24

BY THE TIME THE FIRST KNOCK LANDED ON THE DOOR, VIOLA’S salon was transformed into a miniature casino. Viola arranged her skirts on the settee, making me sit beside her, and welcomed the first guests with a broad smile and a wave to the maid to fetch a bottle of port. I tried to sit languidly on a plush chair like Viola did, but another worry had crept into my mind. Most card games involved placing bets and wagering money—of which I had a pitifully small amount with me. I might have been able to play a hand of kings at a local tavern, but I was sure the bets Viola and her friends laid were much richer.

I didn’t belong here, I thought despite my forced smile. I was going to be humiliated.

I recognized Nia and Pauline from the daytime salon gatherings, and Theodor arrived soon after. He caught my hand and pulled me, subtly and so that the others wouldn’t take notice, into an alcove.

“I’m sorry, but I haven’t heard anything about your brother. No one has. I was going to send you a letter, but that seemed horribly impersonal,” he said, low so the others couldn’t hear.

It was time to employ the lie, whether I wanted to or not. “I think I know why. Fact is, I’ve found the rogue.”

“What? Where?”

“Not exactly found—he signed up for a tar and sailed off. Merchant ship bound for East Serafe.”

“And didn’t tell you?”

“He … he sent a letter. From the last port they were in before beginning the crossing.”

“That devilish—and made you worry like that? What an awful—”

“Please, don’t. He’s still my brother,” I said, wounded. My story did make Kristos out to be a rake, but I didn’t want to hear any more epithets. “He knew I’d object, so he left and notified me afterward.” It wasn’t a great story, but it was serviceable.

Theodor wasn’t pacified. “If I had him in front of me, I’d deal him a square blow between the eyes for making you worry like that.”

Unexpectedly, I found myself almost crying. Theodor noticed and softened. “I didn’t mean to—”

“No, it’s all right,” I replied. “It’s been …”

“I can imagine,” he said, catching my hand in his as our eyes met. He pulled me into the hall. The final, thin rays of a pale winter sunset spread over the carpet, too stingy to impart any warmth.

Then he caught me completely off guard and kissed my hand. Not in formal greeting, but pressing his warm lips against my palm. “You’re beautiful when you cry, but I don’t want you to cry any longer, either. It’s a terrible conundrum for me.”

I laughed past my surprise, and then we joined the others in the parlor. Theodor claimed the chair next to mine and politely quizzed Pauline on a party she had held the previous week.

Then a dark-haired woman I hadn’t met before, but whom I recognized immediately from the half-finished portrait, swept through the door. Princess Annette. Viola caught her hand and pulled her into a happy embrace.

I had always considered the nobles’ world to be an easy one, but I didn’t have to think about saying farewell to anyone I loved on account of arranged marriages. And had I wished to marry, I had my choice. I wondered if Kristos had ever considered the human side of the nobility he railed against.

As if on cue, Nia steered the conversation in a decisively uncomfortable direction. “Have you heard the latest on the Red Caps?” she asked, her brown eyes huge in the candlelight.

“They say they’ve called in the soldiers to dissipate riots three times this week,” Princess Annette said, shaking her head as though this grieved her. It probably did, I realized with a start—wouldn’t the king and queen and their children feel a particular responsibility to the country and its capital city? “At least no one else has been shot.”

“I think the point to truly appreciate,” Viola said, pouring fresh glasses of wine for Annette and Theodor, “is that the involvement of the soldiers hasn’t dissuaded the protesters.”

“In fact, I’d say it’s encouraged them,” Pauline said. She fished a fan out of her pocket and opened it, fluttering it as though mimicking a nervous heartbeat. “They say the Stone Castle is nearly full, but they aren’t coming any closer to rooting out the source of the rebellion.”

Annette frowned, her carmine-painted lips turning downward. She was remarkably pretty, I thought, with dark hair and snowy skin. I had wondered if Viola had perhaps enhanced her looks for the portrait, but I saw that she merely captured them. My respect for Viola’s artistry grew. “The arrests have been—oh, astronomical.”

Viola nodded. “It oughtn’t leave my confidence, but—the jail is nearly full. They’ve questioned them—hundreds of them—about their leadership, and no one has given them anything.”

“Nothing?” I said, surprised, then sank back into the chair, embarrassed.

