Chapter 14
MARIETTA
I flipped through the last five issues of The Gilded Guardian.
There were plenty of articles and opinions about my brothers working together on their murder spree.
Mostly ugly ones like Felicity had crowed about, but a few had crept in, scattered throughout, proclaiming doubt—describing a few instances where one or the other was at a party or function and couldn’t have been out murdering women.
Nathaniel Upholt was the journalist responsible for most of the positive ones.
There was a week left until the trial would begin. Not much time to sway the tide.
I darted a look around the kitchen to make sure Gabriel hadn’t popped in.
I’d heard cats that were louder when they pawed across a floor.
I pulled the journal from beneath a pile of papers.
I had stolen it from his room again. This time from behind the door.
I’d almost missed it after a thorough search. Clever man.
M.N.’s husband returns tonight, and with him come his personal servants and guard.
M.N. says we need to reinstill the need for total silence in our little avenger.
This is a dangerous night. One wrong word and our house of cards may fall.
But not without the ruin of our little avenger’s family.
Total ruin and persecution, what music to my ears.
If I weren’t so smitten by our little avenger, I might do it just to see the pain in his gorgeous eyes.
I so enjoy watching others fall. It reminds me of what my mother always used to tell me—that others are born to serve our whims. That we are born to make, use, and cut the strings of all. That pawns are for sacrifice.
I twirled a lock of hair around my finger as I read. It was all so deliciously awful. That these were a person’s real thoughts.
The back door opened. I jerked forward in my seat, spilling my cup of water over the end of the table. Hastily shoving the book beneath a pile of papers, I dropped my elbow on top, hand under my chin.
“You look as if you’ve been caught with your fingers in the cook’s pie.”
Relief made me droop. “Oh, thank goodness. Lucian, what are you doing here?” I mopped up the water.
“Dropping by to see how my favorite brother and his favorite client are doing.” He flashed a winning smile and sat across from me.
I arched a brow. “I’m sure. He is your only brother, is he not?”
He waved a hand, his smile growing. “Small quibbles, small quibbles.”
I folded my hands, desperate to keep reading the journal.
I could only read it when Gabriel was out of the house, and he’d only stepped out for a moment.
He would invariably find the journal and hide it again.
I was surprised he hadn’t burned it—he seemed to take perverse pleasure in shoving it into dark corners.
He had taken to concealing it with magic.
It made good practice for my strengthening veins—still sensitive and opening.
Repetition was key.
“How is the search going?” Lucian leaned back in his chair, a younger and cockier version of Gabriel.
I needed to hide the blasted thing now that Lucian was clearly settling in for a long visit. It lay perilously close to where he sat. “Gabriel said there was a hit on the marker I placed. He is verifying it with his source.”
I had given the charm’s kernel to Gabriel, who had distributed the key across his network. It was the good and bad thing about the mark I’d placed—invisible to those without a key, it had a good chance to succeed, but success took longer.
“Tell me more.”
I examined the papers around him. You feel too exposed—move one inch left. “I don’t know what Gabriel told you, but I barely attached it, the ripper was so fast. Not an unexpected quality in a Steelcrest servant, but being smacked at that speed was not my favorite.” The papers shifted. Yes!
“Who?” His chair whacked against the floor.
“The Steelcrest footman.” Move another inch. Yes!
“Name?”
I frowned and looked up. “You don’t know? Gabriel didn’t tell you?” A flicker of uncertainty lit. “I thought Gabriel discussed cases with you.”
“I’ve been out and about the last week.” He leaned forward, body strung tight. “Why don’t you catch me up? A Steelcrest footman is the Vein Ripper?”
The uncertainty spread. I liked Lucian. But his odd reactions alongside Gabriel’s were causing unsettling thoughts.
“We don’t know, but he was stalking the last victim.”
His leg started bumping up and down. “You know the last victim? They haven’t given her identity in the papers.”
“Gabriel found out through a fence. Something about her necklace was noteworthy.”
“Really?” He swallowed. “Interesting. How like Gabriel to put the pieces together so quickly.”
I chewed my lip, my uncertainty turning into flat discomfort. “Are you well, Lucian?”
“I’m feeling a bit under the weather, now that you mention it. Do you know her name?”
I looked at the kitchen door. “I’m not sure I should be discussing it with you, if Gabriel hasn’t said anything.”
