by Lish McBride
“Why not?” Merit asked.
“If you’d spent time with Florencia or Brouchard DuMont, you wouldn’t ask that question.” Val’s face twisted into mild disgust. “They would never give anyone that much power over them, even for a second. Fairy gifts can cut both ways, and they wouldn’t endanger themselves.”
Tevin looked up through his lashes to catch Merit’s reaction. He didn’t want pity and was relieved that he didn’t see it. She looked thoughtful, her lips pursed, but nothing more, like she was waiting for more information to come in before she decided something. Tevin finished his shortbread.
Merit tapped her finger on the side of her cup. “When will my mother be home?”
Ellery took out their watch. “Two hours, I imagine.”
“She left some papers for you on your desk,” Kaiya said, shifting forward on the settee. “Including the list of approved suitors.” She smiled so wide her eyes crinkled. “I’m sure you just can’t wait to see it.”
Merit nodded. “Kaiya, can you fetch the maid for me? Have her find rooms for the DuMonts and get them situated.” She set down her tea. “I’ve got some things to do before my mother gets here. I need to decide how to handle her.”
Tevin exchanged a look with Val. Amaury, still leaning against the wall by the bellpull, dipped his head to hide a grin.
“Don’t worry about your mother,” Tevin said, standing. “Bring her to us when she gets here. We’ll take care of everything.”
Merit looked like she wanted to argue, but Val stopped her.
“Let us earn our keep,” Val said. “You won’t regret it.” Val grabbed another small pie before snagging Tevin’s arm. “Come on. I’ve got an idea.”
* * *
• • •
Tevin almost felt bad for Lady Zarla. Oh, she was rich and titled, with the fortunate existence that came with that. She seemed intelligent, and nice enough as these things went, which was a bit of a surprise. She could likely hold her own in most situations, but against the DuMonts? She was to be pitied, really.
Lady Zarla came back from her social engagements and strode into her sitting room only to find it in complete and utter disarray. The room teemed with activity—Val’s idea set in motion. It was a large room, but even so, there was very little space left to move around. Amaury was flipping through fabric samples, occasionally stopping to show one to the tailor’s assistant. Val examined boots that had been brought in by a local cobbler while simultaneously trying on hats from the milliner. Tevin, freshly bathed and clean shaven, stood on a stool in his underthings, sipping coffee as the tailor took measurements. There were boxes upon boxes of goods and several very harried assistants running around. To be honest, the room looked like the entire fashion district had thrown up in it.
There was also, inexplicably, a harpist.
Lady Zarla’s expression remained serene, every inch in control from the soles of her finely made walking boots to the jeweled clips in her ebony updo. Out of the corner of his eye, Tevin saw one of her gloved hands briefly fist against the ruby fabric of her walking dress. Without batting an eye, she sent one of the servants off to fetch Merit. She didn’t speak to Tevin or anyone else in the room, only glared as she stripped the gloves from her hands. Tevin ignored her and continued to sip his coffee and move when the tailor asked him to.
Merit strode into the room after that, and everything stilled. One of the assistants gasped, his face bloodless. The harpist fainted over her harp, causing the instrument to make a mangled sound. Tevin ground his teeth as the tailor stuck him with a pin.
Gone was the Merit of before. What strode into the room was the Beast of Cravan. Curved horns sprouted from her skull, curling around her ears, much like a ram. The horns themselves were black, almost delicate, rising out of rich brown fur. She had a snout, reminding Tevin of either a dog or a bat. He cocked his head. More bat than dog, he decided.
Her hands and feet were clawed, and though her hands were still vaguely human shaped, her feet were closer to paws. She moved differently, too—sinuously, like a predator. When she crossed to her mother, he caught the faintest hint of a tail. Orange eyes blinked at the room, and though they looked different, Tevin could still see the intelligence and resolve he was already associating with Merit. Changed on the outside into something bestial, she still wore the same cotton dress with the tiny purple flowers from this morning. He relaxed. He looked down at the tailor. “That’s not where your needle is supposed to go.” His words were loud in the quiet room, breaking the spell. The room lurched back into motion. The tailor apologized and went back to pinning.