“The names my father has gotten have been less than useful. Dockworkers and bricklayers who pass a message here and there, the occasional writer.” I didn’t move a muscle—Kristos. “No one he believes could truly be orchestrating the whole thing.” Was this accurate, I wondered, or was the Lord of Keys severely underestimating the dockworkers and bricklayers who were fomenting revolution? Had someone given him Niko or Jack’s name, and had he dismissed their abilities?

“Have they figured out who is printing this stuff? I’d think putting a stop to that would be useful,” Pauline said.

Theodor’s discomfort with this suggestion was clear. “It’s never been our way to censor books and pamphlets,” he said. “Even when that cartoon artist—what was his name?—made those hideously unflattering engravings of the king during the flour shortages ten years ago.”

“Barnard,” Annette said. “His name was Barnard. And yes, it’s not our tradition to shut down printers, no matter how offensive their material is.” The way she pressed her lips closed made me think she believed it might be time to break with tradition. “At any rate, it’s not a licensed shop—someone has a press in a shed or a cellar somewhere.”

Pauline sighed. “No reason to assume the worst. The workers are dissatisfied with their pay, and winter’s coming early. It’s just as likely as not to be street protests and nothing more, isn’t it?”

“We all know it’s more than that.” Annette traced the rim of her wineglass. “The palace has already increased its security measures and transferred soldiers from the provinces to bases closer to the city.” She turned the stem of the glass in her hand, slowly, methodically.

“I wonder if that’s wise,” Pauline said, “from a military perspective.”

Viola took Annette’s glass and set it down. “The ports are still fully garrisoned, so we needn’t worry about anything interfering with trade. I don’t know that we anticipate any particular international aggression, do you?” she asked with a teasing smile.

Theodor shrugged. “There is intelligence that Kvyset—or at least, some Kvys houses—are sympathetic to the Red Caps. Sympathetic enough that they’ve sent money. Maybe more.”

“More?” Pauline’s oversize pearl earrings bobbed as she leaned forward.

He lowered his eyes, staring at the delicately wrought silver buckles on his shoes. “It’s possible that some of the patrician houses of Kvyset are supplying arms. It will be common knowledge among the nobles soon enough,” he said. “Once we can confirm our intelligence, the council will have to decide what to do, if anything. So far the intercepted communications have been so heavily coded we’re not sure if they’re talking rifles or rutabagas.”

Viola pursed her lips as though she’d tasted something sour. “It’s hardly new for the patrician houses to meddle in Galatine affairs if they think it will benefit them in terms of trade or investments. Religious houses, as well. You know well enough that they have more in assets than most of the patricians. Still. That’s not the same as the entire country colluding against Galitha.”

“If it benefits them, Kvyset will ignore what their borderland patricians do,” Theodor countered. “The council could decide to insist that the Kvys rein in their own.”

“The Kvys have always prodded and pushed us when they could,” Annette acknowledged. “Anything to reopen discussions of the border agreements. Ignoring them is usually the best tactic.” I had no idea what she referred to, but the others nodded in agreement.

“Still—soliciting arms and funds from Kvys patricians suggests that this revolt is … escalating,” Viola said, giving voice to what we were all thinking. I had thought the same when Jack had told me Pyord’s plans, weeks ago. “How do they even have the connections to pursue Kvys patronage?”

Theodor glanced at me, gauging my reaction, but I stayed silent, averting my eyes toward the toes of my shoes, noticing for the first time that they had gained some new scuffs.

“It’s past time we admit that they are more organized and likely more connected than the rabble of rioters the council would like them to be,” Theodor said. “At least the rest of our international relationships haven’t been affected.”

“Not yet,” Nia said, faint warning in her voice.

“You know something we don’t, madam?” Theodor asked. His tone was light, but I noticed that his hand rested on his sword, as though foreign marauders might come bursting through the door any moment.

“Of course not. You all know quite well that neighbors become vultures when they suspect a nation’s strength to govern has been compromised.”

No one countered this, and I took a shaky sip of wine. Had Pyord considered the effects of coup on trade, border security, and even the survival of the Galatine nation if some foreign nation took the opportunity to slice into it by invasion while Galitha tore itself apart from within?

“In any case,” Nia added with a smile, “back in the Allied States, my prince will not be eager to marry one of his cousins to the Duke of Nothing at All.”

Theodor laughed. “I don’t have even the draft of a marriage contract, and Nia threatens to revoke it.” It was a joke, but I didn’t find any part of it funny—the thought of Theodor marrying was almost as unsettling as the thought of civil war.

