Chapter 23
CHAPTER
Sabine
Sabine swirled her cup, watched the pale concoction dance, and let the spoon pause against her lips. The chill struck first, crystalline and bright; then rosewater, pistachio, and candied citrus unfurled in measured, delicate layers.
The city shimmered under the arches of Pearl and Plum, lavender and sunlight tangled in the air, canal water kissing the limestone. Laughter blended with the clink of silver spoons on crystal goblets.
Across from her, Ellie perched, taut and restless in her iron-wrought chair, eyes darting toward the other patrons like a sparrow watching for hawks.
As they waited, Sabine caught sight of Lord Castellon, being escorted by someone who must have been his son.
The lord was a ruin of what he’d been at the Awakening Ball.
His skin was paper-thin enough to show the rivers of blue beneath; even the whites of his eyes had gone jaundiced and red, and he looked so diminished, his body caving in on itself, every step a study in agony.
A blade of dread cut down Sabine’s spine. This was the fate that awaited Fading individuals.
When she turned to Ellie, desperate to look away, she found the maid frozen.
Was she, too, remembering Sabine’s parents Fading?
Or… Sabine realized she’d been too young when Ellie had joined them to ask how her husband had died.
Did he, too, succumb to the Fade? Or had it been a simple, mundane death?
Sabine reached across the table and squeezed Ellie’s hand.
The touch startled the maid out of her trance, and she managed a small, genuine smile.
A new gondola glided towards the quay, its lacquered hull catching fragments of light like scattered jewels.
The gondolier moored and extended a hand to the velvet-draped cabin.
Sabine’s heartbeat quickened. From the shadows emerged a whisper-soft confection of rose silk, with short puffed sleeves and a wide neckline.
Even before she could make out her features, Sabine recognized the curves of her body and the luminous glow of her skin.
Sabine’s grip tightened on the iron arms of her chair. Why Virelle Celastra would send word to House Braythar for them to meet was beyond Sabine’s comprehension.
The young lady wove through the expanse of tables beneath the pergola of wisteria and climbing roses and found Sabine under the stone arches.
“Thank you for meeting me,” she said.
Sabine gestured to the empty chair. “It sounded urgent.”
Virelle’s eyes darted to Ellie. “Is your maid planning to…”
“Stay? Yes. She accompanied me here; I will not have her stand in the sweltering Goldtide sun.”
Virelle’s fingers worried the delicate fabric of her rose overskirt. “Of course, I simply… what I wish to discuss…”
“Ellie is trustworthy,” Sabine insisted. Her maid had earned more loyalty than most of the Gilt’s so-called friends ever would.
But Ellie was already rising. “Actually, my lady, the housekeeper mentioned your new slippers are ready. I shall like to fetch them while we are in the Terraces, save myself another trip.”
Sabine was fairly certain one of Lady Delarine’s footmen had already fetched them that morning. Still, maybe Ellie didn’t know this, or maybe she was simply looking for an excuse to grant Virelle the privacy she sought, so Sabine nodded, allowing the maid to excuse herself.
As Ellie disappeared into the crowd, Virelle settled into the vacated chair with a loud exhale. She placed her own order, and they waited in silence for it to be delivered. Once they finally sat with twin crystal goblets arranged like fortresses between them, Virelle spoke.
“I did not thank you properly.” She must have noticed Sabine’s confusion, because she continued. “For defending me, at the musicale. It was kind—clearly kinder than those I called friends afforded me.”
“I didn’t do it as a kindness.” Sabine’s voice was not cutting, per se, but she did not wish for pleasantries, either. “But because it was the right thing to do. And if your only purpose was to thank me, you needn’t have troubled yourself. I expect no gratitude or favor in return.”
Virelle’s laugh sounded more incredulous than mocking. “Are you always this frustratingly principled?”
Sabine felt heat creep up her neck. “I believe the Gilt would call my frankness inconvenient.”
“And yet you dispense it all the same.” Virelle studied her melting ice, her shoulders folding in.
“And people listen when you do. You have a presence ladies like myself and your sister fundamentally lack. We may be trained on how to dazzle the Gilt, but you are capable of silencing them. I will admit it made me jealous of you.”
“Is that why you’ve been so odious to me?”
Virelle laughed. “Now you’re being kind. I was cruel to you.”
Despite everything, Sabine found herself laughing too, the sound surprising them both. “Yes, that is true.”
“I owe you an apology for that. You needn’t accept it, but know I am sorry for my behavior. I felt threatened when, in truth, you were never my competition. We’re not even playing the same game.”
Sabine leaned in, pushing her half-empty goblet aside. “So you had no interest in my… prospects?”
Virelle’s hands found Sabine’s on the marble. “Even if you were not on the scene, I would have never approached Lord Vaelros. I admire him as I might a panther in a menagerie. Certainly beautiful, but mostly deadly. I would not dare be in close quarters with such a creature.”
Sabine’s face contorted as if she’d bitten into a lemon. “You speak of him as some kind of monster.”
“I did not mean it as such.” Virelle squeezed her hands. “Simply that… he frightens me. If we were to court, I am certain he would find me lacking and have no hesitation in making that clear.”
Sabine fought a smile, because it was true.
Lord Vaelros never bothered with lies or gentle words.
He’d made his distaste of her exceedingly clear at the beginning of their courtship.
The memory settled over her as a storm cloud.
Surely, their circumstances had changed since then.
