A Split Worlds Omnibus

by Emma Newman

  A pressure was building behind his eyes. If only he’d been married to Amelia, it would be so much easier.

  The carriage stopped and Will focused on the meeting again. This time he was escorted through Hampton Court Palace by a more direct route, having already been suitably impressed.

  Bartholomew was waiting for him in a richly decorated drawing room, wearing a wine-coloured tailcoat, cream breeches and waistcoat. His cravat was perfectly tied and Will struggled to deal with a brief feeling of inferiority.

  “William,” Bartholomew said warmly, shaking his hand. “Thank you for coming. Sherry?”

  “Please.”

  “I trust you’re well?”

  “Yes, thank you. Catherine has asked me to pass on her regards.”

  Bartholomew smiled as he handed him the glass. “I’m sure you know why I asked to see you.”

  Will nodded. “A certain letter, I presume. Anything else and we would have met at Black’s.”

  “Indeed. I won’t waste your time with small talk; I intend to stand for Duke, Will, and I’d like to have your support.”

  Will took a sip of the sherry. It was the one conversation he didn’t want to have. “I believe you would make a fine Duke,” he said, weighing up what to say next. Lying and saying he would support him, only to step forward as a candidate on the night, was too despicable to contemplate. Simply telling Bartholomew he was unable to support him without explanation would imply he was planning to support another. Tempting as it was to leave the Tulipa to fret about who that might be, it hardly seemed the behaviour of a gentleman. Besides, with only two weeks to go, Will was going to have to make his intentions clear to those he wanted to win over, and it would be all over Londinium before the week was out. “However, I’m not free to offer my support, as much as I would like to.”

  Bartholomew was surprised, just for a moment, but Will saw it flash across his eyes. “Have you decided another is more worthy?”

  “Quite the contrary, I fear,” Will said with as charming a smile as he could muster. “I’m putting myself forward, you see.”

  “You? But you’ve been resident for less than a month! I didn’t think you were so arrogant.”

  “I’m not, sir, believe me. We’ve only known each other a very short period of time, but I’ve already come to have a great deal of respect for you. I’d like to speak frankly, if we can agree it goes no further than this room.”

  “You have my word.”

  Will didn’t believe him. He wanted to, but with so much at stake, he knew the Tulipa would use every piece of information at his disposal. But Will had to plan for the possibility—nay probability—that he was going to lose. Duke Tulipa would remember his honesty.

  “Were I to have a choice in the matter I would support you wholeheartedly. However, my family have tasked me with standing for the Dukedom, and as a loyal son I must obey.”

  “The Irises are interested in Londinium?” Bartholomew set his glass down on the mantelpiece. “It’s a compliment they put so much faith in you, Will.”

  “Or perhaps their interest isn’t so serious,” Will replied. “If they really wanted Londinium, they have many more experienced sons to send. Perhaps they just wanted me out of Aquae Sulis.”

  “Perhaps.”

  Will was pleased he’d managed to muddy the water with a little self-deprecation. “So you see my hands are tied. I hope you take my being truthful with you as an indication of the high esteem I hold you in. When I’m forced to step forward on the night, you’ll know why and not see it as a personal rejection of your candidacy.”

  “Is there no way we could persuade your family to release you from your obligation? I’d very much like to have you in my Court, in a high position. Standing against me is futile, and it seems such a waste to have your first Court appearance be a failure. Why not support me and avoid the embarrassment?”

  “You’re certain you’ll win?”

  “I’m certain there are no other serious candidates. Please don’t take offence. I’m established in the city and have the support of the most influential people here.”

  “And you have many more years of experience than I,” Will added. “All this is true. But what can I do?”

  “Indeed. It’s a shame, but I appreciate your candour. I do urge you to discuss this with your family. I’d be amenable to coming to an agreement.”

  “I’ll put it to them. No doubt that would be far more beneficial than my humiliation.” Will smiled and shook hands with him, settling into the role of dutiful son with no hope. By the time Will left, Bartholomew was back to smiles and gentle humour, unaware that Will was more determined to win than before.

  Will looked out on the mists of the Nether, planning the letters he’d write once home, considering his options now Bartholomew knew of his ambition. If Lord Iris himself hadn’t been behind this push for Londinium, he would have approached his father to discuss terms he could take to the Tulipa, knowing his chances of taking the ducal seat were next to nil. For the first time since they’d arrived, he permitted himself to consider failure and really look it in the face. What would Lord Iris do when Tulipa took the throne? Surely the family’s Patroon would defend him, make it clear how impossible a task it was? Would the Fae listen?

  He had two weeks but even if he had two years it wouldn’t be enough time to win steadfast support from the Court. He was still learning their names, let alone their strengths and weaknesses. Cornelius was a great help, but acquiring dry information wasn’t the same as forming true alliances.

  It had always been an impossibility. Perhaps he’d been right, perhaps his family did want him out of the way. No, that was ludicrous; they’d never wilfully put a son forward for guaranteed humiliation. Perfection and success in all endeavours were expected, and if they couldn’t be achieved, an attempt was not made. But then again the family hadn’t proposed this, Lord Iris had, and the Fae weren’t known for their realism.