“You were right,” Tevin said. “Horns.”
Val snorted and pulled a boot onto her foot. “Furry, too. We were both right.”
“Could someone please revive the harpist?” Tevin said, pitching his voice louder. “The lack of music is killing the mood.” A second passed, and music once again filtered into the room, though softer and a little wobbly. Tevin caught Merit’s gaze and smiled over his coffee cup.
“Did you empty all of High Street?” Merit asked, taking one of the coffee cups her own butler offered.
“Only the best shops.” Val eyed Merit. “Do you need anything? They’re a little overloaded with the three of us, but I’m sure they’d figure something out for you.”
“She makes a point.” Tevin’s brow furrowed as he examined the room. “We should have checked if you had adequate gowns for the upcoming social whirl.”
“I’m fine,” Merit said. “Merely confused. Especially about the harpist.”
“We couldn’t find a fiddler on short notice,” Amaury said.
“We thought music would make things go faster.” Tevin handed his coffee off to an assistant and held his arms out so they could fit him with a ready-made suit. They’d have to alter it for him, but it would be faster than making it from scratch. “We didn’t exactly plan to stay in Veritess.” Tevin slipped into a shirt, his deft fingers making quick work of the buttons. “And we only had the clothes on our backs. They’re decent clothes, but they won’t do for what we have in mind.”
“What we have in mind?” Lady Zarla finally found her voice and choked out the question.
“I’m going to be your honored guest.” Tevin moved as directed while the tailor pinned the shirt. “And Merit is heir to the House of Cravan. So I can’t be me, and I can’t pretend to be one of you, either. Which leaves a very specific strata of society.”
“Industrialist,” Val said. “A head of a mage concern, here to discuss business with your barony. It would make sense for Merit to be showing him about the place. If he’s rich and handsome—”
“And I can pretend to be rich,” Tevin said, checking the suit in the mirror behind the tailor. Since he’d had a chance to bathe earlier, his hair had returned to its usual golden brown. He’d brushed it back, revealing high cheekbones and a firm jaw. The deep purple of his new vest made the rich green of his eyes bright in the mirror. He nodded at the tailor.
“Then if he’s seen attempting to ingratiate himself and court Merit?” Val yanked off the boot she’d been trying on.
“Human, but with money and power,” Amaury said, setting the fabric samples down. He looked at Merit. “I’m going to need coin.”
“They’ll bill us.” Merit looked around the room again. “A lot, probably.”
Tevin had to hand it to Merit: She didn’t even wince at the thought. Full, high-end wardrobes for three people were going to cost some serious change. Not to mention the harpist. He glanced over at Lady Zarla, whose face was a rather strangled-looking red.
Amaury shook his head. “Not for this.” He waved away the frenzy of workers in the sitting room. “Supplies. Identities.”
“Pardon?” Merit asked.
“What is going on?” Lady Zarla snarled. “Someone has five seconds to tell me before I call for the constables.”
Val came over to Lady Zarla and smiled, placing a light gray bowler onto her head. “That is splendid on you, Baroness Cravan. It brings out your eyes. May we call you Zarla?”
“No, you may not.” Lady Zarla looked like she was going to grab Val by the belt and toss her out the window.
Val laced her arm through Lady Zarla’s, steering her out of the teeming mess of things and closer to where Tevin stood.
Tevin exchanged the purple vest for a silver one from the tailor and put it on. “Lady Zarla, please forgive my cousin. She fell off her horse recently and hasn’t been right since.”
Val surreptitiously scratched under her eye with her extended middle finger. Tevin ignored her and turned a bright smile on Merit’s mother, one his own mother referred to as his “matron stunner.” She’d made him practice it in front of a mirror until he achieved the perfect balance between slightly wicked and boyishly innocent. He took Lady Zarla’s free hand, bowing over it as best he could without upsetting the tailor. “I have to say, Val is correct. That hat looks dashing on you.” Before his eyes, Lady Zarla softened, her cheeks becoming rosy.
