The tension in his face eased just slightly. "Not at all, Miss. Not at all. A common mistake."
With that, he turned and left. Fleeing, more like, she thought with a frown. She watched him go, simultaneously afraid of who might be observing her and annoyed that Winslow had not taken the time to teach her. If he'd just taught her, she might have been able to locate whoever was spying on poor Montgomery Taven.
"Everything all right, Miss Quinlan?" Lord Agoston asked.
He was carrying their two small cases, both of which were new, along with their contents. He'd been adamant that they not return to her home, so he had purchased all of their necessities. She'd protested, of course, but Lord Winslow Agoston knew how to take the upper hand. He'd simply paid the seamstress in advance. And by the woman's delighted countenance, Valeda was certain the amount was substantial.
"Yes," she said belatedly.
Winslow looked past her and out at the crowd. He frowned and asked, "Are you certain?"
"Yes, I'm quite certain. Is Lord Delgora here?"
Winslow eyed her so intensely that she almost squirmed. She stared up at him with a frown of her own and prayed her Talent could yell at his Talent about his obstinacies. No matter how hard he pushed, Valeda was not going to explain what had occurred with Monty. Not at the moment, anyway. Not while they might still be under watch.
"If you two frown any harder at each other I'll think you've fallen in love," Lord Delgora said at her left.
Valeda jumped a little, startled at his sudden appearance, and then felt her cheeks burn as she realized his words. She turned away from both of them and tried to collect herself.
"Don't be rude, Dorian." She recognized Lord Feverrette's voice and nearly groaned in misery. Was the whole of Magnellum to be privy to her indiscretion? It was one kiss-blast them all-and it certainly didn't mean they were in love.
"What?" Dorian asked, though by his tone she could hear his irritation. "Didn't you see them? I swear, either one of them was going to throw down a challenge or . . ."
"That's enough, Dorian," Winslow said sharply.
"Well," Dorian said with a scoff. "Isn't this a fine day. Winslow Agoston just stood for propriety. Well done, old Winifred. Well done, indeed."
"What in Fates is your problem, Dorian?" Winslow asked.
Valeda took three breaths and turned back before they could argue further. "My Lords," she said and dipped into a curtsy. "Are we to catch a carriage or is our destination close enough to be reached on foot?"
Maybe it was her Talent, but she could no longer think of the three men by their titles. It was remarkably freeing to see Bartholomew, Dorian and Winslow in this light. Her quaint, and now ruined, apartment no longer separated her from them. She was on equal standing and she liked it.
Dorian and Winslow exchanged frowns before looking away from each other. Bartholomew grinned at her and offered his elbow as escort.
"It's walkable if you do not mind the snow," Bart said.
She stepped forward and took the proffered elbow under one hand. "I have been cooped up for twelve hours with an entirely unsociable man," she said, as he turned her away from the train. "Believe me, Lord Feverrette, I would welcome the snow."
"I am sorry to hear your trip was less than engaging," Bart said. "Lord Agoston has been uncommonly anti-social for several years now. I wish you could have known him before. I think you would have liked him then."
"You could try not to discuss my history when I'm still present," Winslow said from behind them.
Valeda smiled at the annoyance she heard in him and continued to walk with Bart. He seemed equally amused because he slanted a wink at her before proceeding to lead them onto Tourney Street.
"Terrible of me, I know, Winifred. But at least it got you to speak."
"Why do you call him that?" Valeda asked.
"Winifred?"
She nodded and heard Winslow hiss behind them.
"It's a tournament thing," Bart said. "Whenever nobles fight in the arena they get . . . well . . . obnoxiously competitive. I think it was Dorian who first called him that. Trying to get a rise out of him, I think."
"Did it work?"
"Only the first time," Dorian said.
"Yes, because it caught me by surprise," Winslow retorted. "And I recall naming you "Sally" and getting jabbed in the gut for it."
"Sally?" Valeda asked.
"Saldorian," Bart murmured to her. "A name he no longer goes by."