“What?” She laughed. “It’s true. And of Serafe as well,” she added pointedly.

Annette tried not to react, but her lip twitched. “You’re quite right. Arrangements with Prince Oban of East Serafe are still precarious. This does come at an unfortunate time.” The words were rehearsed, and I noticed Viola’s hand slide toward Annette’s under the table.

“What a mess,” Pauline said with a sigh. “And with the Five-Year Summit approaching in the summer, too.”

I listened, unsure what Pauline meant. Nia laughed. “I assume your father is still the delegate?” she asked Theodor.

“Yes,” he said with some chagrin. “Poor man.” This time everyone else laughed, and I knew I was on the outside of a longstanding joke.

Annette saw my confused expression. “Every five years delegates from Fen, Kvyset, the Allied States, East and West Serafe, and of course Galitha come together for a summit. After the Saltwater War thirty years ago, when we were all at one another’s throats—”

“The Allied States maintained neutrality,” Nia interrupted with a teasing smile.

“After we all nearly destroyed one another’s shipping and naval capabilities except for the ever wise and benevolent Allied States, the summit is supposed to be an assurance of continued cooperation and negotiation or some such,” Annette said.

“And it’s of course quite important,” Viola added, “but it’s always tedious and involved. And this year the poor Prince of Westland will have to spend half his time making apologies for the black eyes that the Red Caps are currently giving Galitha, convincing the other delegates that we are still fully capable of running a nation without ruining it.”

Theodor shrugged. “I don’t envy him. But the summit is months away, and I didn’t come here tonight to debate international politics,” he said with a lopsided grin. “I came to lose some money to Viola.”

Viola must have seen my panicked face—I had no money to lose—because she swiftly said, “No money tonight, Theodor. We’re playing for pralines.” She called to the maid hovering by the door, “Sacha, bring them in!” Perhaps Viola was more conscious of the less than wealthy than I’d given her credit for. Perhaps most nobles were. Yet the taverns and streets were full of Red Caps hungry for revolt, bearing real grievances against an unjust system, and the nobility had done very little to ameliorate the situation—aside from recalling troops for protection. Ostensibly to protect everyone, of course, but themselves most of all.

Whose side was I on? I chided myself. I was forced to cater to Pyord only until I had finished the curse, if I ever obtained a commission at all. I had never believed in violent revolt, let alone regicide. Yet I didn’t hold the nobility blameless. Perhaps, I conceded, I didn’t hold myself blameless for my silent consent to the policies I didn’t agree with.

Thoughts swirled like dust in a beam of sunlight—fleeting and without concrete meaning. I set the wineglass down. Clearly I’d had enough.

We moved to the gaming table, and Theodor held my chair for me and then took the chair next to me.

At least, I thought as Viola dealt the first hand, Kristos had taken the time to teach me how to play whist. I had enjoyed a hand or two at the tavern, in a time not so long ago before Kristos’s attention turned completely toward revolution, and together, my brother and I made a formidable team in the partner game. With anyone else, I wasn’t very good at it and wished Viola hadn’t dealt me into the first hand so I could watch and remember, exactly, how to strategize.

The first few rounds went quickly, with me losing most of my pralines and sitting out as Nia took my place. Annette was sitting out as well, eyeing Theodor’s dwindling supply of candy.

“Viola showed me your work,” Annette said, refilling my wineglass despite my protest. “It’s lovely.” I felt my hands grow cold and tremble slightly. I should have been elated—a princess was pouring me a glass of expensive wine while complimenting me on my sewing.

But I knew what was coming next—I had to wheedle a commission out of her. A commission that I could curse. I stared at the deep red liquid in my glass. The way the candlelight refracted through it, it looked as though I had blood on my hands.

“Thank you,” I stammered. “That means she showed you—” I blushed. Underwear. Annette had seen Viola’s underwear.

Annette laughed. “Yes, I know all about Viola’s underclothes. And I learned all about your particular brand of sewing. It’s fascinating.” She leaned forward. “Is it something you learned to do, or does it just happen?”

I was startled—people didn’t usually ask such brazen questions. But after all, she was a princess. Maybe she was used to saying whatever came to mind, to the ease of setting the perception of what was correct in any situation rather than fitting into a set of rules as I found myself, nearly constantly, analyzing and correcting my course.