She touched the hat. “You think so?”
“I do.” Tevin nodded.
Val patted her arm. “Lady Zarla, we’re here to help your darling child—the apple of your eye—bag and tag a suitable suitor.”
“Val,” Tevin remonstrated.
Val didn’t look the least bit chastened. “To do so, Tevin has to be with her. What better way to do that than by waltzing at her side? Fetching her punch? Escorting her to museums and whatnot?” Val didn’t wait for her to answer but plowed on. “The thing about young bucks is they always want what someone else has.” She waved a hand at Merit. “They see your daughter on Tevin’s arm? A handsome—and in their minds totally inferior—suitor about to snatch her away? Suddenly, they’re looking at her with new eyes.”
Lady Zarla’s brows winged up as she faced her daughter. “Merit, darling, who are these people?”
“Oh, they’re criminals, Mother,” Merit said casually as she reached out to adjust Tevin’s vest. “You’re going to need to take this in at least an inch.” The tailor’s hand shook, but he nodded and moved a few of the pins.
“Criminals?” Lady Zarla blinked.
“Criminally good at our jobs,” Amaury crooned, taking over from Val. “Think of us as marriage consultants.”
“Consultants?” Lady Zarla crossed her arms, her brow creasing. A flash of hurt in her eyes, there and then gone, like emotional lightning.
“I think we might have broken my mother,” Merit whispered, her face tilted up to Tevin’s, her eyes twinkling.
“I’m sure she’ll recover,” Tevin said softly.
“Now, Lady Zarla,” Val said, stepping in front of Merit’s mother and pressing a hand to her shoulder to turn her attention away from her daughter. “We can’t just go to a ball and announce to all and sundry that Tevin’s wealthy and chasing after your daughter. It’s simply not done. He must act the part, sure, and he can do that. Should the need arise, he might even have to prove who he is. Now, how are we going to do that?”
Lady Zarla opened her mouth, but Amaury barreled in before she could speak. “Without getting into specifics, I’m going to create identities for us that are tight enough to carry water. But I can’t make them out of thin air.” They would all need identification papers. Of course, what Amaury was talking about was technically illegal. Normally, they wouldn’t have told her anything, just appeared with new identities intact. But they didn’t have time, which made Tevin decide to bring Lady Zarla in on some of it and hope his charm was enough.
Tevin slipped his arms into the jacket. “He’ll need paints, paper, wax, and so on and so forth. I’m sure you’d find the details boring, and besides, plausible deniability is a lovely thing, isn’t it?” He beamed at Merit’s mother.
She stared at him, then at Amaury, and finally landed on Val. “And what about you?”
Val went back to the boots she’d been trying on. “I’m here to add a hint of respectability to the enterprise. Besides, if he gets into a scrape, he can’t hit the broadside of a barn.”
Lady Zarla turned a pained face to her daughter. Merit grinned, revealing sharp fangs. The tailor swayed on his feet.
Lady Zarla gave up. “I don’t care what you do as long as she gets married before her birthday. If anyone needs me, I’ll be in my study drinking a very large brandy.” She pointed at the gray bowler. “Add this to the tab.” Then she strode out of the room.
Tevin watched the door swing shut behind her. “That went well.”
“It did.” Merit’s voice was gleeful. “The charm certainly comes in handy.”
“Yes,” Val said, admiring her new boots. “And I have to say, the harpist has made the shopping almost fly by.”
Amaury grunted. “Fiddles would have been better.”
CHAPTER 9
PRIZE HEIFER SEEKING SAME
Another problem with being a beast, Merit reflected, had to do with seating. The cushioned chair at the delicate writing desk in her room didn’t have an outlet for her tail, so she had to sit in a sort of perched manner, like an awkward bird. She kept fidgeting. Every time she fidgeted, the chair squeaked.
