MELANIE
Two years previous
Sebastian returned the borrowed items from the apothecary as soon as they’d taken their dinner. The extra herbs were gone. The needle was gone. Now all they had to deal with was the mask. Melanie checked once more on Dawn-Lyn, and then the two new co-conspirators retired to the inn’s cigar room to discuss their spiral into criminality.
They wound back through the lounge, past the bar, to a pair of double doors made of richly stained wood with panes of inlaid green glass.
Ash and musk and honey met Melanie’s nose as Sebastian graciously opened the room for her. This was a secluded pocket-place for worldly indulgences—those on the relaxing, easy end of hedonism.
The smoking room’s doors sealed tightly behind them when closed, and heavy curtains graced the doorjamb as an extra fortification against leaking vapors. Sebastian pulled them tight across the seams. The heady, dry scent of cigar smoke perforated the fabric.
Sebastian gestured at a pair of high-backed leather chairs, then took one himself—one leg propped up on his other knee, foot bouncing nervously.
“I thought we should have some privacy,” he explained. “Somewhere other than…”
“Other than your personal chambers?”
“People gossip,” he said. “I’m not a letch who preys on pretty patrons, and wouldn’t have anyone thinking ill of me if I can avoid it. I hope you understand.”
She wasn’t sure which word her mind tripped over more disastrously: “letch,” “preys,” or “pretty.”
This time, he seemed not to have noticed he’d said anything untoward.
“Please, have a seat,” Sebastian continued, gesturing at the chair opposite the one he occupied, in every way the first chair’s mate.
With a sigh, she sat, taking stock of the room. The chamber was built to complement the smoking of strong cigars the way cognac complemented the smoking of strong cigars—with hardy finishes and smooth ambers. The wood of the walls had been lacquered with a rigid varnish to keep it from absorbing flavors that might clash with whatever the current patrons were enjoying. Art pieces in gilded frames were likewise contained in glass sheaths.
It was a well-put-together room. Well-put-together with a refined ease, just like the man before her.
Once more, she felt exceedingly out of place.
Between the chairs was a small table, in its center a silver serving tray laden with candied fruits, cured meats, hard cheeses, and bread. Melanie plucked up a dried apricot.
“Did it work? The medicine?” he asked, suddenly standing again—nervous energy rolling off of him in waves as he strolled to the bar, where a selection of cigar boxes and humidors sat. Nearby was a jug of water, and he poured some in a crystal tumbler, offering it to Melanie.
“Hard to say,” she said, taking the glass. “She’s been sick for a long while. It will take time for the symptoms to abate.”
He hmmed and nodded thoughtfully, pouring water for himself as well. “What do we … what do we do now?”
Melanie looked into her water glass, saw how distorted her fingers looked through the crystal. “Do you have anything stronger?”
“You don’t want to keep a clear head while we plot?”
“Not really, no.”
He nodded solemnly, pressed his lips into a thin line. He moved to another cabinet, pulled out several snifters and corked bottles. “I admit I don’t have a favorite libation to scheme by,” he said.
She huffed out a laugh. “Do you have something bubbly?”
“Isn’t that for celebrating?”
“Better to fake a celebration than to wallow in … in … by the Five, what have we gotten ourselves into?”
She jumped as a cork popped.
“Champagne it is, then,” he declared.
“Oh, I didn’t—I was mostly joking. That must be expensive.”
“Can’t drink it in a prison camp,” he said with a shrug. He filled two more tumblers and sat down heavily again before passing her one. He raised his for a toast. “To strangers making life-altering mistakes.”
He smiled far too broadly, like he was forcing himself to be mirthful and reckless—as though it went against everything natural to him. Thus far he’d been a measured, careful person. No doubt the last twenty-four hours had knocked him off his axis just as readily as they had tilted hers.
“To—to that,” she mumbled, lifting her glass hesitantly, awkwardly. Truth was, she’d tasted perhaps three wines in her life, and those had been neighbors’ brews. She swirled the tumbler beneath her nose and immediately regretted it. The fizz irritated her sinuses, and it smelled bitter. She took a small sip and wrinkled her nose—it made her mouth run dry.
“That good, huh?” he asked, curling his lip at his own pull. “I am more of a red wine sort of person,” he admitted.
They both went quiet, staring at their drinks, the walls. Anything but each other.
They were both stalling and they knew it.
“What if … what if there was another crime?” she suggested tentatively. “To muddle what we’ve done? What if I return the mask … and then somebody steals it? So that it disappears? So that if it’s found again, there’s plenty of doubt about how it might have come to be in its current state?” She didn’t like how easily her mind had come to this conclusion. How swiftly she’d settled on the idea that one more wrong might make things … not right, but might confuse the trail. Make things easier for her.
She’d never broken the law before. Why was it so effortless to slip from one transgression into the next?
And how far, ultimately, would she be willing to fall?
“Who is ‘somebody’?” he asked skeptically.
“Me. I’ll steal a variety of masks, including Belladino’s. And I’ll leave them someplace someone is sure to find them. The shop owner has insurance, doesn’t he? And most likely he’ll get the masks back anyway. Once the Regulators find them, they’ll take no more interest in the case—all they care about are enchantments. But it will throw the suspicion away from me. For this.”
“No. You’re not thinking clearly—and we can’t blame the drink. Regulators will be more likely to come after you if you try something so reckless,” he said.
“I won’t be reckless,” she said calmly. “I’ll make a plan. A detailed plan.”
“I’d bet ten to one you’ve never stolen anything in your life,” he said.
“You’d win that bet.”
“So what in the Valley makes you think you could pull off something like this? A heist? Come now—”
“Because I will do anything to keep my mother safe.” Her knuckles went white around the glass. She couldn’t let herself be hauled away. Dawn-Lyn needed care, needed someone there for her. “Anything. And I will succeed.”
He sighed, rubbed at his eyes. “I won’t let you do it alone.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, I’ve dragged you through too much mud already. Maybe I shouldn’t have even told you what I was thinking. I should have—”
“I did this to you,” he said, gesturing at her forehead. “I disenchanted a sacred object. I—”
“Not on purpose. Sebastian, I don’t blame you.”
“It doesn’t matter. I blame myself. I did it, and I would never forgive myself if I let you face the consequences alone.” He set his jaw. “Tell me honestly. You really think you can come up with a plan? One where we don’t get caught and immediately thrown into the mines?”
“Yes,” she said confidently, feeling it in her bones. She could do it, because she had to. “Maybe—maybe it doesn’t even have to look like a crime. Maybe by the time anyone’s figured out what’s really happened, our trail will have gone cold.”
“How in the Valley will we manage that?”
“Belladino,” she said. “He knew things … I … Now I know things. About sleeping draughts and hallucinogens. About things that make memories fuzzy and lips loose and grasps weak.”
He stared at her for a moment. Really looked, deep, holding her gaze for as long as he could. As she looked back, searching his stare in return, she saw questions, and fear. She saw wonder, and doubt.
But what made her turn away first was the surprising amount of trust she saw in Sebastian’s eyes.
He didn’t know her, not really. How could he look at her like that, already?
“Could we make him think he’d done business? Rented out masks, when really we’ve taken them?” he asked.
“We’d need to leave money.”
“I have money.”
“Oh, Sebastian—”
“I’m embroiled in this, same as you. I have a stake in it, and if money is what I can contribute then so be it. Just … just tell me one thing first. Honestly, before we go any further.”
“Yes?”
“We’re not going to hurt anyone?” he asked quietly, barely above a whisper.
“No,” she replied quickly. “Of course not. Never.”