Chapter Thirteen
There was a ring on his finger.
My gaze was drawn to it immediately. Slim and plain, the band was similar in style to the one Noé had adopted after our betrothal, though its metal was a brilliant gold rather than silver—a match to that which Clio wore. An engagement ring.
I did not feel myself stand, becoming aware of it only after I sensed the collective gaze of the other silkwitches in the room sweep my way.
Their notice brought me back to myself. If I allowed Bastian to rattle me—if I made a scene—then the weight of the other girls’ attention would linger.
And if their attention was on me, I could not do what I wished.
Mustering the full force of my willpower, I smoothed down my hair, composing myself as much as I could without my caul. Then, with a great mental heave, I tossed my emotions away.
As I approached Eliot, I felt only a white blankness, like the sky just before a snowfall—as if everything in me had been scrubbed into nonexistence.
His eyes fell naturally to mine as I came closer, the easy snap of our gazes only serving to intensify my feelings of betrayal.
How was it possible that he could have given himself to another?
Even the reaction of our bodies proved that he was mine.
His face was stoic, but I detected a certain softness creeping into his expression as we regarded one another—that familiar hesitancy, which he only ever reserved for me. The inclination to pull his punches, ensure that whatever casualties his game playing caused, I was not among them.
Well. It was far too late for that.
“Miss Lavoie. Mr. Lear. I see my congratulations are due.” I addressed each one of them in turn, my forced smile nearly chipping as I took in Clio’s simper.
Turning my back to her, I laid a hand on Eliot’s forearm, urging him my way.
“Mr. Lear, I know my fiancé will be eager to see you. Come, shall we go find him together?”
My voice was light—but Eliot resisted my attempt to lead him away, grounding himself where he stood.
“You are kind to offer, Miss Lovett. Yet there are many who I mean to reacquaint myself with—several of whom are already present,” he replied.
“Let Noé come to us. I am sure he will do so as soon as a bottle of wine is produced.”
His cheek dimpled around his final words, like a politician punctuating his rejection with a joke. I wondered if he’d learned the trick from his father.
I laughed. Inching closer, I tightened my grip on his arm, speaking so that only he could hear. “Do not test me.”
My teeth were gritted. He dipped his chin, dropping his volume to match mine. “I am not endeavoring to,” he hissed back. His eyes darted briefly away from me to check on Clio, then returned to peer intently into mine. “Lovett, it is not what you think. Trust me.”
His use of my true name stilled me. Casually, he slipped his free hand into his pocket. A moment later, I felt my coin, tucked in its usual place beneath my foot, light up before falling abruptly silent again. Its burn was grounding—not completely, but enough for me to release him.
Backing away, I turned and slipped past Clio, hewing close enough that our shoulders brushed. “Clever witch.”
She chuckled. “Jealous, Cecilia?” I paused, angling my profile halfway toward hers. In response, she leaned forward, whispering directly in my ear. “You should’ve let me have Noé.”
At once, my restraint shattered. My body went numb, my arm lifting—to hit her? To shove her? I was unsure, but before I could move, there was a hand gripping my elbow.
“Miss Lovett and I were just about to explore the library’s upper level.
” Anais’s voice was like something out of a dream—I’d nearly forgotten she was in the room with us, my awareness distilling to the little triangle of Clio, Eliot, and me.
Startled, I let the other silkwitch tug me nearer, like a dog reluctantly leashed.
“Come along now, friend.” Tucking me against her side, Anais gave Clio a fluttering glance. “I would ask you to join us, Miss Lavoie, but I am not sure the subject will interest you. You were never much of a reader.”
Forcefully, she pivoted me away.
“Do not give her the pleasure, dear,” Anais murmured when I resisted her tug. “Foxes do not perform for mice. Now do as I say, and come along.”
Her buffed nails dug into my forearm in emphasis. Giving in to her pull, I allowed her to guide me to the back of the library, where a wooden spiral staircase connected the first floor to the walkway and raised shelves above it.
We ascended without speaking. Since the Vainglory’s conclusion, I had not frequented the second level of Fortblanche’s library nearly as often as I had the first. It was little more than an extended gallery snaking along the room’s perimeter, its weight supported by a flight of carved wooden buttresses below.
Books packed the shelves in toothy rows, the smell of them more aged than the ones which populated the first-floor stacks—paper cut with mildew, mottled by an implacable, omnipresent dampness, as if they still held the memory of long-ago rains.