“How’s that letter coming?” Ellery asked. They were keeping her company in her private sitting room while she wrote a letter to the staff in the country. She’d only planned on being here for a few days. Now she didn’t know how long she’d be staying, and needed to make sure things ran smoothly without her. Ellery relaxed on the love seat, sketching in a notebook. It should have been a perfect time to catch up on a few things before she had to meet with Tevin to go over the list of suitors. Her sitting room was light and airy, the windows thrown open for a pleasant breeze. She could hear the drowsy sounds of the city through the windows, and Ellery was an excellent companion, never feeling the need to chatter aimlessly.
“It’s going well.” She fidgeted. The chair squeaked.
Ellery made a thoughtful little hum that somehow managed to convey skepticism.
Squeak. “It’s just my tail.”
As a healer, Ellery was used to controlling their expressions, maintaining a calm and confident exterior. So they didn’t so much as smile when they said, “That’s quite a whopper.”
“A whopper?”
“A whale of a tale, as my gran would have said.”
“I don’t know what you mean.” Merit returned to her letter. Dash it all, what had she been going to write?
“Are you absolutely sure it’s your tail and not, say, the image of Master Tevin in his undergarments?”
Merit dropped her pen, splattering ink. “Blast.” The letter was ruined. “Of course it’s my tail.”
“Only, you use that desk all the time, and it’s never been more than a minor annoyance.”
The problem with friends, Merit thought, was that they could not only see your little self-delusions, but felt comfortable calling you out on them. Also, you couldn’t toss them out the window, because you loved them and they were right. Even if they were annoying.
Merit paused, her pen hovering over the paper. The upside of friends was that it was easy to go on the offensive in the hopes that they would retreat. “Have you apologized to them yet?”
“The criminals?” Ellery glanced up from their notebook. “No, I have not.”
“You were rude, you know.” Merit set aside the ruined letter to use for scrap and pulled out a fresh sheet. “It was very unlike you.”
Ellery paused over their sketch, tapping the pencil against the paper. “I suppose I owe them an apology.” Their eyes met hers. “I’m not saying I don’t have concerns. I’m your friend. Of course I’m concerned when you surround yourself with criminals. I’ve been attempting to remind myself that you’re an intelligent, levelheaded person and that you know wha
t you’re doing. Except where your mother is involved. It’s like a chemical reaction. You’re a stable variable on your own, but put you together?” Ellery flicked the fingers of one hand out, mimicking an explosion.
Merit couldn’t argue. They did tend to bring out the worst in each other.
Ellery returned to sketching. “That being said, I should try to keep an open mind. Tevin can’t control his gift any more than I can control my reaction to it.”
“Is it bad?”
“Not bad, but annoying. It’s like ants crawling all over your skin.” Ellery was fairyborn like Merit, but descended from an entirely different fey creature, a spriggan. One of their peculiarities was being sensitive to magic directed at them. Godlings weren’t fond of spriggans. They were immune to their brand of magic, which meant godlings had no control or influence over them. Which made Ellery the perfect healer for Merit and others like her. Godlings couldn’t retaliate against a spriggan.
“It shouldn’t even work, you know. His magic,” Ellery grumbled as they sketched. “Not on me. It’s godling magic.”
“Maybe you want to be charmed?”
Ellery grunted, indicating that while they didn’t agree, they didn’t have a very good counterargument, either.
Merit jotted off her letter quickly, rolled it up, and tied it with a red ribbon. “It needs to go express.” And she couldn’t send it, because the beast couldn’t whistle.
“I don’t see why you don’t just mirror your staff.” Ellery stood, taking it from her hands. They leaned out the window and whistled.
“They do better with a list, and I like writing,” Merit said, neatly capping her pen.
After a second, a raven settled onto the ledge. He looked like any other black raven, except for a small band on his leg, which held the Cravan crest. Ellery placed the letter on the sill. “No dawdling, hear?”
The raven pecked Ellery’s hand and snatched the letter with its claws before taking flight into the bright blue sky. Ellery shook out their hand. “What was that for?”