“It’s a little bit of both,” I said. “I learned to let it happen, and to control it. To force it into the thread as I sew, to be precise with the charm. My mother taught me.” I floundered—I hadn’t expected to be talking about my mother with Princess Annette. And strangely, though I usually didn’t feel the deep ache of grief I had endured at her passing, my eyes filled with tears. Annette made a small noise, understanding immediately.

“She was a very adept charm caster.” I recovered.

Annette smiled sympathetically, but loss nagged me. My mother was gone, my father gone before her. Was I going to lose Kristos, too? What I might have to sacrifice to keep him safe was quite literally sitting in front of me. Would I risk Annette’s life with a cursed garment? Risk her mother, or her father? Let her live the tragedy of loss I had lived?

I had to, I reminded myself, resolute. Kristos was all I had.

Theodor lost his last praline and tagged Annette into his place. “Better luck than I had,” he said.

“That’s not hard,” Annette said. “Have Sophie make you some kind of charmed hankie to stuff in your pocket before you tag back in.”

“Could you?” he asked with a wink.

“Yes, but that seems … immoral,” I replied with a wry grin. Theodor met my laughing gaze and held it, then caught my hand. I held my breath—for a brief moment, as his fingers brushed mine, the revolt, Pyord, even my brother felt like dust motes swirling, far away, not quite real.

“Play a few hands without us,” he called, leading me to the stairs. My heartbeat accelerated. He held tightly to my hand as we ascended.

I checked myself. It was contemptible that I could let my role in Pyord’s plan fade for a moment to fulfill something I wanted. That I could forget my brother in favor of a meaningless tryst with a duke.

That’s all it could be, meaningless—even before I knew that Theodor was slated for an alliance marriage with a foreign princess, I knew that I was dabbling with the trivial. I had been happy with that—a frivolous dalliance was welcome relief from unwanted marriage proposals. It had been a diversion, nothing more.

But now diversions were selfish. I couldn’t enjoy myself with my brother in constant danger, and I hated myself for nearly forgetting that.

I was ready to extract my hand, run back down the stairs, fetch my cloak, and be on my way, when I saw where Theodor had led me. Lady Viola’s ballroom, encased in its walls of windows. Each was like a panel of stars.

“Oh,” I breathed, scarcely able to take in the entire view at once. The city around us, dark except for flickering candlelight, the swaths of stars, the huge orb of the moon.

“This may be my favorite place in the whole city,” Theodor said, his hand resting on my waist. “Even the palace doesn’t have a view like this.”

He guided me to an alcove of windows on the opposite wall, overlooking the river. It looked like a wide ribbon of silver. Just beyond it was the garden, and Theodor’s greenhouse.

“I thought the moonlight would be hitting it just right about now,” he said. I didn’t have words. The glass and metal, so industrial-looking under daylight, reflected the moon. The steel ribs looked like polished platinum, the glass like mother-of-pearl.

“It’s like a piece of jewelry,” I said. “Like the city is wearing a new brooch tonight.”

Theodor smiled and pulled me closer. “It’s yours,” he said. “The city thinks it owns it, but it’s yours.”

“That would hardly be fair,” I said, his eyes difficult to avoid. “I don’t think I deserve it, all to myself.” I certainly didn’t deserve it—I was effectively Pyord’s lackey; I was supposed to curse the royal family; I was carrying on with a duke while my brother was held prisoner. “I don’t deserve anything,” I whispered.

“You do,” he whispered back, and before I could react, his mouth pressed against mine, warm and electric and somehow comfortable. Before I meant to, I sank into the embrace, searching for something whole, something real in the brokenness Pyord had forced on me. I tasted the sweetness of the pralines on his breath, and something constricted in me, a wall between what was outside and what was here, between us. The taste of pralines and Theodor’s mouth on mine, those were real. Nothing else could be. Nothing else could reach me.

His hands wrapped around my waist, drawing me closer. Velvet desire enfolded us. My hands traced his neck, his hair, buried themselves in his queue. I should have pulled away; logic demanded that I drop my hands, but I didn’t. I couldn’t.

Then a sharp shattering noise, like rocks cracking the ice in the fountains, interrupted us, followed quickly by a pointed scream from downstairs. Theodor released me and immediately had his hand on the sword he wore.

“Stay here,” he said, feet already pounding the stairs. I felt as though I were floating, unmoored, and found myself hovering at the top of the steps craning my neck over the banister to get a better look. I stole downstairs, clutching the railing as though it would protect me.