He leaned forward on his elbows, with earnest eyes and a desperate face. He reminded me so much of Kennen, though a slightly wiser, more handsome version. “Please, Marietta. Gabriel tries to protect me, and he needs to stop. He doesn’t—”
One of his elbows slipped on a bulge in the papers. He looked down, pushing them to the side and unearthing the journal. Illusion never stood up to physical touch. “What’s this?”
“Oh, nothing.” I nervously tried to take it from him.
He opened the cover before I could. His face darkened. “Who was the servant you were chasing and why?”
“Lucian—”
“Marietta, please.”
“Thorne Worley.”
He stared at me. “And you think him responsible?”
I fiddled with the papers under my fingers. “I think someone is responsible, and it’s neither of my brothers. Thorne Worley had an altar to the murdered victims.”
“A what?”
“Some sort of shrine with pictures and notes. Like a madman fallen in love with the people he murdered.”
Disgust curled his face. “A shrine? To them? Disgusting.”
Again there was an undercurrent pulling at the room that I couldn’t comprehend. “I know. What goes through the mind of someone when they kill another person and then set up a shrine?”
He blinked, as if that hadn’t been what he was saying. “Where did you get this?” He hefted the journal.
“From the victim’s house. It’s horrible. She was horrible.” I held out my hand. He didn’t move. “Lucian?”
“You shouldn’t read something like this.”
I made an impatient motion with my hand. “Yes, yes, I’ve heard that before. Give it here.”
He didn’t move, so I reached over and grabbed it.
The front door opened. I jumped and shoved the journal right back under the stack of papers. Lucian raised a brow.
Gabriel walked into the kitchen and stopped. “What are you doing here, Lucian?”
“Good afternoon to you, too, dear brother.”
“I thought you were back at school.”
“I took a leave.”
“You what?” Gabriel’s voice was forbidding.
“I will go back next term, if everything works out.”
“Explain yourself. If what works out?”
“My project. I have something I’ve been meaning to take care of for a long time.”
“What type of project?” I asked.
“No.” His features changed, and there was something terrifying in his expression—almost like fear. “Go back to school. The carriage will take you. I will talk to the dean.”
“No.” Lucian stood. “I’m staying in Gildon. You can’t control me, Gabriel.”
“I can. You will go back to school.”
“Next term.”
“This term.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
I stood to leave.
Gabriel pointed at me. “Sit.”
I sat. I immediately stood again, irritated with myself for following the command. “Why don’t you listen to what Lucian has to say?”
“Because I don’t care what he has to say. He is going back to school today.”
“No, Gabriel.” Lucian’s expression was a mess of hurt and determination. “And if you force the issue, I will cut off contact.”
The devastation on Gabriel’s face was hard to witness. It hardened to iron. “I’ll cut off your allowance.”
Lucian opened his mouth. Whatever came next from either of them was going to be awful—projected in the way their eyes flashed and their stances mirrored aggression. I turned to Gabriel before Lucian could respond. “Why are you doing this? Just ask him what his project is.”
“I don’t want to know what his project is.” I wasn’t sure which was worse, the pain in Gabriel’s eyes or the pain in Lucian’s.
“That’s right,” Lucian said. “It’s your way, Gabriel. To ignore everything so maybe it will just go away.” He swept the papers on the table, scattering them to the floor. The journal remained on the scarred oak.
Water dripped somewhere through the silence. We all stared at the book.
“Spirits be damned, Marietta!” Gabriel grabbed the journal, magic crackling in his grip. He stormed from the room and up the stairs. A loud whack echoed above as he threw it.
Lucian’s eyes met mine. “Goodbye, Marietta.”
“Lucian, wait.”
But he had already opened the door. He slammed it behind him.
I sank into my chair and looked at the papers on the floor.
Gabriel walked back in and clanged a pot on the high table. Then a spoon, then a jar. He threw ingredients in as I stared at his back.
He stirred, his elbow making a small, tight circuit. “We are going to Ironhook tonight.” His voice was completely calm, as if nothing had occurred, as if the spoon wasn’t scraping the sides and battering the metal.
“Why?” Hook your guts, rust your bones, and iron your soul—Ironhook was one of the worst areas in the East End—in all of Gildon.
“Thorne Worley ‘sparkled’ there. Seen in three places. Trying to hide in the wastes. We are going to find him.”
All mages were wary of the wastes—magicless spaces drained of brightness and hope.
“What about Lucian?”
His shoulders tensed. “What about him?”
“Aren’t you going to do anything?”
“Yes, I’m going to find Thorne Worley.”
“No! Aren’t you going to do anything about Lucian?”
“That’s none of your concern.”