seconds, they were no longer green but taupe—fake and plain.
She stepped backward, the lawn protected where her shoes had been, and saw the blades quickly fade as the rain found them too.
She glanced at Bash last.
He’d lowered his hood, his face upturned to the sky. She glanced over his covered jawline, his mouth and nose, and when he pulled off his coat, she smiled that he wore a black vest, vining with silver leaves. A ‘mending’ he’d allowed.
“I prefer you dressed like a shopkeeper,” she said.
His gaze found hers. He reached backward, unclasping the mask, until he could pull it free, stuffing it into the pocket of his trousers.
He held out a hand, thought better of it, and removed the gloves first. Then his bare palm was there, waiting to be grasped by hers, as he said, “Bash Syntaine. Enchanted with the ability to both destroy and restore light. I own a shop called Potions and Peculiarities that I’d be interested in selling to the right buyer.
I’ve traveled widely, almost never by my own choice, and have hurt a lot of people, most against my own will.
I could have fought harder against it, but I stopped quite some time ago. Until now.”
Alora put to rest the lonely look of his stranded hand and slid her own within it.
“Alora Pennigrim. Enchanted with a too-vivid imagination. I would love to buy your shop—for the right price. I’ve hardly traveled at all, except from Eirian, which I abandoned when I hurt someone very badly under rather good intentions and couldn’t fix it.
I also haven’t fought very hard, until now. ”
They stared at one another awhile, the rain soaking them through. Veins of black snaked across the whites of Bash’s eyes, and Alora wondered what that meant.
He said, “How’s that for revealing myself?”
Alora smiled, and it wasn’t at all perfect nor practiced. “A good start.” His eyes cleared to that familiar, deep green at her statement, and she knew then what had brought upon the darkness, because she felt that vulnerability the same.
She didn’t want to be free of him. Not at all.
He stepped nearer, the fake topiary standing stark and ugly behind him, and she couldn’t deny anymore that she’d more than one dream now. That hers was the same as his and just as much of a worthwhile torment. Her breath hitched when his hand came around the back of her head.
His mouth dropped near hers. “Tell me what to wish for and when to wish it. I’ll see this place fall for us both.”
Alora did, her new plan tumbling from her lips in a rush—all for it to be dashed to a heap at Lennox’s scream.