Chapter 12
CHAPTER
Sabine
A picnic by the Velnar river was the only social occasion where one might be forgiven for abandoning conversation in favor of a novel’s pages.
Sabine perched at the edge of a blanket under Lady Delarine’s striped tent, her book spread open, engrossed in her reading.
Nearer the center, Liora bent over wildflowers, coaxing them into slender chains and fragile crowns.
Ellie hovered nearby, rearranging cushions that required no adjustment and fussing over refreshments that had already been meticulously presented.
Sabine’s mark burned hotter each time Lord Vaelros’s gaze found her from his sentry post—and it found her often, unblinking, though not once did he cross the distance between them.
Despite her determination not to give him the satisfaction, Sabine’s gaze was drawn back, helpless, to where he stood beneath an ancient oak.
Everything about his stance spoke of duty, no hint of pleasure in his posture, no effort to perform the elaborate social ballet the others did.
He stood apart, immune to the charade of the Gilt.
There was nothing cold and military, however, in the way his eyes scanned her. When he fixed his gaze on her mark, it blazed with so much anger Sabine feared he might deploy his destructive magic against her just to be rid of their inconvenient arrangement.
Alas, he did not.
More than once, he seemed to compose himself and attempt an approach.
And more than once, Sabine must have done something to infuriate him, for his jaw would clench, his eyes narrow, his feet rooted to the grass.
She could not say what it was about her, precisely, that so consistently dissuaded him from even a facsimile of civility.
Perhaps he’d hoped for a greater beauty.
Perhaps it was not appearance at all, but the simple concept of the marks.
Or perhaps, he simply did not care to be forced into an arrangement with someone so obviously a rung below his station.
Still, the intensity of his gaze unsettled her.
Once, she sipped from a glass of cordial Ellie handed her, then licked a drop from her lip.
His gaze followed the movement, sharp and almost scandalized, before he turned away.
Another time, she adjusted her gown’s neckline, a futile attempt to cover the mark.
He scoffed, subtle but unmistakable. A third, when a group of Gilt gentry approached Lady Delarine’s tent, Sabine offered a polite laugh at some valen’s insipid story about his country estate, and Lord Vaelros sneered.
Sneered, for thread’s sake!
Not everyone had been granted the privilege of behaving like an insufferable brute at a social gathering. Though it seemed word had failed to reach him on the matter.
Hours ticked by. He did not come to her. He did not even acknowledge the woman whose future had been inextricably bound to his own. Instead, he kept his post, watchful, unmoved.
A metallic tang bloomed on Sabine’s tongue. Lady Delarine’s warning echoed in her mind: The only thing that matters is that you play the part assigned to you to the Registry’s satisfaction. Either perform as is expected of you, or do not participate at all.
Maybe it was for the best that Lord Vaelros kept his distance, if this was the composure he could muster. Sabine felt perversely proud of herself for inspiring such passion in a man who, by all accounts, was supposedly incapable of it.
She made a mental note to tell Liora later, perhaps embellish it slightly for effect. She pictured herself recounting the day when the Emperor’s Hand, legendary for his icy temperament, had nearly burst a vessel simply because she’d glanced at him wrong.
Had their positions been reversed, would Liora have fared any better with Lord Vaelros? Sabine decided her sister would’ve had him tamed within the week, probably by sheer force of will. The comparison stung only for a moment, soothed by the animal relief that Sabine would never need to find out.
Better her than Liora, any day. After everything she’d sacrificed, the last thing she wanted was for Liora to be trapped in an arranged match with a soulless man.
“Miss Almarien,” Lady Delarine remarked, lowering herself beside Sabine with the effortless composure of a woman who had never once tripped in her life, “I daresay one should not frown so deeply on such a pleasant afternoon. You shall frighten the fish.”
Sabine’s lips curved into a reluctant smile. “I rather think the fish have more pressing concerns than my expressions, Your Grace.”