The others crowded into the small drawing room opposite the salon. A maid hurried past with a broom and dustpan. The front door stood open, and Theodor brandished his sword on the portico at unseen assailants.

I glanced into the salon. A fat rock lay in the middle of a rug, surrounded by thick shards of glass. A single pane of the large window facing the street gaped with jagged edges.

Pauline was crying, Nia was cowering behind a chair, and Annette was plastered motionless against the wall, but Viola stood in the doorway, hands clenched into fists.

“Miss?” The maid presented Viola with the rock and, ludicrously, a rote curtsy. Viola took the rock as though it were something distasteful—a piece of rotten fruit or a dead mouse the cat had hauled in. She turned it over in her hand, revealing a painted missive on its flattest side. I couldn’t read it.

The maid resumed sweeping, Theodor came inside, and then Annette, Nia, and Pauline quietly settled onto the sofa, holding hands. Viola clutched the rock and lifted it as though she were going to throw it back into the street it had come from, but she stopped herself.

“Not that it will make much difference, but it is evidence.” She deposited it on a polished demilune table, next to a porcelain shepherdess and an ornate mahogany box. Another bit of bric-a-brac in her collection.

“You’re all right?” I asked.

She met my eyes. “It sailed right past my head. Inches, Sophie.” Her hands trembled and she clutched them together.

I shivered. The protection charm glowed underneath Viola’s gown, buried in her shift and drawers, visible only to me.

“We should get the ladies home,” Theodor said, voice low. He checked the lock on the door and drew the curtain in the salon, covering the broken pane of glass. The draft sucked the curtain fabric into the hole and billowed it out again, making the drapery look like a silk ghost.

“Suzette, tell Marco to call for the carriages.” Viola stopped the maid as she turned to leave. “Do not go outdoors yourself, you understand? Send a footman or the butler.”

She swallowed, looking truly flustered for the first time since I came downstairs.

“You shouldn’t stay here by yourself,” Annette said, rising from the sofa and clattering across the floor. She grabbed Viola’s hand, and the fist unfurled.

“I won’t allow them to chase me out of my own house,” she retorted, but her hands stayed relaxed, held in Annette’s.

“At least come to the palace tonight. You can have your favorite room,” Annette said with a prodding smile.

“Absolutely not.” Viola turned to the maid Suzette, who hovered in the hallway. “The carriages are here?” she asked. Suzette nodded. “Then you should all leave. Before anything worse comes through my window.”

“I’ll stay here with you,” Annette pleaded, but Viola shook her off.

“You’ll go home or your parents will have my head.”

Annette finally agreed, reluctantly, and let Suzette fetch her cloak and muff. Pauline and Nia said low farewells and disappeared into the night, escorted by footmen who suddenly looked more like bodyguards.

I gathered my satchel, planning to leave quietly, but the shimmering silk of Viola’s voluminous gown skirts stopped me. “Viola,” I said in a low voice, hoping the others wouldn’t hear, “I need to return your gown and …”

“Don’t worry over it now,” she replied with a terse smile. “Send it back by messenger tomorrow—I presume I can send your things to your shop?”

I nodded, and tied my cloak, then slipped quietly toward the door, feeling ashamed I had to borrow clothes and even more ashamed that I was selfishly worrying about what the others might think of me now.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Theodor asked.

“Home,” I said.

“Not alone, you’re not. Not on foot.”

“Theodor,” I began, “it’s truly not necessary. I’m not—I’ll be fine.” My conviction was fragile and my voice brittle. I wasn’t a noble, but would that protect me if I was fraternizing with nobles, a collaborator?

“That’s not an experiment I’m willing to witness,” Theodor answered, and waved to Viola as he pulled his greatcoat around his shoulders.

“Shouldn’t you stay with her?” I whispered as he ushered me through the front door.

“She has a house full of loyal servants.” As though to prove his point, Miss Vochant hovered at the top of the stairs, watching our movements below. “She’s not alone. If she didn’t want Annette there, she surely doesn’t want me hanging around.”

I thought of several good arguments—Theodor wasn’t a princess with protective parents; he was a man who could provide some semblance of defense, and it was, as far as I could tell, his duty to protect a noblewoman—but I didn’t voice them. In truth, I was grateful for Theodor’s company in the uncertain night.