Chapter Fourteen #2
Obediently, Dorian rose again, this time withdrawing what looked to be a slim golden rod from his suit pocket.
Passing it to me with a wink, he retreated back to his chair.
The object was as heavy as lead in my hand, glowing with a pearly sheen in the candlelight.
I blinked at it, uncertain of its purpose.
“It is an auguring wand—enchanted to respond to its holder’s intentions.
” As if registering my mental question, Eliot spoke up from beside Noé, his expression hooded.
“It has been altered for tonight’s purposes: If you attempt to present this panel with a secret that was sourced for you by another party, the wand’s surface will burn red.
In order to pass the trial, the information you give us must be your own—disclosed to you, or discovered privately, without any assumption that it would be shared.
The key lies in the intent, as the nature of the enchantment suggests.
” He cleared his throat, his eyes flicking guiltily away from mine.
“A last-minute precaution, conceived of by Mr.Alaire to ensure the integrity of his son’s prospective brides. ”
I read the unspoken message in his words: Bastian had outsmarted us.
So long as the auguring wand rested in my palm, I could not give Noé the gossip Eliot had passed me about Pierre Bordeau without also giving away Eliot himself—and our alliance.
Sisters be damned. My hand curled tighter around the smooth metal rod, as if it were a neck I could snap.
“As always, Lear has explained a matter better than I could myself.” Noé turned to Eliot gratefully, his tone warm.
“Though,” he added, directing his caveat my way, “if my friend here has measured his nominee by the same exacting standards as he does all else in his life, I am sure you will be utterly reputable, Miss Lovett.” Slouching back against his throne, he gave me a dismissive wave.
“Go on, then—tell us what you’ve found out. ”
My mind raced, my palm slick where I gripped the rod. I willed myself to speak—to lie, to say anything—but my voice was stuck in my throat, no matter my attempts to force it out.
A minute or so into my humiliating silence, Noé’s pretty features creased in a frown.
“There is no need to be frightened,” he said with a bemused laugh.
“It is a wand we’ve given you, not a snake—it won’t bite you.
” Leaning forward, he gestured at me again—encouragingly this time, as if beckoning a shy animal.
“Speak quickly, and we may end this charade all the sooner.”
“She is silent because she has nothing to say.” Dorian spoke up from Noé’s side, his chin resting indolently in his hand.
“It is as I suspected yesterday—Lear and his damned bleeding heart have brought you a basket case.” Slumping low in his chair, he groaned, rubbing at his brow as if warding off a headache.
“How utterly dull. Come now, Noé, our families give enough to the orphans’ home already—can we finish with this one and dismiss her, please? ”
“My secret is about you, sir.”
I did not know, exactly, where the answer came from—one minute all had been darkness, and the next it was there, stepping forward like an actor on the stage.
Rapidly, a plan began to knit together in my mind—a loophole in Eliot’s instructions I hadn’t noticed before.
In order to pass the trial, the information you give us must be your own—…
disclosed to you, or discovered privately, without any assumption that it would be shared. The key lies in the intent.
In the intent . Aside from the message about Pierre Bordeau, Eliot had passed me another rumor during our morning rendezvous—one which, I was certain, he meant for me to keep private. But did I truly dare to defy him? To breach what little trust we’d begun to build?
In unison, the judges’ gazes swung my way: Dorian’s doubtful, Eliot’s alarmed and suspicious.
Ignoring them both, I focused wholly on Noé.
Bastian’s son had straightened at my words and was watching me now with an alert, intrigued expression, as if I were a rabbit that had abruptly grown wings, become interesting .
“Me?” he said slowly.
Eliot coughed: a warning if I’d ever heard one.
Ignoring him, I went on. “Your father said in his speech last night that he hopes for you to find great love here,” I said, keeping my attention steady on Noé.
“But you have loved before, have you not? Yet your family did not approve of your choice, so the match could not be.” My pulse was a crimson howl in my ears, fear and adrenaline wrestling as I spoke.
“Your secret is that you do not wish to be here at all,” I said.
“You feel the Vainglory is a cage that has been made for you, one that you worry you will never escape.”
My voice caught; I swallowed the hesitation down.
“Am I wrong?”
Eliot’s rage was the searing blaze of noonday, like a hot claw through my chest. I could sense him in my periphery, steaming in his chair, waiting for me to turn and face him, but I did not care.
