Niamh eased open the glass door overlooking the terrace, and the lazy, drugging heat of the afternoon washed over her skin like a balm.
She hadn’t left her bedchamber in two days, since her conversation with Kit. If someone asked her a single question, she feared that the truth of what she planned to do would come tumbling out. Instead, she’d sat by the window and eased her magic out little by little, spinning it into skeins of golden thread. She’d sewed and sewed until her joints swelled and her hands went stiff. Even if it killed her, she would finish Rosa’s dress and Kit’s cloak before the wedding. She would make sure everyone was as happy as they could be with the sad compromises they’d made.
Miriam waited for her outside, an uncertain smile on her face. As always, she was a vision. The midday sunlight stained the lawn gold and set the dark red in her curls ablaze. It sparkled off the golden rings on each of her fingers. When Niamh stopped before her, all of her thoughts hopelessly knotted, Miriam did not hesitate. She enfolded her in a hug. The unreserved tenderness of it shocked Niamh. Her world went indistinct, a blur of light and color, as tears spring to her eyes.
“Thank you for coming,” she said hoarsely.
“I did say we would stick together this Season.” Her voice was quiet against Niamh’s ear. “Are you all right? Has someone given you any difficulty?”
Niamh must have been far more overwhelmed than she’d let herself acknowledge. Held close and held together by someone else, all of her feelings came spilling out in a rush. Her shoulders trembled, and tears spilled over her cheeks. Miriam did not recoil. She allowed Niamh to weep in her arms, making soft, sympathetic sounds. She hadn’t felt like this since she was a child, which only made her cry harder.
After a minute, once her hiccupping sobs slowed, Miriam drew back with a kind smile. “Why don’t we go for a stroll? That always helps me clear my head.”
Niamh nodded as she wiped her face with the back of her wrist. Together, they set off down the path through the gardens, arm in arm. Niamh half expected to see Jack here. Every now and again, she’d caught a glimpse of him patrolling outside her window, inspecting every bloom and snipping off those that apparently did not meet his standards. All of the flowers now bristled with his magic, their petals veined in gold and all of them arranged in perfect symmetry like a battalion of soldiers. He was coping with the stress in his own way, she supposed.
“How is Rosa?” Niamh asked.
“Oh, the same as always.” Miriam sighed. “She and the prince regent have been talking her father down. I think they’ve finally convinced him it was nothing but a cruel, false rumor. It sounds like His Highness has convinced himself of it as well.”
“I’m so glad to hear that.”
“And you? What do you plan to do now?”
“I confess,” Niamh said, before she could lose her nerve, “that is what I asked you here to discuss. I need your counsel.”
“Oh!” Miriam’s eyes went round. “Well, I can assure you that what Rosa told you is the truth. She would not object to such an arrangement, not that any wife truly can—”
“Not that.” Niamh flushed. “I think I know who Lovelace is.”
“You do?” Her fingers tightened on Niamh’s arm. “Who?”
“Princess Sofia.”
“What?” Miriam dragged her into a shadowed curve in the garden path. The sunflowers seemed to lean in conspiratorially.
Miriam listened silently but with increasing alarm as Niamh explained her reasoning. When she finished, the mothering disapproval in Miriam’s eyes was almost enough to make her wither on the spot. Niamh buried her face in her hands.
“Oh, Niamh,” groaned Miriam. “What have you stumbled into? This is a complete and utter mess, not to mention treasonous.”
“I know.” Her words were muffled by her palms.
She sighed fretfully. “Why have you come to me with this? I am happy to listen, of course, but…”
“I am sorry to burden you with it. I didn’t know who else to turn to.” She took Miriam’s hands in her own. Sinclair had already counseled her against making more trouble for herself, and he had his own history with the column. “If you want to pretend we didn’t have this conversation, I understand completely. However, I know you care about Infanta Rosa’s happiness as much as I do about Kit’s.”
Miriam looked startled to hear her say it. Her face drained of color. “I … Yes. I do.” She recovered quickly enough, tucking a loose curl behind her ear. “Rosa is determined to go through with this; Castilia is in sore need of allies. However, I fear Lovelace may be right. I have been worrying about the prince regent’s intentions myself. During the negotiations with the king, His Highness was quite insistent on Rosa’s dowry.”
Niamh frowned. “Why?”
“I don’t know. It isn’t unusual to want to talk money, of course, but apparently it was quite uncouth. And I have heard some rumors about him. Nothing substantiated, of course, but…”
“Jack isn’t paying his staff,” Niamh said grimly.
