Chapter 10
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Ten
An hour and a much-needed bath later, Ellie shrugged into her dressing gown. She stepped into the parlor to find Mr. Mahjoud clad in a set of elegant silk pajamas, staring down at the blanket and pillow laid out on the settee—which was at least a foot shorter than Mr. Mahjoud himself.
Mr. Mahoud gave a long-suffering sigh that spoke to the burden of being assigned to mind a batch of messy adults who really ought to be able to handle themselves.
Ellie could hear Constance belting out a music hall tune to the accompaniment of splashing water from the washroom down the hall.
There was no sign of Adam, but light shone from the room he shared with Neil.
Ellie gave the door a little rap. It swung open at her touch, revealing her brother standing by one of the two beds, staring down into his opened travel trunk.
He had changed into a clean undershirt, the bandage over the bullet graze just visible through the fabric.
His feet were bare beneath the cuffs of his trousers.
Neil didn’t seem to have heard her come in. He was uncomfortably engrossed in whatever he was looking at.
On Adam’s bed, Kalb sprawled across the blanket, completely passed out. His legs twitched as he dreamed of chasing lizards. Ellie wondered whether Adam would bother to move him.
Probably not.
She peered over her brother’s shoulder to see what he was staring at so fixedly inside the trunk. A long, slender bundle wrapped in an old towel rested on top of his things, a hilt of age-yellowed bone protruding from the top.
It was Dyrnwyn, the mythical sword of Rydderch Hael.
A few weeks ago, the arcanum had been a family heirloom of Julian Forster-Mowbray. Now it was Neil’s. Constance had bestowed it upon him on a desert ridge in Egypt after Julian was sent bolting back to the Nile.
Not that Neil wanted anything to do with the sword. He was stuck with it regardless until they could think of a place to put it where it wouldn’t just end up back in Lord Aldbury’s attic.
At least now, Ellie understood why Neil had been so adamant about Vijay’s servants not opening his luggage.
Dyrnwyn had a habit of bursting into wild blue flames when handled by someone it deemed well-born or worthy—which included Neil.
The sword might also decide that one of the hotel staff fit the bill, which could result in the room getting scorched.
Ellie pulled her attention from the arcanum to her brother. His shoulders were slumped with exhaustion and dismay. His soft brown hair fell over the top of his spectacles much like it had nearly two decades before, when he had burst into her life and very quickly gone from stranger to family.
The thought sparked a burst of love and affection.
“How are you, really?” Ellie prompted.
Neil startled, dropping the lid of the trunk. “What? Oh. I’m fine.”
Ellie sat on the bed beside the trunk. “It would be quite understandable if you weren’t, you know.”
Neil dropped down to sit on the other side of the trunk, wincing slightly as the movement irritated his wounded side. He took the glasses off, pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, and tried to clean them.
“The last few weeks haven’t exactly been ideal. Losing my job. Being kidnapped by my murderous boss. And now—you know. Possibly being shot. Not that any of it could really be helped.”
Ellie felt a little dart of guilt, as she had been the one responsible for throwing Neil from his comfortable life into a maelstrom of unpredictability and danger.
He looked forlornly at the spectacles in his hand. “I’m just not at all certain that I’m cut out for this.”
“I think you’ve been handling all of it splendidly… for the most part,” Ellie hedged.
Neil winced at the reminder, clearly intuiting that ‘for the most part’ referred to the idiotic apology letter he had written to the man who had later kidnapped and tried to kill him, along with his sister and friends.
“You’ve always been braver than I am. All of you—Bates and Connie too.”
Ellie’s heart twisted at the quiet resignation in his words. “There’s more than one sort of courage, Neil.”
He slipped the spectacles back on. Ellie could feel the weight of his lingering skepticism.
“Have you thought about what you’re going to do with it?” she asked, deliberately changing the subject. “The sword, I mean.”
Neil stared down at the lid of the trunk as though he could see through it to the arcanum inside. “Not really.”
Ellie studied her brother for a moment—pale and bespectacled, stripped to his undershirt with a minor gunshot wound on his side. “Have you considered possibly… using it?”
Neil blinked at her with surprise. “What on earth would I use it for?”
Ellie didn’t have an answer. She couldn’t picture her brother swinging the blade about like a medieval warrior.
“Maybe it wouldn’t have to be for fighting,” she offered instead.
Neil’s expression of low-grade horror fell away into something more uncertain.
