Chapter 31 Valerie
Eleven tawny owls sat on a branch in the back garden of House Armand. In the midnight dark their eyes shone like a row of pearls.
‘Well, this is fucking weird,’ said Val to no one in particular. She was in the middle of her nightly walkabout, a recent habit that dulled the incessant hum of her own magic. A quiet turn at night helped her meditate before bed, and stave off the feeling that she was losing her mind.
The owls made her wonder if it was working.
Two more alighted on the branch as she approached.
Magic, purred the old voice.
‘Well, no shit,’ said Val, aloud. But what kind?
Tentative.
New.
Her own power was calm, unthreatened by the strangeness before her. While the owls stirred her confusion, they didn’t make her uneasy.
‘Impressed?’ chimed a voice in the dark.
Val turned, spotting Tobias standing under a tree. Bright teeth, gold eyes, his silvered hair like a torch in the moonlight. He was practically vibrating with excitement.
Saint, purred the old voice.
Well, obviously.
‘I was wondering why you weren’t at dinner,’ she said. ‘And on cheesecake night.’ She went to him. His magic sang to hers, revealing itself like a flower peeling into bloom.
‘Saint of Beasts,’ she said aloud.
Relief trickled through her. After Theo, Val could never be sure what she might find in the reaches of one’s soul. ‘For a second there, I was afraid it was just owls.’
He chuckled. ‘She was the first animal I picked up on out here. I didn’t know she’d have so many friends. I’m just practising.’
Val looked up at the owls. They stared back, unblinking.
What are you up to, Oriel?
Her mind whirred, trying to figure out how a power such as this could be useful in war.
It’s not like they were fighting animals. Andreas was a mercurial enemy, a man who made a weapon of his words.
A thought struck.
Unless—
‘The Strix,’ said Tobias, like he had read her mind. ‘They’re beasts.’
‘Yes,’ said Val, suddenly breathless.
The owls looked down on her. Small beasts. Gentle birds. At least in comparison to the aerial army of Urnica. And yet… it was a start. Wasn’t it?
‘Do you think you could do it?’ asked Val. ‘Control a Strix?’
‘With a hell of a lot of practice,’ said Tobias, quietly. Unsure.
‘Keep at it then,’ said Val with mounting urgency. ‘All night if you have to.’ Saints’ Day was almost upon them. There wasn’t a moment to waste. She looked again at the boy, at the glint of determination in his eyes. ‘Get this right and you might just end up turning the tide of the war, Tobias.’
He rolled back on his feet, preening. ‘Then I’ll never have to do another chore again!’
‘Such lofty ambitions.’ She ruffled his hair. ‘You sure you’re a Versini?’
The joke went right over his head, where another owl landed.
‘Where’s Sera?’ asked Val.
‘Out cold in her room. Don’t worry, I put a blanket over her before I left.’
‘Isn’t Ransom with her?’
He shook his head, returning to his tree of owls. They shuffled closer, as though they were awaiting a command. ‘She said not to tell him. About the making.’
Val’s magic grumbled. ‘Why?’
‘Dunno.’ The bushes rustled and a fox appeared. ‘Ah! Hello!’ Tobias bolted towards it, forgetting all about her.
Disquieted, Val returned to House Armand. Her anxiety led her straight to Sera’s bedroom, only to find it empty. There was a rumpled blanket on the floor next to a pillow speckled with blood.
Her magic squirmed.
There is a wrongness here.
Val backed into the hallway, where the light from the bathroom drew her in. The door was ajar, the sound of retching coming from within. Through the gap, she could make out Sera’s long blonde hair. She was leaning over the sink, her knuckles white around the basin.
She eased the door open. ‘Are you all right?’
Sera jerked her head up. ‘Fine,’ she croaked.
She was as pale as a ghost. ‘You look like death.’
Her eyes guttered. ‘I said I’m fine.’
Lie, screamed the old voice. Val could see that all by herself. There was blood in the sink and striping her friend’s chin.
Staggering towards her, Sera shoved her out, slamming the door between them. The lock turned with a click.
Val knocked on the wood. ‘Sera! Let me in.’
The retching continued, and Val could do nothing but wait. She paced, wringing her hands. After what felt like an eternity, Sera emerged from the bathroom. Her hair had been combed and braided, and her face was freshly washed. Behind her, the sink sparkled.
‘Sorry.’ Sera summoned a shaky smile. ‘I wasn’t feeling well.’
‘There was blood all over the sink.’
‘Only a little.’
Lie.
‘What happened?’
‘Sometimes, the makings make me feel a bit queasy.’ She waved her hand about. ‘It’s nothing’.