She smiled, that nearly maternal one the Duchess seemed to reserve for Sabine alone, that both warmed her and worried her at once, before focusing on something over her shoulder.
“I must pay my respects to the Duchess of Velmarch. I trust you’ll be quite content on your own?
” With a significant glance at Sabine, she glided away across the lawn.
Sabine returned to her book, but the reprieve lasted only a moment. A shadow fell across the page; she looked up, and Virelle stood above her, flanked by her unwavering satellites.
Virelle ignored Sabine entirely at first. “Miss Liora, what a lovely crown you’ve created.” She settled on the blanket, her companions beside her, forming a moat-like barrier that cut the sisters off from the rest of the picnic.
“Thank you. I find the motion quite soothing,” Liora replied.
“Indeed.” Miss Novaris adjusted the ribbons on her pale blue sleeve. “Though, a word of advice? One would do best to mingle if one is looking to find a match. Sitting here with your frightful sponsor and Lord Death’s bride will not do your prospects any favors.”
Virelle shifted her gaze to Sabine, her smile silver-cold. “Ah, yes. About that. It is most refreshing to see you attending this picnic, Miss Almarien. How is Lord Vaelros? We were all quite surprised to learn of your marks.”
Sabine’s lips barely moved. “He is as he’s always been, I suppose. Unyielding.”
Virelle paused, pressing a hand to her chest with dramatic flair. “A good thing, if you ask me. I would not wish to spend too much time in his presence. You know of his affinity, yes? They call him Lord Death for a reason.”
Sabine kept her tone even. “I’m not sure what rumors you deal in, but I assure you I’m quite capable of keeping myself both occupied and safe.”
“Oh, I don’t doubt it.” Virelle’s eyes flicked to Sabine’s collarbone. “And surely you’ve heard of his first wife’s death. Hardly married a cycle before her unfortunate passing.” Virelle sighed. “Destruction affinity is so terribly volatile. One wonders if history is bound to repeat itself.”
The implication that Sabine might be doomed to a similar fate landed with a sting that pride alone could not shield.
Virelle studied her, head cocked, apparently waiting for Sabine to break first. When she didn’t, Virelle’s tone softened by a fraction. “You do look cleverer than the last one, by all accounts. I expect you will last longer.”
Sabine forced a smile, which she knew would read threatening. “I assure you, I have every intention.”
Liora let the flower crown slip from her fingers.
“And why wouldn’t she? You know of my sister’s affinity, do you not?
” She swept her gaze over the three ladies, daring them to deny it.
“If there is an affinity that can match Destruction, it’s hers.
If that weren’t enough, the Registry’s marks will see the union succeed.
” She said it as if it were obvious—a law, rather than a hope.
A flush of warm pride unfurled in Sabine’s chest. She wanted to reach for her sister, smooth back her hair, kiss her brow in thanks.
But when Liora’s next words tumbled out, Sabine’s pride shattered.
“I also fail to see how my sister’s match could affect my prospects in any negative way.
Lord Vaelros is the second son of the Duchess of Corven.
Wealthier than any other House in Velyar.
Not to mention, the Emperor’s favorite and most trusted advisor.
There couldn’t be another upper echelon of the Empire, even if one tried to conjure it. ”
The calculation in Liora, the way she’d clearly studied every detail of Lord Vaelros, sent a chill deep into Sabine’s marrow.
She tried to steady herself. Counted ten breaths.
Then twenty. But each one came faster than the last. Her hands curled into fists, nails biting deep, searching for an anchor.
Miss Novaris and Miss Velindor traded glances, silent, weighing Liora’s words. At last, Miss Novaris spoke, almost under her breath: “A Creation affinity would naturally catch the Empire’s eye.”
“And the Almarien have a valenhold,” Miss Velindor added with an arch look at Virelle. “Land. A title. Not every family can claim that.”
Virelle looked at each of them in turn with her eyes increasingly wide. “A land and title don’t guarantee successful matches,” she said, though the words sounded hollow.
Miss Novaris regarded Virelle, her gaze flat and strange. “Neither does a Light affinity, apparently.”