By the gravity in his voice, she knew to drop the subject. So she nodded and focused on the late night. Snow fell limp and wet all around them, gathering on the shoulders and hood of her jacket. She could feel the thick, woolen material getting sodden and cold and she pinched it closer to her throat. The walkway had been shoveled, but was still icy, and she found herself relying on Bartholomew's steady arm more than she ought.
"Concentrate, Miss Quinlan," Bart said quietly. "You'll find your Talent can aid you in many things."
Blushing, she almost looked at Winslow.
"I wouldn't know," she muttered at Bart.
"Ah. I take it Winifred did not teach you."
She shook her head.
"Well, I'll thrash him for it later. Right now, just ask your Talent for some help."
Frustrated, Valeda almost retorted that she didn't know how to ask her Talent for anything. But she knew that wouldn't help, so she took a breath and thought of that golden coil again. Immediately she felt a response. Her steps were no longer tentative and she knew instinctively where the ice patches were.
"Better," Bart said. "You're very good at this."
Valeda smiled at this praise and felt more at ease. She was led to a small manor house two spaces from Fortress Lorant's main gate. A man with a large nose and gaunt features met them at the door and stoically ushered them all inside. Bartholomew delivered her to the chair nearest the blazing hearth and promptly abandoned her.
Had she not already been struggling between the sudden warmth after walking through the cold, she might have paid more attention to his absence. Bartholomew was the friendliest of the three Lords and she found herself wanting more of his instruction in regards to magic. Quietly removing her mittens, Valeda held her hands toward the fire and watched the men find separate places in the room.
Winslow flopped into a flowery chair just adjacent to her own and Bartholomew settled on the matching sofa by the draped window. Dorian lingered at the door to the sitting room, handing his jacket to the long-nosed man. Valeda assumed this was the butler or something because he took the garments without complaint.
"Elsie is due to arrive tomorrow," Dorian said. "But after she arrives we may have to relocate."
Valeda perked at this announcement.
"Relocate?" Winslow asked. "Why?"
Dorian scowled and brushed his hair back with one hand. "My father suspects . . ." he paused and glanced in her direction. Shrugging, he continued, "My father suspects that Elsie and I are political targets. Two Remora stones are unaccounted for. Staying here just invites trouble."
"Two stones?" Winslow whistled lowly. "How'd he manage to lose two?"
"They were stolen from his personal stock."
Valeda sensed the undercurrent in the room and stayed quiet. The men glanced at each other, then at her, and she surmised that they knew who the culprit was; they just couldn't say so with her present. Sighing, she looked into the fire.
So many secrets, she thought. They would never trust me. And why should they? Winslow knows me best of all and that's not saying much.
"Where are you going to move to?" Winslow asked.
"Feverrette House has already prepared to take us in," Dorian said and smiled at Bartholomew. "We only came here to keep up appearances for the night."
"Won't your stepfather object to that?" Winslow glanced between his two friends.
Bartholomew chuckled. "You've been out of the loop for too long, Winifred. Aubin left Feverrette lands as soon as Caresse became House Witch.
He told Lady Jessamine that he wanted his freedom back. He was last seen in Clenci, gambling away his savings."
"And Gaetan?"
"My stepbrother married Lady Ninnette two years ago and resides here in Lorant," Dorian said. "So my mother's home is open to me again."
"It was always open to you," Bart said with a conflicted frown. "It was just . . . contentious."
Valeda tried to turn off the reporter in her, but she just couldn't help it. Dorian Feverrette-Delgora was an enigma in Magnellum society. Scandal seemed to follow him and if she wasn't mistaken, the stepfather and stepbrother just mentioned had been suspected of hiring Bedim assassins to kill Dorian.
That was all speculation, of course, but the animosity behind the rumors appeared to be true.
"At any rate," Dorian said, turning to face her now and giving her a strictly polite bow, "because there is no other lady present in this house, we have made arrangements for Miss Quinlan at the Tawdry Panoply."