Lie.
‘Should I get Ransom?’
‘No.’ The word was swift, sharp. ‘He worries too much already. I’ll be well again in the morning.’
Val’s eyes darted, noting the shadows under her best friend’s eyes, the way her fingers trembled at her sides. ‘Maybe he’s right to worry.’
A flat look. ‘Come on, Val. Not you too.’
‘You can talk to me.’ Val felt a sudden swell of desperation, a fear she could not yet name – a blend of magic and intuition that told her the ground was shifting under their feet. ‘About anything. You know that, right?’
‘Of course I do.’ Sera’s smile wavered. ‘It’s late. We should both get some sleep.’ She slipped past her, palming the wall as she moved down the hallway.
Val called after her, ‘Tobias is outside. He’s got about seventy owls to show you.’
Her friend stilled, like she had forgotten all about the making. ‘He’s all right?’ she asked over her shoulder.
‘Better than all right. You made a Saint of Beasts.’
She closed her eyes, and Val knew she was thinking of Theo and how wrong tonight could have gone. ‘Good.’
She returned to her bedroom, leaving Val alone with her worry.
Too addled to sleep, Val’s feet led her back to the music room.
Her place of solace. When Bibi was alive, they used to pilfer snacks from the kitchen and come up here after midnight.
Bibi would tinkle on the piano while Val sat by the fire and stuffed her face with cookies.
They would talk about their Heists, their dreams and whatever Cloak had stirred their fancy that week.
She froze in the doorway. ‘What the hell are you doing in here?’
Caruso, who was reclining in an armchair by the fireplace, looked up in surprise. ‘Are you talking to me?’
Val scowled. ‘I don’t see anyone else with their feet on the furniture.’
Returning his boots to the floor with a thud, he said, ‘Have I interrupted a late-night piano session? By all means, play me a lullaby.’
‘Don’t piss me off tonight,’ she said, coming inside. ‘I’ve had a bad day, and I’m looking to stab something.’
He tipped his head back, revealing his jugular. ‘Have at it, kitten.’
She said again, ‘What are you doing here?’
He raised the tumbler of whiskey in his hand. ‘Drinking alone.’
She sniffed. ‘How sad.’
He hummed, watching her. ‘Do you want to drink alone together?’
‘No.’
Yes, you do.
‘Suit yourself.’
She turned to go. Stopped. Turned back. He was still looking at her. Smirking. Why was he always smirking? Ignoring him, she marched over to the dining cart and poured herself a drink. She plonked down in the chair opposite him and sipped her whiskey.
And still, he watched her.
Ugh.
She shifted uncomfortably. ‘Why are your eyes like that?’
‘Like what?’
‘So … bright.’ So unnerving. So arresting. Like diamond shards. She took another gulp, letting the burn distract her from the desire to stare right back at him.
‘My mother was from Borea.’
The northernmost country in Arthos. A place of pine and snow and little else.
She huffed. ‘I didn’t know you had a mother.’
‘Most babies do.’ There was a note of amusement in his voice.
‘Not me.’ She sipped her drink. ‘Not that I care.’
Hard to miss something you never had. At least that’s what she told herself.
‘Mine died when I was young,’ he said. ‘I don’t remember her.’
‘Is that when you became a Dagger?’
‘No.’
Silence.
‘All right.’ She tipped her drink at him. ‘Good story.’
He traced the rim of his glass. ‘I’d hate to bore you.’
‘You’re not,’ she said too quickly. ‘You’re one of the least boring people I’ve ever met.’
Those diamond eyes glittered. ‘Why do I get the feeling that’s not a compliment?’
Val didn’t know what it was. She just knew she wanted to hear more. ‘Go on,’ she prompted.
‘A few years after my mother died, my father took me to Dufort himself. He was flat broke by then. Too lazy to work and bored of being a father. He sold me to the Daggers and took the coin I made.’
‘What?’ She reeled. ‘That’s…’
‘Poor parenting?’
She couldn’t think of an insult strong enough.
‘Don’t worry, I killed him for it,’ he added without a hint of remorse.
She snorted. ‘Of course you did.’
‘Took back my coin too. Spent it on a mountain lion in the black market.’
She stared at him. ‘You’re kidding.’
‘The little bastard ran away. Chewed up a couple of Daggers on the way out too. Dufort was pissed.’ He sighed, rubbing his jaw. ‘Admittedly, not one of my better decisions.’
‘You don’t strike me as someone who makes good decisions.’
Those icy eyes pinned her. ‘Except for you.’
Her cheeks erupted. ‘What does that mean?’
