Sixteen

Dear Sir,

I am writing to inform you of the whereabouts of a certain book which frequently doubles as a bird. I understand you are concerned about it, and no wonder! Such a large volume containing so much knowledge. In fact, I believe it is actually several volumes in one, due to the rather impressive appetite of said bird in devouring many of its comrades.

Perhaps you will recall that I left your home without a word of good-bye, and for this you must pardon my poor manners. I find myself averse to being trapped in doorless rooms, to say nothing of being methodically tortured. It is a character defect owing to my savage ancestry.

To atone, I have entrusted the book into the care of your friend Lord Ackerly. He assures me that he will keep the volume perfectly safe, so long as I myself remain unmolested and left entirely to my own devices. To this end, he has worked a magical connection that will destroy the book should I meet harm at your lordship’s hands, or anyone working on behalf of your lordship, as your lordship’s time is precious and sometimes these things must be delegated.

Looking forward to never meeting again,

Jessamin Olea

I sign a flourish under my name, and then shake out my hand. “The pins and needles are worse.”

“Because you are remembering what happened, and the magic has to work harder to combat the memory of pain.” Finn is reading the letter over my shoulder with a scowl.

“How is it that you have such dark eyebrows and yet your hair is golden?”

“Oh, that,” Eleanor says, tucked up into the corner of the love seat with a shawl draped over her legs. She’s still recovering from her own encounter with Lord Downpike. “Hadn’t you guessed? You already discovered he uses a very potent charm spell. It’s woven into his hair. Some would consider constantly charming everyone a bit of an excess, but Lord Ackerly needs all the help he can get.”

“Such vanity.” I tsk, trying to hold back a smile. No wonder his hair was both so enchanting and so aggravating.

“This will never work.” Finn shakes his head.

“Of course it will. You said that the most powerful practitioners are the ones who study. Would he risk losing so much knowledge?” I stroke Sir Bird’s head where he sits next to me, picking apart a biscuit.

“But I can’t just magic up a connection between the two of you. Even if I have a spell that can accomplish it, it would take me several days of research to find and prepare it.”

“Yes, but he doesn’t know that! As far as Lord Downpike is concerned, a wealth of his magical lore is intricately tied to my own well-being. I’ll give you Sir Bird to complete the ruse.” Sir Bird caws in protest. “Hush. It’s for the best. And if Finn does not take perfect care of you, we will plot his destruction together.”

“I think she’s done it,” Eleanor says. “She’s cleverer even than you.”

Finn’s scowl deepens. “This will do nothing but delay him. He will not stop until he extends his power past Albion and into the entire Iverian continent. His end goals are far larger than a few lost books of magical knowledge.”

“That is your problem, not mine.” I take the letter and blot it dry, then crease it shut.

“Please.” Finn’s voice has lost the arrogance it normally carries. Instead, it conveys a note of . . . desperation? “You may be cavalier with your own safety, but I can’t forget the sound of your screams. They will haunt me to my dying day. I couldn’t live with it if something else were to happen to you.”

His hand is flat on the table, and I want to lay my own on top of his. Eleanor sighs dreamily, and I am snapped back to reality. “I’m sorry. But if I agree to run and hide I would only be giving him control of my life.”

“You’d be safe from him!”

“No, I’d be as much a captive to my fear of him as I was when I was locked in that room. I refuse to be ruled, whether by those with bad intentions or those with good.” I grab a small candle with deep red wax and dribble it onto the letter’s fold to seal it shut.

Finn slides it away from my hand and then lowers his knuckle to press a large, gold ring into the wax seal. It leaves a symbol of two trees, the branches intertwining with each other. It must be his family crest.

“It’s done, then.” He scowls. “He won’t doubt my part in it, false though it is.”

“I’ll have Carlisle send it out immediately.” Eleanor stands and takes the letter, leaving us alone.

My head lolls against the couch. I have never been so tired in my life. Finn paces the floor, hands clasped behind his back.

“Will you at least agree to stay in my town house? It’s very near your school.”

I let myself imagine how soft his beds must be, how luxurious the sheets. And a washroom all to myself.

No. I will not become Mama, dependent on a man who thinks himself better than her and grateful for the privilege of his condescension. “Thank you, no. I’m comfortable at the hotel.”

“I’ve seen servants’ quarters, Jessamin. You cannot be comfortable there.”