A little ways from the stairs, we came to an alcove tucked into the stone wall and furnished with a pair of armchairs, an end table, and a mounted gas lamp—extinguished at present. Releasing me, Anais selected a seat, leaving its twin to me.
She dug in her bodice as she sat down. My brow creased when she withdrew, of all things, a small flask. It was as elegant as the rest of her, its surface inlaid with a delicate mother-of-pearl design in the shape of an A.
Unscrewing the top, she extended the offering toward me. “For you.”
I frowned but accepted it, holding the flask’s neck beneath my nose. A potent scent drifted out of it, the corrosive tang of greening metal, making my tongue pull back in my mouth.
Lowering it, I eyed the dark swirl of liquid within dubiously. “I thought you didn’t drink.”
Anais flashed me a terse smile. “I do whatever Adélard tells me,” she replied, settling back in her chair. “He desires a chaste virgin, so a virgin I have become. That is the life you forced me into, when you ensured the rumors of Dorian and me reached Noé—are you pleased with yourself?”
Her tone was acidic, her legs tucked neatly beneath her like a cat’s. The meek disguise she’d adopted earlier was now firmly tossed off, but despite her abrasiveness, I found I preferred her like this. Her villainy facing out, where I could see it.
Screwing the cap back on the flask, I set it aside, untouched. “I did nothing except hasten the consequences of your own actions.”
Anais huffed. “Speaking of fiancés,” she said. “I take it you were unaware of a certain Weaver bachelor’s new coupling.”
At once, the fight went out of me. Voices drifted up from the library’s first level; if I walked to the gallery’s railing and peered over its edge, would I see Eliot there, that ring on his finger like a stamp, marking his identity? Connecting him to another, two pieces in a set.
They dressed you to match. His criticism of me, when we’d conversed at the opera—now I could have flipped it back.
It was a long while before I could summon the energy to speak. “When did it happen?” My voice was gravelly; it made me feel like a wounded deer.
Anais shrugged, though by the intentional stillness which had gripped her at my question, I could tell she was tracking my reactions carefully.
“Last night,” she replied. “Clio arrived late to the Winns’—the two of them spent most of the party’s latter half talking.
Even so, I don’t think anyone, least of all her, expected him to make an offer.
” Her eyes flashed. “I thought Eliot might have mentioned something about his plans to you, when you two spoke,” she admitted.
“Seeing as the pair of you appeared rather…close…during our competition.”
The party. So that’s why she’d been inquiring about the timing of my departure. My stomach plunged, my mouth flushing with the stale-iron taste of the liquor in the other maiden’s flask. Eliot had proposed to Clio directly after our last talk.
My sorrow crystalized, knifed into anger. Oh, he and I would have words.
Anais, who’d slipped back into her silent assessment of me as I’d been thinking, gave a sudden huff.
“Cecilia, get a hold of yourself,” she snipped.
“I don’t know what passed between you and Lear during the Vainglory, but I am certain he cannot love Lavoie.
Believe me, as one who allied with her—she lacks a heart to return the feelings. ”
I flinched at her command—late. Too late. For a half second, I hadn’t registered my false name, my reactions dulled by the revelation she’d just imparted. Fear burrowed into me. My mask was at risk of slipping.
Gathering myself, I cleared my throat. “I don’t recall giving you permission to call me by my given name.”
My tone was cold. I felt a surge of relief when, in response to my falter, Anais just rolled her eyes.
“Fine, Miss Lovett,” she obliged waspishly.
“We have more urgent matters to discuss anyhow.” Shifting forward, she laid her hands in her lap, her manner suddenly businesslike. “You made an accusation about Manon.”
Her gaze was focusing. Matching her advance, I moved toward the edge of my armchair, glad for the opportunity to turn my mind, at least momentarily, away from Eliot and Clio.
“You guessed she would attack me,” I stated.
“Or if not her, one of the girls. It is why you warned me to avoid being caught alone with them, is it not?”
Anais shrugged. A stray curl had escaped the netting of her caul—idly, she shoved it back in. “To be fair, I didn’t expect Manon to take the bait,” she replied. “The others, certainly, but…”
It was difficult not to let my desperation show. “Who put her up to it? Noé?”
Anais twisted her lips, as though amused by the suggestion, but gave no answer. After a moment of silence had passed, I tried again.