Chapter Thirty-Two #2
Dorian scowled. “Believe what you wish,” he rebutted.
“I’m telling you the truth. Inspiration didn’t strike me until nearly a month after the ball you’re referring to.
Ask Adélard—he’ll tell you. I was staying with him in the cloisters when the idea came to me.
” He paused. A reflective look crept over his features, candlelight catching on his furrowed brow.
“What sort of veil was the girl wearing? Out of curiosity.”
My neck prickled. The former judge’s tone had shifted. Previously, he’d been distracted, clearly irritated by our questions; now, though, there was a wariness to him. Whether the lady in the tunnels was one of his or not, something about our description of her had caught his attention.
I wanted to know what it was.
“A red one,” my fiancé answered, “like the kind your witches have. Beyond that, I’m not sure. I didn’t see her myself, unfortunately.”
I interjected before he could divulge anything else. “Have you seen girls in other kinds of veils before?”
Dorian’s demeanor hardened. For a long moment, he said nothing, only watched me with a piercing, keen-eyed expression like a marksman lining up his shot. I got the impression that suddenly, I was being taken seriously.
He wet his lips. “Why are you inquiring about the Midway Ball?”
His voice was soft. I stiffened at it, grateful when Noé answered in my stead.
“My father’s attempting to tie up loose ends,” he said.
“As you’ve likely seen in the papers, Lucie Dabos has been hounding him about her daughter’s death.
He wants to ensure there are no holes in his narrative which she might be able to exploit to turn the public against him.
And”—here, Noé’s speech took on a meaningful tone—“he’s still missing his key. ”
Dorian’s mouth dipped in a somber frown. It was the mention of the key, I knew, which had uneased him. If the records Bastian stored behind the moonless door were released, what they revealed would harm all Weavers, not only the Alaires.
“He hasn’t found it yet?” Dorian asked. His gaze froze on me, then dipped down to the ring on his thumb. I followed his stare. Now that I considered it, was there something about that piece of jewelry which looked familiar…?
Noé shook his head, drawing me back to him before I could give the notion any more thought. “So you see, it’s important that you tell us what you know.”
Dorian’s jaw tensed. I felt a jab of relief as, a second later, he glanced up.
“I swear, none of my girls were in the tunnels that night,” he said.
“They didn’t start working for me until weeks later.
As for Bastian’s key, I don’t know much.
I never actually saw it myself, prior to it going missing.
It was Woven—enchanted to disguise itself for all but Bastian’s eyes.
” He snorted. “I’ve no idea how Sybil Dabos managed to find it.
She must have known exactly where to look. ”
At that, he fell into a begrudging sort of silence. I turned his confession over. I hadn’t realized Bastian’s key was Woven—interesting. I put the tidbit away to study later.
“You were with Anais Tremblay that night,” I interjected. “During the ball. The pair of you snuck off together at some point, but your encounter was cut short. Can you describe the nature of the interruption?”
“That?” Dorian appeared perplexed. “It was nothing at all. Anais got spooked—thought she saw a ghost, or some ridiculous excuse of that kind.” He shook his head.
“Honestly, I think she was eager for a reason to part ways with me. It was evident she only endured our—encounters, as you call them, so that I’d help her along in the competition.
” He directed a scathing look my way. “Is that all?”
I flashed him a sympathetic smile. “One more question. Where did you get your monocles?”
Dorian’s brow creased. I took advantage of his befuddlement to press forward.
“The enchantment on them is ingenious,” I said. “It would take a highly practiced artisan to Weave it. Did your uncle lend you one of his workshops? Or another Weaver relative, perhaps?”
It had been on my mind for the entirety of our drive. In front of me, Dorian went completely still. He looked…not irritated, exactly, but on the verge of it. Like I was an amusing child whose antics had abruptly stopped being funny.
Smoothly, he lifted his wineglass to his mouth and took a sip. “Sweetheart, if you ever go into business, you will learn that trust is an important component of most relationships.”
It was not an answer. “I—”
“Let’s not monopolize the conversation, shall we?” Dorian’s smile was nearly a snarl. I went quiet as he directed his attention toward Noé.
“So, old friend,” he said more cheerfully. “Your wedding is coming up soon.”
Noé shifted. He’d tensed up at Dorian’s chastisement of me, I noticed. The reaction was so subtle that I wouldn’t have caught it had I not been standing directly next to him. “It is indeed.”
Dorian hummed. “You must feel fortunate, to be so secure in your inheritance. My family has all but cast me out because of the mess with Tremblay. This place is prospering, of course, but in twenty years…” He made a vague gesture, his palm turned upward.
“Well, eventually, your father will pass, and the Alaire estate will belong to you. But what will I have?”
Noé gritted his teeth. “What do you want, Dor?”
Dorian shrugged. “I’ve always thought I’d make a rather good Cloister Master,” he mused. “Adélard is so stodgy. If I were in charge, I’d have a little more fun.”
The emphasis he placed on the word, dark and insinuating, chilled me.
“Your questions about Miss Dabos’s death,” he went on. “If I were to remember something worth noting…well, I’d be happy to share that information with a friend. But you told me during the Vainglory that we are no longer friends.”
My fiancé looked faintly amused. “I consider a friend someone I can go to the pub with,” he replied. “And you consider them, what—a person who, decades down the line, will help you campaign to oust your own uncle from the institution he’s run for years now?”
A white glare of teeth, caught in the candlelight—Dorian smiled. “Exactly.”
Noé angled his chin toward me. I caught his stare in the dimness, then nodded.
Facing forward again, my fiancé rolled his shoulders. “Well, certainly, Dorian. We can be great friends.”
The other boy seemed pleased. He sat back in his chair, content—and, clearly, finished with this conversation. Whatever further questions we asked him, I doubted we would get much, if anything at all, in return.
It was time to go. Tugging on Noé’s arm, I indicated the curtained entrance. I felt a surge of appreciation for him when, rather than bidding farewell to Dorian, he simply turned from the other boy and pressed his hand against my lower back, following me out.
Dorian called to us before we stepped through the curtain. “Miss Lovett, you’re more than welcome to stay. My girls would be delighted to have a new addition to their flock.”
I shifted to address him. “Excuse me,” I said. “I thought you wished me not to talk for a while.”
Dorian grinned. “You may speak when spoken to,” he replied. “Has your fiancé not taught you that?”
There was no mirth in his voice. This was not like my verbal sparring matches with Noé, I understood, or even my conversations with his father.
Dorian spoke to me like I was a roach. Best crushed under his heel, or else not seen at all. “He’s taught me many things,” I answered. “Including the odds of six against one. Take care of your flock, as you call them, or they may learn that lesson, too.”
Without waiting for a response, I turned toward the exit.
“We look forward to hearing from you. Goodbye, Mr. Drake.”