For the whole time I’d been speaking, Noé hadn’t said a word—only sat there, watching me with the daggered, perfect stillness of a mountain cat lying frozen in the brush.
My hands trembled under his scrutiny, my composure beginning to crack like spring ice. Yet in my fist, the auguring wand remained cold.
I had passed.
Finally, his finger twitched on the arm of his chair. “Leave us,” he growled.
I stiffened—afraid, for a moment, it was me Noé was speaking to—but then his judges stood, neither of them, not even Eliot, offering a word of protest. Noé regarded me silently as they disappeared through the doorway back into the main room, his expression honed and fully awake, the sleepy haze of boredom he’d worn earlier now absent.
Without its muting presence, he was sharper than I expected, harsher; facing him, I felt as though I had stepped into what I thought was a shallow pond, only to find the water up to my nose.
My stomach bottomed out. Perhaps my earlier assessments had been hasty. I did not understand this competition, whatever I thought. I did not understand him.
Once we were alone, Noé tipped his head to one side. “Miss Lovett, you have not followed the rules of my game.”
I drew a subtle inhale of relief. I could not read the emotion dancing in Bastian’s son’s silver eyes, but his tone was testing, not angry. As if this were another trial, extended personally from him to me.
If it were, I could not afford to lose. “Forgive me, sir,” I replied. “I have never been much good at tests.”
A huff of laughter. “Lear told you, didn’t he? My secret?” Noé asked, nodding toward the door the judges had exited through. When I hesitated, he tsked . “I can hear you thinking. Yet the truth requires no debate,” he said in a lowered tone. “Come now, Miss Lovett—out with it.”
I blushed, my gaze snapping back from where it had drifted.
“Mr.Lear told me only that you were kindhearted,” I said, as smoothly as I was able.
“He knew that I was afraid to come here, afraid to…face you, so he did what he could to make me feel comfortable. I gathered the rest on my own.” Forcing a smile, I met Noé’s stare.
“It was not so very difficult. You make your disinterest obvious, sir.”
Even as I spoke the falsehoods aloud, I questioned them.
I had already betrayed Eliot by revealing information he had confessed to me in private—any attempts to protect him now would not make him forgive me, I knew, but would only endanger my position with Noé.
I’d plunged the knife into his back, and yet…
And yet, fool that I was, I could not bring myself to twist it.
For a long moment, I awaited Noé’s reaction. Bastian’s heir was silent, as if absorbing my words; then, just when I’d begun to give up hope, he returned my smile with a smirk of his own.
“Do I?” he said. His posture was looser now, teasing—he was amused.
My relief was almost more difficult to disguise than my deceit.
Swallowing it, I nodded. “Each time I’ve spoken with you thus far, you’ve looked as though you’d prefer the gallows to our conversation,” I replied.
“It is understandable, of course—though, if you may permit me to say it, sir, I would advise you to give me and my fellow maidens a chance.” Dipping my head, I gazed coyly up at him. “Perhaps someone shall surprise you.”
“ Someone has surprised me already.” Noé shook his head, his eyes narrowing, as if contemplating a decision.
Then, with a sigh, he straightened, raising his voice to call out: “Your secret is intriguing, Miss Lovett, and yet it does not meet the qualifications set forth at the beginning of this trial, which was to bring me something I did not know—so unfortunately, you may not receive credit for it.”
I bit my lip, attempting to keep my disappointment from showing on my face.
No —after all I’d done, the lie I’d allowed Eliot to entangle me in, I could not be sent home so soon.
It seemed profoundly unfair—unfinished—like reading the first chapter in a novel and finding the rest of the pages blank.
If I left Fortblanche now, our bargain would be unfulfilled, and Eliot’s agreement with me null and void.
Panic kicked at my ribs; somewhere along the distant crescent of Balmoore’s coast, I felt the cloisters spring to attention, like dogs leaping to their feet at the scent of a bone.
“Still—” Noé spoke again, and, holding my breath, I looked up.
“It is as my father said yesterday: In a bride, I hope to find someone who will speak plainly with me,” he continued.
“Of all the maidens I have met tonight, you are the only one who has dared to question me.” He nodded, his cheeks dimpling with a smile.
“Congratulations, Miss Lovett. You may continue on to the second trial.”