Chapter 27
Edmund and I left in half an hour. Fortunately, the village was quiet after a night of festivities, so there were no nosey witches around to see us off.
I led us through an alternate passageway, one that didn’t lead up to Miriam’s shop but instead to a back alley in Delibera’s witch market.
When we emerged, it was night time, the air crisp and the dark streets lit with gas lamps.
I had thought it was mid-morning, but it seemed that time in the village still didn’t correlate with time aboveground.
Edmund called a hired carriage to take us back to the fashionable side of town where Blanche de Clare lay.
“I was thinking we stop by the palace first thing in the morning,” I said. “To let the crown prince know the tour has concluded early.”
“Of course,” Edmund said pleasantly, clasping his hands on his lap. “That is of utmost importance.”
He would turn in his report then, too. My eyes flicked to the briefcase next to his feet, wondering what he had written.
He hadn’t volunteered to show me, and I wasn’t sure if it would be proper to ask to see it.
But after Prilla Lewis’s words—that Edmund couldn’t possibly have enjoyed his stay and written a positive report—I was a little bit more than curious to see how he had painted Witch Village.
Did his report disparage the village and everyone in it?
If it did, I imagined he wouldn’t be sitting across from me and smiling.
Edmund chatted pleasantly during the ride. Somehow I found it in me to relax against the upholstered seats and inhale the fresh evening air mingled with the scent of leather and horses, listening to him describe the hotel we were to stay at called The Conch.
It wasn’t long before Edmund’s descriptions of glass domed roofs and gilded pillars manifested into reality.
The carriage pulled up outside The Conch, a formidable building five stories tall with a seemingly infinite amount of windows, all lit up with soft golden light.
Seashell decals bordered the arches, resembling a fantastical underwater palace.
“This almost rivals Blanche de Clare,” I said in wonderment, stepping out onto the cobblestone. Edmund followed and straightened his coat, looking more like himself surrounded by buildings as grand and handsome as he was.
“My father has a particular taste in architecture,” Edmund said. “He prefers the oceanic themes.”
“Mr. de Clare owns this place too?” I said, astonished.
“As well as a handful of other hotels in Coriva and Alevine,” Edmund said. His brows pinched, and he suddenly looked rather bitter, but the expression disappeared as quickly as it came.
We passed through the gate and entered the courtyard, where a white marble fountain of a mermaid, inlaid with mother-of-pearl, glistened delicately like an underwater treasure. The grandeur of it all took my breath away.
I gazed up at the night sky. The stars were faint compared to the brilliance of this hotel on the ground. But, I thought grimly, at least the sky here isn’t only one hundred feet high.
“Do you like it?” Edmund asked, bringing me out of my reverie.
“It’s grand,” I said. And far outside of my pay range, I was sure.
With some embarrassment, I realized that I didn’t have any money on my person.
Crown Prince Bennett had yet to pay me, so my coin purse was painfully light in my pocket.
Even if it were full, I was sure a night in this hotel would clear it out entirely.
We entered the lobby, the guests scattered around us dressed to the heights of fashion. The vaulted ceiling was reminiscent of Blanche de Clare, as was the golden chandelier, which sparkled with clear and aquamarine crystals.
Behind an elevated counter, a receptionist in a seafoam waistcoat greeted us.
“My private suite, if you please,” Edmund said, flashing his card at the man. “The lady will be joining me.”
My eyebrows shot up.
Edmund shot me an easy smile. “I typically talk business with my clients here.”
“Very well, sir,” the receptionist said. He handed over a shiny brass key, which Edmund accepted.
We headed up five grand flights of marble stairs. I was somewhat out of breath when we finally reached the top and headed down a carpeted hall, where lamps in the shape of conch shells glowed a soft gold. Stopping at a door, Edmund unlocked the shiny brass knob and beckoned me to enter.
My jaw dropped at the penthouse suite that greeted us within.
The vaulted ceiling was made of paneled glass that sparkled like crystal in the light.
The inside of the suite was as elegantly furnished as any room in the palace, the furniture luxuriously upholstered in a soft seafoam brocade.
