Chapter Five #3
The Weaver King let out a great breath. “You have not heard me out,” Bastian went on before either of us could speak again.
“The marriage accords state that a silkwitch must provide her Weaver betrothed a gift equal to the cost of her keeping—that is, the burden, both physical and financial, which must be exerted to manage her and her Wit until her magic dies away. However, if you cannot provide a dower, there is another substitute which I will accept.” He paused. “A favor.”
Wordlessly, Noé and I exchanged glances. “What sort of favor?” I asked.
Bastian spun Mariéprix around his finger.
“My son insists that you are clever,” he answered.
“And, admittedly, you did perform well during the Vainglory. Solved all the little puzzles I laid out for you, and so on and so forth.” He paused.
“I wonder whether you can solve another one,” the Weaver King said. “A murder.
“During the Vainglory, you girls were told that Miss Sybil Dabos lost her life as a result of a tragic accident,” he continued while I sat, stunned silent, across from him.
“That is a lie. In truth, I do not know what, or, more accurately, who, killed her. As her passing occurred on my property, I’d hoped to unravel it on my own, but certain parties—namely, her insufferable mother—have attempted to turn the blame on me. ”
His features briefly creased with displeasure at his mention of Lucie.
“Here is what you need to know,” he said, wiping his expression clean again.
“On the night of the Midway Ball, Miss Dabos stole something from me. Before she could make use of the item, however, she was killed—strangled—by an unknown party. When her body was found, the item she’d taken was missing.
” His gaze tightened on me. “I want you to find her killer.”
My pulse sped. The air in the coach seemed heavy; I was suddenly, intensely aware that whatever words I spoke next counted. “What was the item?” I asked.
Bastian’s mouth curled upward: pleased. He approved of my inquiry. “A key,” he replied. “To a very particular door.” His nostrils flared. “But I think my son has told you that.”
I ignored the accusation. “This key,” I returned instead. “How can you be sure that Sybil is the person who stole it? Simply because she died the night the item went missing does not necessarily mean the two incidents are linked.”
It was an answer I was truly curious to know.
I wondered whether the Weaver King would balk at it, but instead, Bastian only nodded.
“A fair question,” he answered. “Her body was found en route to the door which the key accesses. Personally, I suspect that her murderer learned she’d found the item, followed her, and stole it before she could use it, but…
” he added with a tilt of his head, “that is for you to confirm.”
I frowned. Before I could think of what to say, the Weaver King was speaking again.
“I have made my offer, Miss Lovett,” he stated.
“Find me Miss Dabos’s killer before the day of your wedding, and your lack of dower will be forgiven.
Fail to do so, however…” He drifted off, his lips pursing as if soured by some bitter thought.
“Well, I suppose I shall have to come up with a story to distract from the scandal of a broken engagement,” he mused.
“Revealing your true identity should do the trick. I am certain the other maidens’ families will demand restitution for your deception—likely, you will be taken to the cloisters at once.
” He smiled, neat and pitiless. “I would ensure it, in fact. A speedy departure, before you could let any family secrets slip.”
My skin went cold. I was barely aware of Noé, still positioned beside me, until he was half out of his seat, straining toward his father. “Your offer”—he seethed—“means nothing. Miss Lovett is the rightful winner of the Vainglory. You cannot—”
“Yes, she won.” Bastian held up a palm, and his son went still, vibrating with barely contained wrath.
“So do horses. And yet, do you know what happens after a victor is crowned at the end of a race?
The winning steed is taken home. For a time, it revels in its victory, but soon, it is summoned to run the track again.
And again, until a younger horse rises up and bests it.
“The test is finished, son,” Bastian concluded, “when you lose.” His teeth shone in the moonlight as he grinned, his gaze swinging toward me. “Your bride understands.”
And the worst bit was, I did.
I straightened. “I would need access to the relevant suspects. Without them, I stand no chance of accomplishing what you ask.”
“I will gather whomever you request,” Bastian agreed. “You will find, Miss Lovett, that when it comes to competition, I am quite a good sport. We wouldn’t want to hamper your…investigation.”
“Give her time. To consider your proposal.” The sound of Noé’s voice jarred my focus. Blinking, I glared at him as Bastian replied.
“She may have as much time as she wishes,” the Weaver King said. “Though the deadline must remain unchanged, I’m afraid.” He looked at me. “Three weeks to find me my murderer, Miss Lovett—or else, the cloisters await.”