“Yes.” Miriam steepled her fingers together at her lips as she thought. It was such a quintessentially Rosa gesture, Niamh almost smiled. “I wonder if it is intentional, or if he is distracted.”
“No matter the reason for his behavior of late, if it comes out, it will be disastrous. The king will call off the engagement.”
“Certainly he will. He has threatened to at least twice already.” Miriam settled onto the lip of a granite urn. “But what can we do? You cannot baselessly accuse the princess of being a radical or, God forbid, inciting sedition against her own husband.”
“There must be proof! Surely, there will be something in Sofia’s chambers. A wax seal, a letter with matching handwriting, anything.”
Miriam’s brows shot up. “And how do you propose to break into the royal quarters to find it?”
The skepticism in her voice was not appreciated. Niamh scowled. “I can be very stealthy.”
Miriam gave her a pitying look. It said, Not even the gods can help you. But she did Niamh the small mercy of keeping her thoughts to herself. Very diplomatically, she said, “You only have one chance to do this before they catch on. If you’re caught, you will be dismissed or worse.”
“I have to try.”
“Why?” Miriam asked. “You are wading into a pool you can’t see the bottom of, Niamh. You are talented and charming, and everyone has seen how wondrous your creations are already. There will be other opportunities for you to make a name for yourself as a tailor, even if you walk away now. Neither Avaland’s nor Castilia’s problems are yours. Is it truly worth it?”
Perhaps not. But the Machlish’s were. She couldn’t turn her back on what she’d seen, knowing all the suffering she would leave behind her. She couldn’t go back home to that cottage with its broken window, working away her life, watching her family wither along with the plants in the earth, mourning as more and more people left every day. There was nothing left for her there.
She’d hardly lived at all before she arrived in Sootham—until she met people like Sinclair and Miriam and Kit. Whether she was as foolish as Miriam believed or as self-destructive as Kit accused her of being, it did not matter anymore. Even if she could not truly be with him, Kit Carmine was still hers, and he deserved protection, too.
He would not be rid of her so easily.
Niamh met her eyes steadily. “It’s worth it to me.”
“I see there’s no convincing you, then. But I suppose I understand. There is a way the prince looks at you when he thinks no one is watching.” The dreaminess in her voice faded as mischief sparked in her eyes. “Yes, he has a certain intensity about him that I imagine could be appealing in certain circumstances.”
Niamh nearly choked. She swatted her arm. “Miriam!”
Their laughter dissolved into the warm summer air. They sat side by side on the warmed stone of the urn, the heat of the sun against their backs. Somewhere in the distance, Niamh heard the faint cry of a mourning dove. She wished that she could stay like this forever, here in contented silence.
Miriam angled herself to face Niamh, wearing a serious, calculating expression she must have also picked up from Rosa. On her, it looked almost devious. “I suppose you need my help, then. Do you have any ideas?”
“I don’t— Oh. Wait a minute.” A plan came to her, slowly but surely. There was something that would make sneaking into the royal quarters much easier.
Miriam made a face that suggested she very much regretted asking. “What is it?”
“Oh, nothing,” Niamh said brightly. “Do you happen to know where Kit’s room is?”
In the darkest stretch of the night, the house was finally quiet. No servants bustled in the hallways or moved unseen in their secret passages. No guests lingered in the parlor, no pianoforte music drifted from the drawing room. The only sound was the soft plod of Niamh’s and Miriam’s slippered feet on the floorboards. Candlelight whispered against the walls and bobbed softly in the gloom, borne aloft on Miriam’s lantern.
“For the record,” Miriam said, “this is a very, very bad idea, and you are going to get the both of us thrown in jail.”
“Don’t be so paranoid,” Niamh said with a wave of her hand. “I’ll be in and out in a second. I just need to borrow his coat for the evening.”
“Steal his coat,” Miriam amended.
“Is it really stealing? I did make it for him. It is more like a gift I am taking back.”
Miriam rolled her eyes heavenward but decided, apparently, that it was an argument not worth having. In all fairness, this was perhaps the worst idea Niamh had ever had, but she didn’t exactly see any better options. She owed Miriam all the remaining years of her life—and perhaps her firstborn child—for very reluctantly agreeing to keep watch. If anyone caught her sneaking out of Kit’s bedchamber in the dead of night, there would be no stemming the tide of those rumors.
