Chapter 46
Chapter forty-six
The second floor’s corridor was dim. Even when it opened up onto an inner balcony, the light did not return, feeling instead as if it’d all been siphoned down into a room which glowed coolly with all that it hoarded.
She’d not ever entered the ballroom. In truth, she didn’t know of its existence until several hours before.
A haunting melody rose to greet her at the balustrade; she peered over it.
The room was darkly exquisite with its crowd of sharp coats and expensive gowns.
The chandeliers here were comprised of onyx, same as the walls, and their candlelight lit the wooden floor into a syrupy brown.
Studious musicians were sat upon a dais at one end of the room; their instruments shone in brilliant silvers and golds.
Opposite them were three long tables bare of all adornment but for matching candelabras, thick crystal goblets, and silver dinnerware.
It was a rich, mesmerizing sight; better than anything the dead mayor would have done.
Alcoves lined the perimeter. Lux’s gaze skipped over each shadowed space, over every urn spilling with purple dahlias, searching for anything that lurked. Corvin led her to the top of the wide staircase.
The collector’s fingertips lifted, trailing along her braids fallen from an attempted chignon, and she couldn’t tolerate his nearness anymore. She flinched. His fingers inadvertently dropped to the bare skin of her collarbone.
“Devil—” she gasped, and flung her own fingers to cover the space.
“Something wrong?”
Lux couldn’t raise her eyes. If she did, they would give her away. The horrifying dream pulsed around her. The stench of smoke and blood filled her nose.
Saints above, devil below. I might really die here.
Corvin’s touch. It wasn’t natural. Not at all.
It was cold.
Colder than Riselda. Colder than the mayor.
Colder than those unforgiving trees.
Her chin trembled.
“Riselda Grimrook never denied her madness. It is in us, in our blood. We and our mother are the same.”
Lux managed not to grab hold of her hair, but it was a near thing. I am not broken. I am not broken. I am not—
She braved to look again at Corvin’s mouth. Would it be dripping same as the dream?
“I do have a headache after last night,” she managed.
She stood beside him still, and when her eyes finally lifted higher to meet his, she searched for some hint of his corruption. Her own soul had once been overgrown with guilt. So had Shaw’s. Viktar had been steeped in hopelessness.
If I were to dig inside him, what would I find?
“I hope you’ve accepted my apology,” said Corvin, his expression dipping into a frown. “I let my worry over your safety lead me, and it wasn’t the right choice. My philanthropic nature is sometimes a curse in itself.”
Vile idiot, she fumed. Worry over her safety?
Never had she been more set on burning something down than in this moment. No, she knew what they really cared for. And it was to see her tied up with strings, and him controlling them.
She had to escape.
“Did I exaggerate the banquet’s intrigue?” he asked over her silence, leading her promptly onto the stairs.
Lux drew a slow breath, the music a melancholy thrill that enveloped her. “I see why you look forward to it. This room is like a dream.” It was no lie on her part, but she couldn’t help adding a second small truth. “Though I still would have preferred to hide away on a balcony than this.”
Lux noted every attendant she’d previously overlooked.
They stood at the edge of things, and while they were tasked with balancing silver platters of foods, goblets, and flutes—and did it well—the light would not deny the truth.
Their eyes were each dulled and lifeless.
Behind them, she could find no passion or will.
She wanted to tear Corvin’s own eyes out for seeing it.
She might have—if she hadn’t a part to play.
Corvin laughed at her candor, and Lux’s brow furrowed.
She struggled to merge all she knew with her experiences.
She held onto the arm of a man older than Riselda, though he appeared hardly older than Shaw.
A man who’d once shared a very real dream with her and appeared genuine in his appreciation of hers.
Even his laugh now was warm and rich. It was hard to fathom that deep inside he’d become as frigid as frost and full of nightmares.
That he was so gifted a liar.
“There’s no dancing at this event?” she asked. The question was part curiosity, part wishful distraction. The guests at the base of the stairs were beginning to turn. Beginning to stare.
Because she was unfamiliar to them? Or because of whose arm she was on?
Because they matched?
“No, we don’t dance. The Hallowed Banquet is an intellectual gathering for Mothlock’s Society and investors alike.
The ceremony afterward, however”—he winked— “is only for us. Ah, Lux Thorn. Please let me introduce you to one of our longest investors, Ulysses Morrigan, a leading man of industry and Malgorm councilmember.”
