Chapter Twenty-Five
The whole time Seph was shepherding the other performers around the Twittens, she was thinking about Rhys’s explanation of fairy circles—of the mushrooms visible aboveground only being the tips of long fingers joined by a massive hand under the earth.
That was what she felt like she’d become part of. She was, perhaps, the thumb today. The important digit that determined what could be gripped, but only the tip of a larger ecosystem, whether she liked it or not. One that very literally had a mind of its own.
Just like the mycelium.
By the time they sat down for luncheon, they had not only bought a significant amount of treasures from around her favorite spots in the Twittens, but they’d managed to fill up Nini’s daytime schedule without her knowledge.
Gordon, first, had volunteered to come to the house to teach Merlin how the puzzles were made and show off his favorite inventions, and Seph had thought it a good idea, a wonderful way to keep the man entertained in his long and likely painful final days.
But that had sparked a revolution of ideas and invitations.
She chewed on her bread, watching the door for Rhys, and wondered if any of the actual invited guests would even have time to visit Merlin’s bedside now, with all the denizens of Lewes volunteering to come by with gifts and glitter and diversion.
It was the first time she realized she herself wanted to speak privately to the man. And she didn’t even know exactly why.
Perhaps she wanted his wisdom. Or perhaps she wanted to ask about the way he’d invited them there and what he knew about Rhys’s adoptive mother and his missing pocket watch. Or perhaps he just reminded her of her da. And she missed her da.
“I cannot believe she is the same age as I,” Madame Ivanova was saying with a sniff and a toss of her unnaturally red ringlets. “All those wrinkles. Still, perhaps she could preserve a peacock for me. I should like to have a whole bird.”
Seph winced, sparing a glance up at the other woman. “Those feathers are bad luck to my people,” she told her. “They watch you.”
“Do they?” asked Mr. Charpentier. “Like Merlin’s god’s eyes, hm? Are you going to keep yours? I’m keeping mine.”
And then the chatter had overtaken the others again.
“This bread is remarkable,” Master Yuri murmured, tossing a seductive glance at the Swedish woman behind the counter. “Perhaps the baker should have been invited to prove the existence of magic as well.”
“Well, that is the funny thing, isn’t it?” said the Breton gentleman. “Science and magic are all tangled up together. Just because we understand the function of something does not mean it makes any sense at all in a practical world.”
“What do you mean?” Seph asked, wrinkling her brow. “That is exactly what understanding the function provides. Sense.”
He shook his head. “Have you ever attended a scientific expo? They have them often in London, but I do not know if they come to Brighton in the summers to follow the prince.”
She shook her head. She didn’t think she had.
“If you put your loudest bell or chime under glass,” he said, miming it, “and take all the air away, it can no longer sing. The science says it is because sound needs to breathe, yes? But does that not fill you with unease? It implies that you should not be able to hear your child calling you if your head is under the bathwater, and yet you can.”
“There is oxygen in water,” Seph argued. “I am not classically educated, but I know that much.”
“Ah, perhaps,” said the man, shrugging. “But then you must think, if beyond us, out in the cosmos, someone were to ring a bell to let us know they were standing on Mars or Venus or the moon, we would never know.”
“Perhaps that is why most people cannot hear the spirits,” Madame Ivanova said softly, tilting her head to the side like one were whispering to her just now. “Because they do not breathe.”
“Then why can you hear them?” Master Yuri asked, smirking at her. “You breathe.”
“Because I have died before,” the lady answered flatly. “I was born dead. And then I was restored. I think that is why.”
After that, everyone fell silent for a time. Until Rhys appeared, bashing in through the door like an invading army with a wooden box under his arm and a grin on his face.
“Ah,” said Seph, breaking into a smile immediately. “My crudités?”
He paused, his eyes taking on a predatory little glint. “This? No,” he said, jostling the box, which sounded like it was filled with something soft. “Those went directly back to the house to be put in ice water. My vegetable-loving wife. You must be chuffed that you’re finally allowed them again.”
“‘Crudités’?” Mr. Charpentier asked, giving a curious tilt of his head. “Why wouldn’t she be allowed crudités?”
“My constitution was too delicate for a time,” Seph answered, keeping her eyes on Rhys. “But it isn’t anymore. Is it, husband?”
His grin widened. “It isn’t,” he agreed. “Shall we head back? I’ll eat my bread as we walk.”
