18 #2
The decoration wasn’t limited to the ballroom.
On every floor, flowers grew from the walls, light sconces hung from branches, and vines of bougainvillea framed paintings of the Coventrian countryside.
Even Bas seemed fascinated by the delicate ornamentation.
His footsteps were quick and measured behind her, but with every cloud of cascading honeysuckle, he paused, just a little, as though he had forgotten this kind of beauty existed in the world.
According to the floor plans, House Vida’s inner garden was on the fourth floor.
Unlike the courtyard she’d seen in House Muerte, Marisol and Bas emerged into what looked like a greenhouse.
The aroma of herbs and soil permeated the air, threaded with those of flowers and fruits.
Shelves lined the walls between the windows, which were outfitted with blackout curtains to control how much sun these particular plants could get.
Her triumph was short-lived, however, when she realized that there was an entire row of orange trees in various states of growth.
“Do you actually know which one we’re looking for?” Bas asked at the sight of her expression. “Or is this going to be the Hinterlands all over again?”
“ You should be looking out for guards,” she said. “Let me do my job.”
Bas looked as if he wanted to say something else, but she lifted her eyebrows pointedly.
Once he’d shuffled toward the staircase to stand guard, Marisol began to explore the greenhouse.
It was divided into several rows, with different classes of plants growing in each garden bed.
She saw agave and rosemary, basil and thyme.
She saw tomato and cucumber plants curved around stakes.
She saw the orange blossoms, pale white in comparison to the fruit that would soon grow, and lingered beside each in the hopes that she would feel something. Anything.
Gaspar had said she’d know, that the magic in her blood would tell.
The only thing she knew right now was that there were too many trees and too little time.
Bas appeared at her shoulder, his jaw a tense line. “They’re two flights down. We have three minutes at most.”
“Shit.” Her heart, which had started pounding at his sudden proximity, was now galloping for a different reason. “I was hoping that Teo could buy us more time than this.”
“Now it’s a minute and a half.”
“Shit.”
The shelves were too narrow to hide behind, the plants too low. For a moment, she was paralyzed with indecision. Then she grabbed a fistful of Bas’s jerkin and yanked him over to the corner.
“What—”
“Be quiet.” Marisol drew on the wellspring of magic inside her, directing it toward the wall.
Glass and metal warped and expanded under her iron will, transforming from a triangular corner to a walled alcove.
If anyone looked closely, they would see that it didn’t reach the ceiling or match the rest of the panels in color or style.
But hopefully, no one would look too closely. “Stay still.”
With that warning, she sprinted toward the door, where a supply cupboard waited.
Another burst of magic hollowed it out enough for her to climb inside just as she heard the sound of footsteps on the landing.
It was too late to close the door all the way without being heard, so she tucked her limbs away from the slash of light and took small, quiet breaths.
Magisters Novoa and Baylin entered the room wearing twin expressions of weariness. Baylin walked down the line of flower beds while Novoa pushed the door closed. She heard him linger there, a rough sigh escaping his mouth, before he followed his companion toward the far wall.
Sliding closer to watch them from her hiding place, Marisol felt her heart try to climb her throat. If either of them turned to the left, they would see Bas’s shoulder, the corner of his jacket. She should have made the wall wider, taller, but she’d been in a hurry, and now—
Neither of them was looking. Neither of them would look. If she told herself that enough, maybe she could make it true.
“The prince could have done worse than put him to work,” said Baylin, her arms folded as she stood in front of one of the windows.
Framed in shadows, she looked like the monster Marisol’s mind had cast her as, ready to strike down anyone and anything in their way.
“It’s unlikely he’ll use more magic around him. ”
“And if he does?” Novoa dragged a hand over his head, as though he’d forgotten he didn’t have hair to comb through. “Our spells are weak and growing weaker, Ines. I’ve gotten questions—”
“And you know that recruitment is the only way to fix that, Agostin. We must appear strong until the Coronet is over. Especially with a Castellan here… Do we have any new intel on the rebel attacks?”
“Just that they’re growing bolder.” Novoa took a deep breath, a moment of calm in the clear storm of his thoughts.
“Luiza keeps most of their activities out of the paper, but her connections won’t hold if they continue to target ships .
Any supplies we need will have to come through Domingo, and who knows what Prince Tomás has told them? ”
“Like I said, he could have done worse than put his attacker to work. That’s promising. He hasn’t left yet, either, which is also promising. We’re in the best position possible to receive the aid we need.”
“They’ll hardly consent to lending us an army if we send the prince back injured.”
“They will.” Baylin’s voice was firm, though Marisol wasn’t sure which one of them she was trying to convince.
“No matter what has happened in the past, we are proving that we’ve never stopped being loyal subjects of the crown.
If we gain their favor, we’ll gain their soldiers.
It won’t matter how weak our magic is if we just make it to autumn. ”
Novoa sighed again, a strong, sharp sound. “And then what?”
“Then we’ll have more numbers. More magic. One way or another, we’ll stamp the Criterion out once and for all.”
On the other side of the glass, lightning cracked to punctuate the moment.
The rain had grown wilder, splattering the windows and blurring the night.
Wind howled, wrapped with the sound of rustling leaves and snapping branches.
At Kindred, a storm like this would have rocked the walls and pierced the ceilings, requiring buckets and pans to keep them from being swept away.
House Vida stood like a stronghold, indifferent to nature’s cries.
“All right.” Novoa glanced at something tucked into the far right corner of the room, and then straightened as though he’d come to a decision. “Thank you for your counsel, old friend.”
Baylin smiled, and it was soft compared to the rest of her. “Always.”
Marisol waited until they’d left the room, until their footsteps had faded, until her heartbeat settled into a rhythm that didn’t make her feel as if she were being hunted. She melted against the back wall, closing her eyes in silent relief.
That had been close. Too close.
Lightning flashed a second time. She climbed out of the cupboard.
Bas had already emerged from his hiding place.
Light briefly illuminated him as he charged toward the shelf they hadn’t noticed.
Marisol took the time to transform the inside of the cupboard to the shelves she remembered and then loop around to the back corner to replace the wall.
Her memory was warped by fear and urgency, but hopefully no one would note any changes.
“They harvested them,” Bas said as she drew closer. “That’s why we couldn’t find them right away.”
He stepped aside to reveal a shelf that was lined with narrow vials of dark liquid. She could hear an odd humming that came from everywhere and nowhere, like a siren song of power that made her body sing in response.
Finally.
Bas was watching her face for any sign of recognition, so she nodded before grabbing three of the vials. When he turned away so she could hide them in her swollen dagger holster, she grabbed one more. Just in case.
Gaspar had been right. The difference between a regular plant and one that was spirits-blessed was clear, even when that plant had been converted into tattoo ink.
And she was holding crafter magic in her hands. At last.
Marisol shifted the vials until the four that were missing were no longer obvious at a quick glance. Bas drew a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped away any trace of their fingerprints.
Smiling at each other, they slipped from the room to rejoin the party.