Lux hardly righted her thoughts before she was arrested by the closeness of the man.
Dressed in black satin, he inclined his head toward her.
She supposed he could do nothing else wearing such a tight jacket.
“A pleasure,” he crooned. “I’m always interested in fellow investors. Tell me, what is it you do?”
Lux’s lip twitched to lift into a sneer. She could smell the pompous air about him like foul breath, and she nearly told him so. “I’m not an investor.”
“Not an investor?” The man’s gaze dipped down her luxurious gown.
“Then what are you—” His attention snagged.
On Corvin’s proximity. The way he curved toward her.
The man’s mouth lifted into a lecherous grin.
“Picked a partner at last, have you, Lord Corvin? I’ll say it’s a good choice at first glance. ”
His “glance” turned into a thorough perusal.
One of those she could feel down to her bones, leaving her wishing to shed her skin to be rid of the sensation.
She stepped forward, her teeth nearly bared.
“I’m a necromancer, Mr. Morrigan. Tell me, is there anyone you’d like revived? Or are they all better left buried?”
The investor startled. Corvin stiffened.
But before anyone could offer any explanation or apology, Mr. Morrigan said, “Glory to the Saints. You’re quite serious?
What a useful little thing you are!” Lux did bare her teeth then.
“Say, Alesso. I would be thrilled to borrow her from time to time. Might be a nice trick to have with those who test my limits.”
The man laughed uproariously over what was apparently meant in jest, but had Lux ready to slice her hidden dagger down the middle of his clothing to eased the strained fabric. This was so like the Light. So like the late mayor. She could hardly stomach it.
“We will see what the future brings,” Corvin replied, his jaw tight. Then he pressed a palm to Lux’s lower back and steered her away.
Out of the investor’s vicinity, he said, “Sorry for that. Morrigan forgets himself at times. He supports Mothlock’s mission, though, so we forgive some transgression.”
How unsurprising. She gritted her teeth. “I’m through with further introductions all the same, I think.”
Suddenly, a woman stepped into her path. A woman bedecked in an assortment of gemstones and feathers, barely contained hair, and spectacles.
A woman she’d met before.
Mistress Farrentail inclined her head with a soft smile that further creased her eyes. “Happy Hallowed Eve.”
“Good evening, Mistress Farrentail. Enjoying your time?”
Lux fought to smooth her own creasing. The lady who warns me of zealots is here? A vendor and investor both?
“Mightily, thank you. I’ve made two new connections, but would love to make it three. Lord Corvin, do introduce me to your lovely young friend.”
“Apologies,” said Corvin, chuckling. His hand left her to gesture down her person. “This is Lux Thorn. An accomplished necromancer.” To Lux, he said, “I swear I’ll spare you after this. One cannot deny the year’s most celebrated investor.”
Lux raised her eyebrow, returning her attention to the vendor. Most celebrated?
“Mistress Farrentail supplied us with the tincture enabling our discovery of the nature of these mysterious killings.”
Which Lux knew, of course, but she feigned wonderment. “And has the culprit been apprehended?”
Mistress Farrentail blinked owlishly up at Corvin as if she, too, were anxious for this answer.
But Corvin sighed. “Not yet. They’re elusive as the Devil it seems. Meanwhile we lost another: discovered too late for your revival.”
“Tragic business,” moaned the elderly vendor. “Lord Silas should enlist some help instead of taking the investigation all upon himself.”
“If he cannot root them out, no one can,” said Corvin, and he lifted his gaze to the carved ceiling. “His brilliance is made for this sort of thing.”
“How so?” Lux couldn’t hide her real interest over the matter. The feeling she experienced around the collector made her want to know everything about the man lest she be on the receiving end of his “gift”.
Corvin’s attention returned to her. “He can track anything. A natural scent, a perfume. Even blood.”
…Cecily.
Lux could hardly focus with her chest’s palpitations.
Devil take her, she’d promised the girl freedom and had sent her out alone.
Cecily could have no idea there was a bloodhound masking as a man inside the manor’s walls.
“Beastly,” she muttered, horrified at her mind’s conjured images of Silas skulking through Ravenwood.
“But he’s taken the evening off, I assume?
“He has,” agreed Corvin. “He’s earned it after these relentless few days. For instance, he tracked three scents only this morning. At the cliffsides. And then again, in the cove. Poor Hildred was found drowned there. We entombed her over first Invocation.”