Or maybe not their circumstances, exactly, but…
Them .
“Sorry,” Virelle said, mistaking her silence. “I’m making it worse, aren’t I?”
“No, no.” Sabine slumped back. “You did nothing wrong. Not at present moment, anyway.” She found herself smiling, and Virelle caught it, mirrored it. “In truth, our courtship has not been the easiest, either.”
Virelle worried the edge of her overskirt. “That’s… partially the reason I wished to see you.”
“You wish to discuss my courtship with Lord Vaelros?”
Virelle blushed. “In a matter of speech. Will you hear me out?”
“I cannot agree before knowing what you wish to discuss.” A part of her recognized something of Lord Vaelros’s caution in her own response. She could not disentangle the warmth from the chill of that realization.
“Very well. You’re marked with Lord Vaelros, but you have yet to announce a blood vow… why is that?”
Because, if he has it his way, there will be no blood vow at all , the thought more bitter than it had any right to be.
No, no. It was not his way. They both wanted out of this vow. It was in both their best interests.
“This conversation has been an improvement over our past ones as wide as the Velnar itself,” Sabine admitted. “But you have given me no reason to trust you with private matters, Miss Celastra.”
Virelle slumped in her chair. “No, I suppose not.” Then, she leaned forward. “In the interest of building bridges, I’ll tell my secret first. But you must swear you won’t use it to ruin me.”
Sabine shrugged. “I don’t play those games.”
Virelle hesitated, then dragged her chair closer and lowered the neckline of her dress. Sabine’s breath caught when she saw the mark sitting atop her left breast.
So Caelen had been right about her.
“How have you kept it hidden this long?” Sabine asked.
“Strategic gowns and ample amounts of powder.”
“And it has not…” Sabine lowered her voice. “Glowed?”
“Once. Or maybe twice,” Virelle admitted. “I hid and waited for it to pass. I was fortunate never to be caught in public while it happened.”
Sabine cursed the threads she had not been afforded such luck.
“I want to know if the marks truly bind us to our best matches. But I cannot identify my match without exposing myself, and even if I could…” She gestured helplessly. “It’s not as though I’m drowning in suitors.”
“And you hope I have gained more clarity on the subject?”
Virelle propped her chin on her palm, looking unexpectedly young despite her practiced sophistication. “Have you, then?”
Sabine sighed. What kind of upside-down world had she fallen into today, where she found herself confiding in none other than Virelle Celastra?
“In truth? I’m not certain.”
She thought of the Bennetts, of the look of pure adoration on their faces when they announced their marks. She thought of the two women in the tannery, the sheer devotion as they executed their private rite.
“It’s quite possible the marks may lead us to our best match. I simply feel as though I may not be built for love, myself.”
Then, she thought of Lord Vaelros’s hand on her lips, of him on his knees before her, and wondered if her body would make a liar out of her yet.
“Though there’s a chance Lord Vaelros may be my best match, even if we do not love each other.”
If in nothing else, at least in their misfortunes.
“You see not the most dangerous man in the Empire but a worthy husband.” Virelle swooned. “Is that not ultimate proof of the marks’ effectiveness?”
Sabine searched for insult in Virelle’s tone but found none. In fact, she could have sworn she’d heard… admiration. The reversal left her unsettled, as though the ground beneath her understanding had shifted without warning.
“To be sure, our match is far from perfect,” Sabine felt compelled to clarify. “For one, neither of us was given a choice in it.”
“But you still found him worthy despite the lack of choice?”
“There may be compatibility between us, in certain aspects, but compulsion is hardly fertile ground for anything deeper to flourish.”
“So what will be of your match, once your vow is sealed?”
Someone will try to kill us , Sabine thought with bitter clarity, though she could not say that much out loud.
“He is not cruel, and he is not odious.” Which was more than Sabine had thought of him when she’d first met him, she had to admit. “Most Gilt men cannot claim as much, so it’s adequate for me. It doesn’t mean you have to wish for the same.”
Virelle’s shoulders curled inward. “I believe Mr. Thornevail might be my mark’s match. But what if I’m wrong? A match with him will ruin me. If we are not meant to be, perhaps I should continue searching for someone more advantageous.”
Sabine scratched her nose. She was fairly certain Virelle and Caelen were a match, especially since Caelen seemed to have guessed it himself already. But she couldn’t say that to her without exposing his secret. “Have you considered asking him?”
Virelle gasped as though Sabine had suggested she strip naked in the square. “And expose my mark? Are you mad?”
“You exposed it to me.”
“That’s different. You have a mark, too.” Her eyes sharpened. “Unless you know something I do not?”
Caelen’s secret was not Sabine’s to share.
“I don’t traffic in gossip. If you wish to know something about Mr. Thornevail, you’ll have to ask him yourself.
” She paused. “Though I will say this: you’ve done well to keep your mark hidden.
If Mr. Thornevail is the match you desire, you can make that choice mark notwithstanding.
Don’t sacrifice your freedom by drawing Registry attention. ”
Virelle nodded slowly. “I shall keep that in mind.” She reached across the table to squeeze Sabine’s hand again. “Thank you for seeing me today, Sabine. And for offering me honesty. It’s… refreshing, actually.”
Sabine had parsed the honesty with a dropper, but it was good to know it’d been well received. “It was my pleasure. If you ever wish for an earthier dose of truth, you know where to find me.”