Once everyone was gathered back into order and they had emerged onto the high street from the Twittens, Seph was able to sidle up alongside Rhys without being overheard. “So,” she said, nodding toward his arms, “what’s in the box?”
“Bedroom slippers,” he answered, giving it another jostle. “Only thing you can buy ready-made from the precious artiste cobbler in this bloody town.”
“But—”
He shushed her. “Our shoes will take a week, but we need something dedicated and unfamiliar to practice in. I am aware you already have bedroom slippers. Now you have more.”
She harrumphed but did not argue further.
“Now, about these crudités,” he said, smirking down at her strop. “Are you prepared for your first serving? I know your cravings have gotten stronger.”
She hesitated, a little hiccup in her steps, but did not acknowledge this question otherwise.
“Excellent,” he observed, drawing closer as his voice dropped. “I have many questions about how you feel today. If your body remembers what I did to it.”
“It remembers,” she answered, her voice gone mostly to breath.
“Good,” he said. “Your lovely body should get accustomed to that memory. And to having my cock inside it.”
She flushed red, heat fanning up over her cheeks. “Rhys!” she hissed, throwing a glance at the oblivious group ahead of them.
“Did you like it?” he whispered, ignoring her concern. “Did you enjoy coming for me? On me?”
Her stomach clenched, flutters flickering outward into her flesh, and she turned her face up to meet his eye. “Yes,” she said softly. “I did.”
It clearly surprised him, his pupils flaring and consuming the green of his irises.
He licked his lips, his eyes sweeping over her face and down over her body, lingering at her cleavage.
“So did I,” he said. “And I meant what I said about the locks on your shop. They are far too easy to pick. You ought to expect me, frequently and without warning, in the night.”
“I will,” she told him. “So don’t disappoint the expectation.”
He exhaled, puffing his cheeks out like he hadn’t accounted for the heat he’d burdened her with washing back onto him, and shook his head like he needed to clear it.
He tore his eyes away from her and sucked in a deep breath, nodding toward the house.
“Here we are,” he said brisker, louder. “Home sweet home.”
Seph smiled to herself, watching his narrow arse sway as he loped ahead of her, clearly trying to escape the heated eddy he’d constructed here at the back of the line.
Home, she thought, watching Rhys Caradoc. Sweet home.
*
Seph was sparking with the electric sensation of anticipation as they finished their dinner that night, only half listening as Nini was informed of their impending parade of daytime guests and Merlin was regaled with a summary of their expedition and the science as magic discourse they’d had over lunch.
“Those scientific expos are something to spark the mind,” Merlin had allowed, nodding along.
“I saw an experiment once where two slits of light in an enclosed box produced multiple lights inside the thing, in varying levels of brightness, all side by side. It implies, I was told, that there are many worlds existing parallel to our own, right beside us, without our knowledge.”
“Like fae courts?” Rhys asked.
“Like spirits on the mortal plane?” Ivanova added.
“Like dark bodies in the sky, alongside the stars and planets,” Father Wheeler suggested.
“Perhaps,” said Merlin, whose voice did sound stronger in the aftermath of his meeting with the priest this afternoon. “Perhaps all of that.”
“Oh, wonderful,” Nini replied with a deep frown. “Just so you all know, I hate that. I hate it very much.”
Seph wasn’t certain why that was so funny to her, but she was still giggling about it in fits and spurts as they moved to the ballroom for tonight’s activity, an array of pillows for sitting upon, towels, pen knives, and a barrel of iced turnips awaiting them in the center of the room.
She’d requested the light remain low and that the fire burning in the hearth be built with small chunks of wood or coals inside that could be withdrawn at the end of tonight’s activity.
She noted that the grandmother and child, whose names had still not been provided to the others, were still dressed identically, though they did take adjacent cushions and tools rather than sharing one.
“We haven’t met yet,” she said, kneeling down in front of them as they looked up with identical looks of surprise. “I am Miss Persephone.”
Definitely blood relatives, Seph thought.
“I am Juliet,” the old woman said, her voice sounding raspy and a little strained. “And this is Parley.”
“Lovely to meet you both,” Seph replied with a nod. “I hope you enjoy tonight’s activity.”
She walked away, keenly aware that she still wasn’t certain if the child was a boy or a girl.