They stopped in front of a door, the ridges of the panels outlined in gold and decorated with delicately illustrated vines. In the candlelight, the paint seemed to glow and crackle. Drawing in her breath, Niamh curled her fingers around the handle. With a creeeeeak that seemed to echo through the entire house, the latch popped open. Even in the gloom, Niamh could see Miriam’s dark eyes gleaming with horror. It was all far less encouraging than she would’ve preferred.
She shimmied through the door and welcomed a sudden rush of giddiness. She’d never done anything so daring before.
But the sweet thrill of rebellion did not last long. Inside, the dark hung as thick as a curtain. She blinked against it, waiting for her eyes to adjust. When the room finally came into focus, Niamh found herself surprised. It looked nothing at all like she’d expected. It was oddly impersonal, like a guest room—as though no one lived here at all. No paintings. No personal effects. No mess. The only thing that caught her eye was the wallpaper, patterned with daisies and violets. It was lovely, but its loveliness bothered her. It was all delicate, soft, and beautiful: a shrine to a boy who’d left four years ago—one who perhaps never existed at all. Sinclair insisted he’d been a sensitive child, but she couldn’t envision Kit Carmine ever being as sweet as new growth. He was of hardier stock: a weed growing through cracks in the pavement out of sheer spite.
At last, her gaze landed on the bed—exactly what she’d tried not to notice. Kit slumbered in a pool of moonlight. The shadows of the leaves outside his window cast dappled patterns across his face. His hair fell across his pillow like a spill of dark water. Even in sleep, he did not look peaceful. And now, his beauty was made crueler because she couldn’t look closely. It would cut her if she lingered.
She shut the door behind her. It hardly made a sound as it settled into its frame. Now, all she had to do was find where he’d stowed the coat she’d enchanted with invisibility. She made her way toward the wardrobe—and promptly banged her toe against the base of it.
Pain tore through her entire body, and her eyes watered reflexively. She bit down on the whimper that threatened to escape, then darted her gaze back over to Kit. He stirred, his brow furrowing. It occurred to her then that she had not prepared any sort of excuse, should he awaken and find her here. Perversely, she wanted to know what he would do. She could all too easily imagine that hair-trigger blush of his and the furious accusation in his eyes. The way it would all melt away, and he would say something horribly unromantic but undeniably compelling, like Come here.
Focus, she reminded herself sharply.
Niamh opened the doors to the wardrobe. She sorted through the shirts and jackets, her breath catching at every metallic grind of the hangers against the valet pole. When she reached the end of the rack, her heart sank. It wasn’t here. Could he have gotten rid of it already? But when she turned on her heel, she saw it. There, in the corner, draped over the back of his writing desk’s chair. Moonlight danced on the enchantments laced into the embroidery, beckoning her closer. It would’ve felt like a victory if it weren’t an arm’s length away from his bed. Her entire face burned. Well, there was nothing to be done for it now. She had come this far already.
Niamh held her breath and crept closer. Every creak of the floorboards rang out as loud as musket fire. Carefully, she gathered the coat into her arms and hugged it to her chest. The fabric was cool and soft against her skin, and she felt the magic—the hope—shimmering within it. It felt like a different girl entirely had made this coat, one who still believed Kit to be mean and immovable.
She dared to glance at Kit again. A panel of moonlight traced his features in silver. This, she thought, was the closest she would ever be to him again. She’d never again hear the pleasant rasp of his voice or feel the brunt of his irritation directed at her. One day, maybe, she would forget what it was like to feel cared for and protected by him. She wanted to wake him now, to commit him to memory anew. But she’d tormented herself enough tonight.
“Goodbye,” she murmured.
His eyes cracked open. Niamh held back a squeak of surprise.
“Niamh?” Kit’s eyes were bleary, and his voice was rough with sleep. “Am I dreaming?”
“Yes,” she agreed readily. “You’re dreaming.”
“Come here.” He still sounded half-asleep, but the princely iron behind those words made her snap to attention.
What was she supposed to do now? If she fled, he’d almost certainly come to—and realize she’d broken into his room like some kind of common thief. The only thing she could do was pray he fell asleep again and forget this encounter entirely come morning. Slowly, she draped the jacket over her shoulders like a cape and sat on the edge of his bed. The mattress dipped beneath her weight.
He rolled toward her and mumbled, “I’ve missed you.”
Her heart fluttered. Gods, she was so weak.
But when she looked down, his eyes had closed. Slowly, his breathing evened out. A pang of disappointment dropped into her gut, although she didn’t know what she was expecting. With that, she rose and closed the door on what they might have had.