The door flew open as Constance kicked it. Her generously curved figure, framed in the opening, was swathed in an embroidered silk dressing gown. Dark hair spilled over her shoulders in wet, glorious waves.
“Tub’s open, Stuffy,” she announced cheerfully.
Neil stared at her.
Constance shamelessly eyed his bare forearms before flouncing away. “I’m off to go air dry.”
Her words from earlier that afternoon rang through Ellie’s mind.
It’s time to consider more extreme measures…
Would Constance actually do it? Entering into a fake engagement seemed excessive, even for Ellie’s danger-magnet friend. Neil would also have to agree to the arrangement—and he patently disliked anything that hinted of scandal and danger.
But then, he was also afflicted with a distinct chivalrous streak.
Ellie wondered if she ought to warn him. It would be the sisterly thing to do, she supposed… but the notion of actually pushing the words out of her lips turned her throat dry with mortification.
I think Constance might be planning to fake engage you.
Neil ran an exhausted hand over his drawn features, unsettling his spectacles again. “I’d best go wash up.”
He staggered for the bath.
Well, there would be time to consider the matter again later, Ellie supposed… and then tried not to feel too guilty about the relief that washed over her at avoiding the situation for now.
Mr. Mahjoud sat on the sofa in his elegant silk pajamas, reading a book. Ellie took a nosy peek at the title before she caught the dragoman glaring at her over the top of the pages.
She gave him an awkwardly apologetic smile.
A tell-tale orange glow flared beyond the doors to the balcony. Intuiting its significance, Ellie slipped outside, eager to escape the tired weight of Mr. Mahjoud’s perpetual disapproval.
The air was fresh and cool in the aftermath of the rain. Adam leaned against the rail, a cigar held casually between his fingers—but he seemed to have forgotten it, his attention focused on the object in his other hand.
Ellie caught a flash of gold framing an ivory face where a needle pointed north. It was Adam’s compass—the one his father had once given him.
The finish was scratched and dented. Rust stained the hinges.
Ellie recalled the engraving from inside the lid.
May you always know your path. -GB
Adam clicked it shut as he looked up, slipping it into his pocket. His mouth curved into a wry smile as he wiggled the cigar. “I know. It’s a terrible habit.”
Ellie’s thoughts were momentarily stalled by the enticing sight of his well-muscled figure. “Mr. Mahjoud is reading the rail timetable,” she reported awkwardly.
“How much you wanna bet he’s hiding a romantic novel in there?” Adam suggested mischievously.
Ellie frowned skeptically. “Machiavelli, perhaps.”
“My money’s on Jane Austen.”
The night was soft with gloom. Adam was gently illuminated by the light filtering through the balcony doors and the glow of his cigar. Windows glinted with warmth in the surrounding buildings, filtered through colorful curtains.
Adam’s gaze dropped to Ellie’s robe—and warmed. “I remember this one.”
“I suppose you would.”
Ellie had been wearing the same garment when Adam had kicked through a washroom door into her life. The length of blue silk was far less practical than Ellie’s usual wardrobe—but Constance had packed it, and there hadn’t been much time for shopping over the last few whirlwind weeks.
Adam traced his fingers softly along the collar—and then lower, to where the curve of her breast pressed against the fabric.
The gesture wasn’t strictly appropriate—but then, the balcony was dark. Ellie wasn’t sure how much Mr. Mahjoud could see if he looked outside.
Perhaps he found the rail timetables particularly engrossing… though Ellie doubted they were engrossing enough for the dragoman to fail to notice if she grabbed the front of Adam’s shirt and dragged him down to her for a kiss.
Never mind that kissing was rarely where such things ended these days.
“Wanna tell me about what happened during the parade today?” Adam asked.
Engrossed in her wicked thoughts, Ellie was momentarily thrown by the question.
“When you stopped by that play,” Adam clarified.
Ellie recalled standing amid the shifting crowd of happy devotees at the Jagannath festival as the air danced with the scents of sweat, incense, and fried pastries.
Painted actors in elaborate costumes and masks had stepped out onto their makeshift stage, garlanded with flowers and singing stylized recitations…
and Ellie had been picked up and thrown somewhere else.
Somewhere older.
Costumes lined with the feathers of tropical birds. Drums and rattles sounding in the shadow of a towering white temple.
A spray of blood. A cheer. The moon rising over the ceiba trees.
“It reminded me of Tulan,” Ellie admitted.
The answer was true… but not entirely honest. Ellie found herself compelled to share more.