“A great many people live in servants’ quarters, and they have yet to die from acute claustrophobia. I’m fine. Stop pacing, you make my nerves stand on end.”

He sits on the love seat across from me, and I close my eyes, mentally calculating how long it will take for the letter to get to Lord Downpike. Perhaps Eleanor will let me sleep here for the night, until we can be certain of the letter’s receipt and my safety in going home.

“This does not resolve the issue of my shadow,” Finn says softly.

I wave my hand. “I have the utmost faith in your ability to figure out how to fix that problem.”

He doesn’t respond and I open my eyes to find a look of hurt on his face. “Problem,” he whispers. Then his feline smile slides back into place. “Well, I have a great deal of work ahead of me.”

I don’t like the way he says it, the promise behind his words. And yet an odd sort of thrill courses through my body and I find myself hoping . . . for what?

Nothing. I am overtired, that is all. Getting back to my routine of attending classes and working in the hotel will be a comfort. I’ve simply been around Finn’s elevated charm for too long.

He stands and bows at the waist. “If you’ll be so kind as to excuse me, I have letters to write.”

“Yes, of course. And thank you again for all your help.” I raise my gloved hand.

“Thanks are not necessary, as it was my own fault that you needed help. I would never dare presume to help you otherwise. I’d fear your wrath something terrible were I to try. Though . . .” He looks at me thoughtfully. “A wrathful Jessamin is a wondrous thing to behold.”

Before I can finish blushing, he’s held out his arm to Sir Bird. “Come along.”

Sir Bird caws ill-temperedly. “Go on.” I hand him an extra biscuit. “I promise to visit.”

Finn’s face lights up. “Suddenly, I am intensely fond of this bird. We shall be great friends, you and I.” Sir Bird squawks and then, in his place, there’s the great black book. Finn tucks it under his arm. “This suits me, as well. Until tomorrow.” He’s through the door before I can tell him that we certainly won’t be seeing each other that soon.

Fie on the tired melancholy that descends on the room as soon as Finn is gone from it.

Bright—relatively so, by Alben standards—and early the next morning, I leave Eleanor’s, refreshed after a solid night’s sleep. Ernest escorts me, despite my protestations, and I know he suspects more than Eleanor told him about my surprise “reappearance” at their home. I’m wearing another borrowed dress of hers, jeweled green and finer than anything I own, but one she insisted she never wears.

I changed in the dark, and can’t help but look over my shoulder at my shadow constantly. Though Finn claimed watching and listening through his shadow is difficult, I feel as though he is hovering at my side. It is not a comfortable sensation.

We weave through the push of a crowd that seems to part easier for me in this dress and on Ernest’s arm than they normally do. “My sister likes you,” Ernest says as we walk the many blocks back to the hotel. He offered the carriage, but I thought if I were walking, he’d let me go alone.

“I like her, too. She’s rather remarkable, isn’t she?”

Ernest smiles. “She would have us all dismiss her as a flirt and a gossip, but I suspect she is a more formidable force than even our uncle. I think she will be a great advantage to me in politics.”

Perhaps Ernest is not so gullible and trusting as his open, honest face would indicate.

“What of your parents?” I ask. “You both seem young to be on your own.”

“Mother died when we were children. Father passed last year.”

“I’m so sorry.”

Ernest smiles, but it’s distant. An Alben smile is rarely an expression of joy. More often it is a way to deflect true emotion. “We are quite well taken care of. I come into my full inheritance next year, at which point I’ll purchase a seat in the Higher House, following in our uncle’s footsteps.”

“And Eleanor?”

“She has a suitable dowry upon her eighteenth birthday. I think we’ll find her a good match.”

“Doubtless.” Actually, I doubt very much that any man her brother or uncle deems worthy will, in fact, deserve her. And the way Ernest says “we’ll find her a good match” crawls under my skin and leaves my soul feeling itchy on Eleanor’s behalf. Shouldn’t she be able to choose someone that makes her heart sing?

It would appear Eleanor’s birth does not free her from the same binding restrictions and marital expectations my own did.

“Perhaps, with all her connections, Eleanor ought to go into politics, too.”

Ernest actually laughs at this, throwing his head back, his throat bobbing. “I would fear very much for Albion if she did.” He pauses outside the Grande Sylvie, straightening his tie. “I wanted to say . . . that is, I hope you understand that . . . well, Eleanor may like things to be interesting, but a future in politics is not well-served by scandal, real or imagined. I would very much hate to see any talk involving my sister.”