"What? Why?" Winslow frowned at Dorian. "She's safest here."
"Perhaps, but her virtue is better served if she stays elsewhere," Bartholomew said. "The Panoply is close enough to Agoston house that we thought you could keep an eye on her."
"I haven't spoken five words with my mother in seven years," Winslow said. "There isn't a chance that I'm staying in that house."
"I told you so," Bart said and turned to Dorian, who sighed.
Seeing the distress in Winslow's face, Valeda frowned. She could sense the anger in him, the bitter distaste he had for his own family, and was at once sorry for his pains, yet at the same time, curious. Unable to sit by and watch him in pain, she cleared her throat until the attention of the room turned to her.
"While I recognize the uncertainty of our situation," she said carefully, "I highly doubt that I'm in any danger. I'm sure Lord Agoston will not need to watch out for me. I'm hardly a target."
"You're Talented now," Dorian said. "If anyone catches wind of that fact, you will be a political target."
"Yes, but no one knows about it," she said. "Nor am I inclined to share the knowledge."
"The fact is," Bartholomew said calmly, "we still don't know how or why you were suddenly gifted with magic, Miss Quinlan. Until we do, we need to be watchful. Your transformation . . . it might not . . . well . . . you could still have . . . um . . ."
"There might be something more coming," Winslow said.
The way he said it made the hair on her arms stand stiff. Valeda met his blue-green gaze and held it, terrified at the prospect of magic conducting more mischief on her person. What more could be coming? He'd already said we had some Wild in us and that had been horrifying enough.
"For that matter, we don't know quite what to make of you, either, Winifred," Dorian said. "Perhaps we should all stay at the Panoply."
"And leave the house unguarded?" Winslow asked.
"Gremor can watch the house," Dorian said. "Father leant him back to me, so I may as well get some use out of him. Besides, this would only be for one night."
"It's agreed," Bart said. "I'm far more comfortable sticking together anyway."
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Elsie double-checked her travelling bag, barely noting the change in clothing and the spare pistol she had stowed in it. The rest of her luggage ought to have arrived already, but on the off chance that she got there before her things, she wanted something suitable to wear. She was already dressed in long velvet material and had a woolen cloak to put on when she got to Winter Tournament, which made her delay here in Delgora insufferably hot.
Still, every time she went to perform the transportation spell, Elsie could not shake the feeling that she was forgetting something. It was maddening.
Lady Leona and her husband, Sir Callen Beroe, stood near the door to her private study, quietly watching. Elsie looked at them and smiled self-consciously. The two were a perfect pair; Leona with her golden hair and Callen with his rough, dark features. The sight of them made her heartsick for Dorian.
"I want you to be ready to move the people into the ark by the time I return," Elsie said.
Leona and Callen exchanged a look. She'd already been over this and she knew it.
"Of course, my Lady," Leona said.
"In fact, start sending the orphans and their teachers." Elsie picked up her travel bag again. "And then gather the poor. Quietly, so as not to start a panic."
"The organization of the evacuation is already set, my Lady," Callen said. "We can have the people of Delgora inside the ark within five hours."
Not all of them, Elsie thought with a flinch. The evacuation was only set for the capital of Delgora and the closest surrounding villages. Places like Little Delgora Harbor were too far away to benefit.
You can't save them all.
She tugged on her earlobe and scowled.
No, she couldn't save them all, but she could save a few.
"Mirabella and the Cornelius family," Elsie suddenly remembered and faced Leona. "I know it sounds strange but if Mrs. Cornelius . . . if she . . ."
Elsie stopped and wrinkled her nose in displeasure. What was she supposed to say here? If Fayree turns into a creature, get to the ark immediately.
No, that would only alarm them further.
"If Mrs. Cornelius says that you should hurry, I want you to listen to her," Elsie said.
"Are you certain?" Callen asked.
Elsie nodded. Another look passed between the couple, but Callen didn't argue. Instead, he nodded back, albeit slowly. Elsie could see the confusion in them both, but she trusted that they would follow her orders. She gave them one last smile and then took a deep breath.