  There was only one option: Will had to play the game whether he wanted to or not and fair play would not bring a win. If he was going to sacrifice his principles to keep the favour of his patron and Patroon, how far was he willing to go?

  He closed his eyes and rested his head, letting himself be rocked by the carriage. He heard a gentle pop and the scent of irises filled the air.

  A faerie dressed in blue iris petals was hovering in front of him. It smiled and waved. “Hello.”

  “What a pleasant surprise,” he said, holding out the palm of his right hand so it could alight. Practically weightless, it felt like two cold peas resting on his skin. “You look as beautiful as ever.”

  It giggled, hiding its mouth behind its hands like the Japanese schoolgirls he’d waved to on the Grand Tour. “And you are too handsome to live anywhere but Exilium.”

  “If I were to live amongst such beauty I would fade in your eyes and I would hate that to happen.” Will smiled, all the while preparing himself for the message she was about to deliver.

  “You’re definitely the best of the crop. I’m sure if I asked my Lord—”

  “But Lord Iris needs me to take Londinium, and who are we to go against his wishes?”

  Its tiny pointed ears drooped slightly. “True. I have a message from him. He expects a son by the end of the first year of your marriage.”

  “A son? My wife and I would be delighted to be so blessed, but these things are notoriously difficult to predict.”

  “Without our help they are.” It smiled and fluttered up to his nose to kiss it lightly, making the tip tingle. “There, a little help from me, just between us, you understand. You still have to do your bit.” It giggled and smiled provocatively at him. “But when you do and your wife’s belly swells, you can be happy in the knowledge it will be a boy and a fine one too.”

  “Thank you. I have no idea what I’ve done to be worthy of such kindness but I’m deeply touched by your generosity.”

  “So there shouldn’t be any problem with satisfying my Lord now,
should there?”

  “No, thanks to you.”

  It fluttered higher, until it was level with his eyes. “Really? Is she being a good wife?”

  “Catherine is surpassing my hopes and expectations in every way,” he replied smoothly. “I’m sure our marriage will only get better and better.”

  It clapped. “Oh, how exquisite. I’m quite envious of her. She doesn’t deserve you.”

  He opted for silence. Why was Lord Iris paying so much attention to their marriage and, more specifically, its consummation? Why had he insisted they marry in the first place? Whilst it was normal for every Iris generation to hope for sons, it was rare for the Fae to actively intervene. Charms to influence gender were incredibly expensive and used only after two daughters had been born, not before the first had even been conceived.

  The faerie waved and disappeared, the air rushing in with a pop to fill the space it had occupied. Would Lord Iris summon Cathy again soon? It had taken her days to recover from whatever ordeal he’d put her through and if she returned to Exilium as a virgin they could both be in serious trouble.

  He rapped on the roof of the carriage with the tip of his cane and it slowed to a stop. He opened the window and called up to the driver who leaned over to listen.

  “Take me to the Emporium of Things in Between and Besides,” he ordered, and the driver touched the brim of his hat.

  Will settled back in his place as the carriage turned on the Nether road, hating the decision he had been forced to make.

  Max sat on the chair in the Sorcerer’s ballroom waiting for the puppet to arrive, the mask resting on his lap. He remembered the lesson his mentor had given him in how to use it.

  “Our mentor was one hell of an Arbiter,” the gargoyle said. It’d been so quiet in the corner Max had forgotten it was there.

  Max nodded, remembering the sight of his dead body at the Cloister. Just an image, no grief and no anger.

  The dry rasp of the gargoyle’s attempt to weep filled the space. “We need to stop fucking about at the edges of this,” it said. “Let’s just go into London and bash some heads together until we find out what’s going on.”

  “You know it’s not that simple,” Max replied. “I know you’re finding it frustrating, but the Sorcerers have their ways. We can’t force Ekstrand to hurry Dante into a meeting. Anything like that could precipitate a war. You know how twitchy they are about their sovereignty.”

  “It just seems like a waste of time. And we’re finding it frustrating. You just get to sit there calm as a dead parrot whilst I’m feeling all of this. I’m the one who has to deal with it.”

  “If you can’t handle this go and wait in the scullery.”

  “Piss off,” the gargoyle growled. “I am handling it.”

  “You’re still upset about her lying to us, aren’t you?”

  “So what if I am?”

  Max had decided it could work to his advantage if the puppet saw the gargoyle was no longer on her side. It would put her on the back foot and he would exploit it.

  The burning outline appeared, forming the Way, and in moments the puppet stepped through. She was wearing the same mundane clothes and long satin gloves as before, but now he knew why.

  She opened her mouth to greet them as the Way closed behind her, but before the words emerged the gargoyle had covered the length of the room in only four bounds. It launched itself at her with a ferocity Max hadn’t anticipated. She was slammed against the wall and her arms were pinned by its stone claws. She looked utterly terrified.

  “Why did you lie to us?” it snarled.

  “What?” Her confusion seemed genuine, but Max knew puppets were masterful actors.

  “Why didn’t you tell us your husband has two pet Rosas? You knew we needed to speak to a Rose, urgently, and you didn’t tell us?”

  “I…” She was breathless. “You’re hurting me.”