His words are carefully weighted, and I can feel them tugging on my shoulders, willing me to shrink back. I don’t know whether he is asking me to stop being her friend because I, myself, am unacceptable, or because he suspects my connection to Lord Downpike’s threats. I hope it’s the latter.

I stand taller, pasting a smile any Alben would be proud of onto my face. “She is lucky to have you as a brother.”

He relaxes his shoulders in relief. “It was nice to see you again, Jessamin. I almost wish, if things were different—well, but they aren’t.” His look is wistful as he pats my hand on his arm. I draw it back and wave good-bye.

I slip in through the servants’ door, anticipating a reunion with Ma’ati and Jacky Boy. But first, to change into normal clothes.

I sneak into my room and am undoing the buttons on my blouse when I hear soft snores behind me. Screaming, I turn to find a strange girl in my cot.

“What are you doing in here?” I demand, hurrying to the narrow wardrobe and flinging it open. I recognize nothing in it. “And what have you done with my things?”

The girl sits up, hair a messy black halo around her head, clutching the blanket to her chest. “I’m sorry, milady, I only started last night, and I was told I needn’t wake until eight, please don’t fire me.”

“Jessamin?”

I whirl around to find Ma’ati standing in the doorway. “You replaced me already? I’ve only been gone two nights!”

“I don’t understand.” She takes my hand and pulls me out of my room. “The letter said you wouldn’t be returning to work.”

“What letter?”

“Here, I’ll show you.”

I follow her to her room where she pulls out a cream envelope with Finn’s double-tree seal. The seal is the only thing that keeps me from suspecting Lord Downpike meddling again. Violence brimming in my thoughts, I rip out the letter and scan the contents.

. . . no longer requires employment . . . studies will take up the bulk of her time . . . thanks you for the kindness and generosity . . . will be staying in room 312, which I have paid out in full to the end of the year.

“Spirits take that meddlesome dolt, I will wring his neck.”

“We moved your things up to the room, Jessamin, books and everything. We didn’t know what to make of it, but the instructions were quite clear and, well, it’s such a fancy room!” A door slams next to us and I meet a glaring pair of eyes as one of the chambermaids swishes away. Clearly not everyone is as pleased with my fortune as Ma’ati.

I rub my forehead. “And you’ve already replaced me?”

“I’m sorry, but the girl came with the letter and her references were all good. And Jacky Boy has been needing someone who can give more hours.”

“Well, you’ve done no wrong, of course. I have to get to class. We can sort it out when I return.”

Ma’ati smiles and hands me the key to room 312. “Oh, your friend was by last night to see you. Kelen?”

I grimace. He’s going to think I’m avoiding him. I do want to see him, really, but he feels rather low on my list of priorities right now. “Did he leave an address?”

“No. He wanted to wait in your room, but Jacky Boy wouldn’t let him. He’s very protective of you.”

I laugh. “Kelen isn’t good enough for him?”

She shrugs. I want to ask more, but I’m already running late. I kiss Ma’ati’s cheek and head to my room. No. Not my room. Finn’s room. I refuse to take the guest stairs, and instead make my way up the narrow hidden flight. Someone bumps me roughly from behind.

“Oh, beg pardon, milady. Only shouldn’t you ought to be using the stairs for proper folks?” The chambermaid glares at me.

I don’t have time to set her straight. I hurry up, angry at her and at myself and especially at Finn. “This isn’t funny,” I hiss in the general direction of my shadow as I walk into the room. “You have no right.”

My books are carefully stacked on the generous desk, but I try to ignore the opulence of the room. The sky-blue silk duvet and matching drapes. The mounds of feather pillows. The window seat perfect for reading. The dressing table. The private bathroom.

I fail at ignoring it. But I will not accept it. I grab my books and barely have time to change into my school uniform. My satin gloves—Eleanor found a near-match—look ridiculously out of place.

“And now you’ve made me late.” I throw one of the pillows at my shadow and stomp out of the hotel.

I arrive out of breath and cross as a hornet to pick up a book from my carrel in the library. When I see the back of someone sitting in my spot, it is too much. “Sir, if you tell me this is no longer my carrel, I cannot be held accountable for my reaction.”

Finn turns—the black book known as Sir Bird open in his hands—and smiles.