He grinned, knocking back his drink. ‘Take it as you like.’
She shot to her feet, snatching his empty glass to distract herself from the climbing heat. Busying herself at the cart, she took her time refilling their drinks.
He spoke to her back, his voice soft and low, ‘Who ruined your day, Valerie?’
She chewed on her answer. ‘Oriel, I suppose.’
‘Huh. I can’t see my way to murdering her. Pick someone a little closer to home.’
When she turned around, his face was utterly serious. ‘You’re unhinged,’ she said.
‘So you keep telling me.’
She passed him his drink and returned to her chair.
He canted his head. ‘What did Oriel do to make you so mad?’
She toyed with a curl, wondering how much she should say, if it would be wise to reveal the soft core of herself.
He was looking at her in that way again, curiosity gleaming in his icy gaze.
Perhaps it was the late hour or the seed of hopelessness within her, but she realized that she didn’t care. She just wanted someone to talk to.
‘All this magic, these secrets … I feel like I’m losing my people.’
The old voice sighed, as though her confession had somehow lessened the pressure in her soul.
Caruso was pensive for a moment. ‘I’ll be your people.’
She blinked. ‘You?’
‘Why not me? I’m fucking hilarious.’
‘And murderous.’
‘Not with you,’ he countered.
‘Why does this feel like a negotiation?’
‘Because I’m very persuasive.’
‘With those murderous hands?’
‘And my tongue.’ He smirked.
A giddy laugh bubbled from her. Why was she enjoying this? ‘What else do you bring to the table?’
He stroked his chin. ‘An impressive patchwork of scars. That fancy-ass sword I stole from the Appoline. And I can make an apple tart that’d bring you to your knees.’
‘Because it’s full of arsenic?’
He winked. Then grinned. ‘And I can dance.’
‘Not as well as I can.’
‘No one’s as good as you.’
Another laugh stole out of her.
‘And I can make you laugh,’ he said, satisfied.
Saints, save her. ‘I’m laughing at you.’
‘It’s all the same to me, kitten.’
She drank to hide her smile. ‘Good pitch. I’ll think it over.’
‘And one more thing,’ he said, tipping his glass at the ceiling. ‘The Saint of Destiny doesn’t fuck with me. I am exactly as I am to everyone I meet. I wear my darkness on the outside, and I don’t give a rat’s ass about magic or power.’
And that is exactly why you like him, purred the old voice.
As they drank and talked, and laughed some more, Val started to think there were some surprises when it came to Caruso Dantes, and that maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing.
When the hour was obscenely late and the whiskey was gone, and their chairs had somehow moved closer, Caruso leaned over and said, in a voice like dripping honey, ‘Do you remember when we danced at Marvale, Valerie?’
She thought about it constantly. ‘Not really. I was drunk.’
The old voice tsked.
‘You were like an apparition. The way you moved, how you pulled the light to you, like a firefly.’
‘Sounds like you were drunk too.’
‘We should do it again,’ he said, conspiratorially.
‘What, now?’
‘Why not? We might be dead in two days’ time.’
He was on his feet then, a hand outstretched towards her.
His eyes were shining, his smile seductive.
Val didn’t know how it happened, whether her body had overruled her mind, or if it was fate that pulled her to her feet and shoved her into his arms, but suddenly, they were dancing alone in the music room, while the rest of House Armand slumbered.
There was no music, just the whisper of their breath in the silence, and somehow it didn’t matter.
He held her close, palming the small of her back, and she clutched his shoulder, folding her other hand around his.
He dipped her low, her hair brushing the floor as he leaned over her.
She was lifted then, as though she were no more than a feather in his arms. She spun, and spun, and their laughter soared, making its own kind of music.
They were drunk off their asses, and half mad with the kind of hysteria that comes on the cusp of war, and Val couldn’t tear herself away from him.
Once she left the blissful silliness of their bubble, her fears would return.
The night would be dark, and dawn would be cruel, and she would wake all alone in her bed, and have to face the terror of tomorrow.
So she danced and shoved the world away. When the alcohol wore off and she turned boneless with exhaustion, Caruso dipped his head and said, softly, along the shell of her ear, ‘Do you remember in Marvale, when you fell asleep in my lap?’
Val had never slept so well. ‘Remind me.’
They collapsed into a chair together, and she nestled close, resting her head in the crook of his shoulder.
‘You’d better not snore,’ she murmured against the shadow-mark on his neck.
He smiled against her. ‘You’d better not drool.’
‘Shut up,’ she slurred.
She fell asleep to the low rumble of his chuckle.
He held her all night long.