Virelle’s mouth opened, then stayed that way for a heartbeat. Abruptly, she stood, her skirts cracking like a whip. She didn’t wait for her friends. “I must attend to other… obligations.”
She swept off through the grass with a flourish worthy of court theater, the flounce of her skirt nearly decapitating a drowsing bumblebee. Sabine watched, torn between grim satisfaction and a strange, unbidden sympathy.
Before Virelle could vanish entirely into the safety of her own chosen shadow, a figure detached from the party of young men near the edge of the green.
Sabine had noticed him, a mess of wild chestnut hair, standing beside Lord Vaelros for most of the afternoon.
He caught up with Virelle near a patch of violets, reaching for her arm.
She didn’t stop for him at first. Sabine couldn’t hear their words, but she could see the way Virelle’s posture turned to steel, how she flicked her arm free with a practiced, cutting motion.
Whatever he said in low, urgent tones, it was met by a single, devastating reply.
Virelle’s face, as she delivered it, was all angles and frost. The young man recoiled, his mouth forming a pale, uncertain line.
Virelle didn’t look back; she strode on, her head held high, until the green closed over her.
The young man lingered, bereft, his gaze trailing her until she disappeared. A few girls tittered behind their gloves. Lord Vaelros, from his post, kept his attention fixed on the man.
Sabine found herself watching far longer than necessary. She felt an ache at the sight, the old, familiar kinship with those who did not quite fit the world’s demands.
When she looked back, Lady Delarine had returned. Miss Novaris and Miss Velindor offered measured farewells, then slipped away.
Liora turned to Sabine, her smile dazzling, the triumph in her expression impossible to ignore. “I rather think we’ve made friends out of them, Bine.”
Sabine shook her head. “At what expense?”
Liora’s brow knitted, like she was puzzling over a riddle. “Whatever do you mean?” Her tone was genuinely curious, which only made Sabine more furious.
Sabine gestured in the direction the other girls had fled. “They humiliated Miss Celastra.”
Liora’s gaze flicked past Sabine, across the sun-washed blankets, to where the last traces of Virelle had vanished. “She can handle herself.” Liora gave a delicate shrug, a bird fluffing its feathers. “Besides, she started it. We only finished it.”
“ We ?” Sabine echoed. “And all the things you said about Lord Vaelros? How did you know?”
Judging by her sister’s expression, Sabine could’ve just asked if the sky was blue.
“I read the scandal sheets and society papers. It’s all there, if you know how to look.
” Liora’s hands closed around hers, warm and insistent.
“Didn’t we promise each other? This Season will be a success for us both. ”
Yes, but at what cost?
Sabine kept thinking of Virelle, of the way the world closed around girls who couldn’t quite fake the right kind of cruelty.
Then, a thought struck her.
Sabine would never be named the Season’s Singular, especially not now that she was publicly bound to the Emperor’s deadly weapon.
Not even the most daring scandal sheets would dare defy the Empire so brazenly.
But could Sabine find a way to have her sister named Singular?
Sure, her affinity was only Water, but they could lean on the power of their bloodline.
If it’d produced one Creation weaver, it might do so again.
And while their wealth and status were a hindrance right now, Sabine couldn’t stop thinking of what Liora had said about Lord Vaelros.
There couldn’t be another upper echelon of the Empire, even if one tried to conjure it.
What if Sabine could get the rest of the Gilt to believe it, too? To see her sister not as Miss Liora Almarien, pretty but socially and politically unremarkable, but as Lord Vaelros’s sister-in-law, someone well connected to both the duchy of Corven and the Emperor himself?
The plan solidified slowly. If all suitors came to Liora, then Liora wouldn’t have to resort to subterfuge and cruelty to attract them. Sabine could fulfill her vow while protecting her sister’s innocence.
There was only one problem.
For all this to work, the Gilt would have to believe the Almarien were halfway to joining with the Vaelros.
And for that… she’d need his help.