  “Do I look like I care?” The gargoyle’s stone teeth were an inch from her cheek. “You think we want to find the Rosas to have tea together? Have a nice little chat and a catch up? Every day we’re delayed by you pissing us about, people are at risk. Innocents, not the likes of you.”

  “You think I could just ask my husband where they are? I don’t know where he keeps them, I’ve never wanted to know. She’s his mistress and I’m the wife—there’s no way to ask that kind of question without it being dodgy as hell.”

  “Not our problem.” The gargoyle didn’t let go.

  “Yeah, it’s always mine, isn’t it? If I found out where they are and you went and interrogated them do you think that would be the end of it? Who else is going to lead an Aquae Sulis Arbiter to his bit on the side? You know what Iris men do to wives that don’t toe the line?” The gargoyle stayed silent. “They replace them.”

  The gargoyle drew its face back an inch. “You should have told us anyway.”

  “And hope you’d be sensitive to my circumstances? You think I’m that stupid? Your…handler over there thinks I’m worth less than horseshit, and wouldn’t have given a second thought to blowing my life up into more of a disaster than it already is. Now, will you please let me go, you’re really hurting me.”

  The gargoyle released her arms and returned to all fours, prowling in front of her as it considered what she’d said. She rubbed her arms where she’d been pinned.

  “I thought you were being straight with us,” the gargoyle said after a moment.

  “I have been as far as I can be without getting myself killed or enslaved, OK? Can you please just try to see how hard this is for me to get away with? I’m already taking a huge risk just being here.”

  “But it’s not an altruistic act,” Max said. “You’re only here because you need us.”

  She looked in his direction and saw the mask on his lap. She paled further. “What’s that?”

  “It’s a Truth Mask,” he replied.

  “There’s a clue in the name,” the gargoyle added.

  She looked like she was trying to press herself back through the wall. “There’s no need for anything scary, OK?”

  “Isn’t there? As the gargoyle said, we thought you were being straight with us, when all this time you’ve been withholding information critical to our investigation. We’ve been polite. And patient. It’s got us nowhere. Now you need to tell us the truth and this is the only way we can be sure.”

  “That’s not true, I gave you loads on the Agency,” she said, her voice higher pitched. “I bugged that man, didn’t that lead anywhere?”

  “It did, but, as we said before, that’s only one part of the investigation. We need to make some serious progress and your games are getting in the way.”

  “I’m not playing games.” She stared at the mask and its rivets gleaming in the lantern light.

  “We need to speak to the Rosas still in Londinium. We can’t hunt them so you need to tell us how to find them quickly. Tell us where your husband has stashed away his pet Rosas.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Then tell us how you hid from your family.”

  “I can’t do that either.”

  “Right.” Max picked the Mask up and made a show of checking the straps, giving her a good look at the metal face with a shaped nose and nostril holes. There were no holes for the eyes and a metal grill that would fit over her mouth.

  “I really can’t!” she yelled. “Look, someone took a huge risk helping me, I don’t want to put him in any danger.”

  “Not my problem.” Max got up.

  “I swore I’d never tell anyone how it was done,” she said, palms flat against the wall as she tried to keep as much distance between herself and the mask as possible. “I can’t break that promise.”

  “How many promises have you already broken?” the gargoyle asked, ending its prowling to stand in front of her, poised like he was about to pounce on a mouse.

  She slid sideways, fumbling along the wall, looking for the doorknob that was no longer there. “There’s no way to leave thi
s room without my say-so,” Max said. “There’s nowhere to go, puppet.”

  She reached the corner. “I haven’t done anything wrong. Don’t do this, please.” Her pleading eyes fell on the gargoyle. “I told you as much as I could, I led you to the Agency. That was the deal: Agency for Miss Rainer’s details. Not this.”

  “We got the file on her,” the gargoyle said. “All you have to do is tell us how or where the Rosas are hiding and you can have it.”

  “Hold her still.” Max was close enough to see the sweat sheen on her face.

  The gargoyle grabbed a wrist and pulled her towards it roughly. As she moved away from the wall it stepped behind her, raised itself on its haunches again and wrapped its stone arms around her in a bear hug.

  “You see the studs on the inside?” Max asked, the puppet’s eyes huge with terror. “Apparently they hurt but don’t leave any permanent marks.”

  “Wait!”

  He took a step closer.

  “Wait!” she yelled. “If you put that thing on me, I’ll never help you again. You said yourself this is just the start. How far can you get without me on the inside? It’s obvious you can’t act in London, or Londinium for that matter—what’re you going to do when you need to bring these people in?”

  Max stopped. “You need us more.”

  “Do I?”

  She seemed bolder, as if a switch inside her had flicked from terror to absolute calm. The gargoyle was frowning. It had looked less happy from the moment it had grabbed her.

  “Who else can help you?” Max asked. “You need a Sorcerer.”

  “There must be other Sorcerers,” she replied, now staring him in the eye. “I’ll find one. I’d rather get you the information without screwing over the one who helped me. I will, I swear it, on my blood if you need me to, or whatever way you people do it. All I need is twenty-four hours. Then I want the information on Rainer.”