Closing her eyes, she focused on Delgora Manor in Lorant. Or, more specifically, the front vestibule of the manor house. She'd managed to perfect the travelling spell, but it was still dangerous. While she wasn't afraid of ending up someplace unexpected, she ran the risk of transporting herself on top of another person. She'd arranged with Dorian that the front vestibule would be empty during the hours of five and six on this precise day to avoid such a disaster, but she still worried.
"Yetakupo," she said, quickly commanding her Talent into the spell.
As always, there was no pain involved, no sensation of movement. One moment she was in her private office in Delgora and the next, she opened her eyes to the warmth of the vestibule's fireplace. She lowered her luggage and sighed, pleased to find the room empty.
The drapes were closed, shielding her arrival from any passerby, and all of the electrical lights were shut off. Elsie smiled at the many candles shining through the room. Dorian knew how much she preferred candlelight and had taken the time to prepare for her.
A notecard lay prominent on the table beside the front door. She recognized Dorian's stilted, noble handwriting and moved to pick it up. It had only been a few short weeks since they'd parted company, but her heart pinched at the idea that he was here. They were stronger together and she knew it.
"Welcome to Lorant, my wife," the card read. "We eagerly await you in the library."
She smiled again, picked up her luggage and walked briskly into the house. Gremor, Dorian's former servant, met her in the corridor. He stood stiff as ever, his large nose held proudly upward, even when he bent a quick bow at her arrival.
"My Lady," Gremor said by way of greeting and reached for her luggage. "His Lordship is entertaining several guests in the library."
"Yes, thank you, Gremor," she said, handing over her cloak as well. "Are there any nasty surprises I should be aware of?"
"House Witch Caresse Feverrette and Miss Valeda Quinlan are among the guests."
She paused and glanced at the library door. "House Witch Feverrette?"
She'd been expecting Valeda, but certainly not Dorian's sister. There was no question among noble society where Caresse placed her loyalty and support, but Elsie hadn't met with the woman in at least three years. They had mutually decided that they should not stir up the Council while the ark was still u
nder construction. During the interim, Caresse had all but emptied Feverrette lands of its poor and destitute, sending them on the long voyage to Delgora, where they waited to board the ark.
It's ironic that we had to start with the unfortunates of society, Elsie thought. But those better off had more reasons to cling to the way of the Magnellum Council. They might balk at leaving everything behind unless the threat was literally upon them. And they might gossip until all of Elsie's secrets were revealed. So Elsie had chosen to focus on the poor, the lost, or the abandoned. Those would be the first to enter the ark, and she prayed that guaranteed their survival.
"Well then," Elsie said turning to face the library door, "I will not keep them waiting further."
She opened the door to find another welcoming fire and a comfortably crowded room. Dorian stood and walked around the desk at the northeast corner of the room. His smile was full of relief as he crossed the room to greet her. Elsie barely had time to register the positions of the rest of the party before Dorian took her hand and kissed it.
Bartholomew and Caresse sat on the sofa closest to the fire, a commanding and central presence in the room. They looked completely at ease, both smiling in her direction. Winslow and Valeda stood on opposite sides of the room from each other; Winslow at the fire and Valeda at a wall of books.
"We have some news," Dorian murmured to her, "which we could not relay through a telegram."
Winslow and Valeda were both studiously ignoring each other. And they were both shining in that peculiar glow of the Fated. As pleased as she was to see Winslow alive, Elsie could not shake a sense of foreboding when she looked at him.
"Opowa Ayate," she whispered the spell and looked deeper into the room.
"You see we have additional guests . . ." Dorian was saying, but stopped when she suddenly grabbed his forearm.
She could see the magic in Winslow, the golden glow that identified him as a Witch-Born, but there was something else in him. The deep green of the Wild curled around his person, looping in and through him as intricately as his magic.
"How is this possible?" She breathed the question and walked to Winslow.
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