From this height through the glass panes, Delibera resembled a miniature city speckled with trees and lamplight.
Right then, I knew it was a mistake to have expected Edmund to be impressed by Witch Village when he had all this at his fingertips.
“Come, rest. I’ll ring for tea,” Edmund said, gesturing to the elegant sitting area in the center of the room.
I sat gingerly on a tufted couch upholstered with brocade, running my fingers over the satiny surface. With some shame, I looked down at my plain blouse and pinafore. Even the chairs were dressed better than I was.
A few minutes later, a servant brought up a tray of tea things, the silver polished to an eye-watering shine. I reached for the teapot, but Edmund held up a hand.
“Allow me,” he said.
I watched as he poured us both a cup of black tea, splashing milk and three cubes of sugar in each.
I was suddenly aware of how different being alone with him felt now that the two of us were no longer in the village.
This ridiculously luxurious penthouse belonged to Edmund de Clare, a wealthy and successful businessman, while I, a mere witch girl, was somehow his guest.
“You said you needed help with a business venture,” I began when the clinking of the tea things subsided. “What is it?”
I couldn’t imagine someone like Edmund needing help with anything—at least not the sort of help I could provide. I was only a witch with a failed dress shop. If anything, he was helping me.
Edmund set down the silver sugar tongs and laced his fingers together. “Giselle. You appealed to my father for a shop at Blanche de Clare some weeks ago, did you not?”
“You heard about that?” I asked, surprised.
“I did. It’s a shame he rejected you. I think you deserve a place there.”
I blushed, fidgeting. “I appreciate the sentiment, Edmund, but I don’t think it’s possible.”
“You’re talented. A royal seamstress. You’re sewing the crown princess’s wedding gown. You should have a thriving business,” Edmund said, leaning forward. He looked at me intently. “Do you want to make that happen?”
I blinked. “Of course.” I hadn’t had anyone ask me so directly.
A successful shop was what I had set out to achieve when I first came aboveground.
It would’ve been the hallmark of success, proof that I could make it on my own with my skills alone.
It would’ve shown Ma that I had made the right choice.
It was too bad I never had it, and may not ever have.
“I can help you,” Edmund said. “If you help me.”
I cracked a smile. “How can I possibly help you?”
“As you know, because of my birth, I cannot inherit Blanche de Clare after my father’s death,” Edmund said. “Everything he has built will go to my cousin.”
I nodded.
“If I were to inherit, I would be able to give you a spot in his empire.” Edmund took my hands suddenly, his palms large and warm. “Help me change my father’s mind.”
My thoughts flew out of my head at that moment. Edmund was holding my hands. “H-how am I going to change his mind?”
Edmund only looked at me, his blue eyes so wide and earnest, framed by dark, curling lashes. A perfect set of eyes on a perfect face.
A face that belonged to someone who wanted to use me.
My blood ran cold. I pulled my hands away, my jaw clenched, my throat tight. It took everything in me to focus on breathing.
Edmund took my silence as hesitation. “You’ll need some time to think on it,” he said. “I understand. We can talk about it tomorrow, after our trip to the palace.”
I nodded woodenly.
“We both have something the other person wants. Think of it as a business transaction. We’re businesspeople, are we not?”
My hands curled into fists. I was tempted to punch him right in his perfect nose.
“I’m going to find somewhere else to stay, if you don’t mind,” I said stiffly.
Edmund blinked in confusion. “You can stay here, Giselle. Everything is paid for.”
I stood and whirled to the door.
“We’ll meet at the palace tomorrow?” he called out. He sounded too confident, like a man used to getting everything he wanted.
“I think you can make that trip yourself.” I stepped into the hall and slammed the door behind me.
I didn’t let the tears fall until I flew down the stairs, past the lobby, the mermaid fountain, and finally the gates of The Conch.
Hot tears streaked down my face as I crossed the street, the street lamps blurring into hazy balls of light.
I stopped beneath an oak tree, tilting my head up.
Away from the brilliance of the hotel, the stars seemed brighter.
I wiped my eyes, shaking, angry, and devastated.
Because Ma had been right all along.