Albert shot her a delighted look. “Mais il a raison, non?” he replied. “Si nous parlons français, ce n’est que pour le contrarier.”
“Oh, that is beyond enough!” Elias fumed. “If you are going to insult me, at least have the decency to do it in the King’s tongue! Why did we even fight a war with the French, if not to keep them out of England?”
“Insult you?” Dora asked. “Why, we were doing nothing of the sort. I seem to have committed a faux pas, speaking in a language which eludes you. You have my deepest apologies, Lord Sorcier.” She drew out the French of his adopted title, with a perfectly sanguine expression.
Elias opened his mouth, no doubt ready to shoot off a scathing reply. But before he could do so, Lady Carroway got up to call the ball to attention, announcing the first dance. Albert looked meaningfully at the Lord Sorcier. “Be reasonably kind to Miss Ettings,” he told Elias. “And I shall see about your book first thing tomorrow morning.”
The Lord Sorcier hissed in an irritated breath. But he shoved to his feet and offered one gloved hand out towards Dora. “I would like the record to state that I am doing this only under great duress,” he told them both.
“You may note it on my dance card later, if you like,” Dora told him. She took his hand, feeling odd as she did so. It was quite rare that she had any dance partner at all, though men did sometimes ask her out of pity. For all that the Lord Sorcier was clearly displeased at the notion, his hand was warm, and he was appropriately gentle with his touch. He smoothed the obvious scowl away from his features as they headed out onto the floor, and for a moment, Dora daydreamed that she was dancing with a handsome young man who wanted to be there with her.
Elias glanced down at her as they began, keeping his expression cool. This close, his golden eyes were even more arresting, and Dora found herself staring. “Does this amuse you, Miss Ettings?” he asked acidly. His tone rather spoiled the daydream, and she brought herself back to the present.
“I am rarely amused,” Dora told him honestly. “But I do enjoy dancing. And you are not terrible at it. I thought that you might make yourself so on purpose.”
“I have no particular wish to insult Albert or his family,” Elias said dryly. “However much he may try my patience, at times. I will admit, I thought for a moment about treading on your toes, but I have decided against it.”
“How gentlemanly of you,” Dora said. His eyes narrowed, and she smiled absently. “Ah yes, you hate being called a gentleman. Since you have spared my toes, I will refrain from saying it again. It seems only fair.”
Elias made a soft hm. “I despise parties,” he said. “But I understand the concept of armistice. I doubt I shall send you away weeping in any case, no matter how outrageously I try. Let us speak of something marginally interesting, then.”
Dora nodded to herself. “I have just the thing,” she said. “Our conversation was interrupted before, at the shop. I was about to tell you what I saw in the mirror. As it happens, I saw us both exactly as we are now, in our evening best. But I think that I was covered in blood, and that seems to me to be a sort of bad omen, at best.”
Elias missed a step, and Dora blinked. He turned towards her with wide eyes. “And you’ve only just now thought to bring up this little detail?” he demanded. “So calmly, too? Are you attempting to play a joke on me, Miss Ettings?”
Dora winced. I should have sounded more distressed, she thought. The image in the mirror did trouble her. In fact, it set within her a certain awful, creeping dread. But it seemed that she was incapable of expressing that dread in a believable fashion. “I am distressed,” she assured him. “But I am doing my best to stay calm. I assume by your reaction that I should indeed be worried?”
“That mirror is a scrying tool,” Elias told her. “It shows all manner of things, if you are in the right frame of mind. Had you told me that day of what you’d seen, I would have advised you that it could either be something of worry, or nothing at all. But since the greater part of your vision has now come to pass, it is more likely than not that you caught a glimpse of the future.”
Dora knitted her brow. “Yes,” she said. “That is very distressing. I don’t suppose you know of any way to avoid such a future?”
“Divination is a very imprecise art,” Elias said with a scowl. “But it would be remiss of me not to try, obviously. Do you know where it was that you were injured?”
Dora lifted her hand to her chest, just where the ugly stain had been, and his scowl deepened. That is not a good sign, she thought.
The song ended, and Elias began to head off the floor, clutching her arm tightly. Someone tapped on Dora’s shoulder though, and she turned to see Albert standing behind them.
“It’s only fair that I should rescue you from Elias for a moment,” he told her. “May I have the next dance, Miss Ettings?”
Dora opened her mouth to respond—but Elias cut her off. “You may not,” he told Albert curtly. “I need to go discuss matters with the lady.”
Albert shot him a surprised look. “I see,” he said. “But in that case, you’re best-served staying on the dance floor, Elias. She’ll otherwise be obliged to dance with any other man who asks.”
A dim, distant horror flickered at the back of Dora’s mind. Two dances with the same woman shows interest, she thought. People will expect the Lord Sorcier to come calling on me. “Oh,” Dora said, but the words came out far milder than she intended. “No, I don’t think—”
“Fine,” Elias snapped, ignoring her. He turned back towards the dance floor. “What silly little rules,” he muttered to himself. “Obliged to dance, really?”
“This is a very bad idea,” Dora informed him. But there was a spark in his manner now, and it occurred to her that the hint of something more magical, mysterious, and dangerous must have appealed to the Lord Sorcier’s sensibilities far more than a normal society ball.
“Nonsense,” Elias said. “You’re unlikely to find anyone else at this party more suited to solving your impending doom, Miss Ettings. Now, can you remember anything else from the image in the mirror? Any little detail at all?”
“I was distracted by the man who came up behind me, I’m afraid,” Dora said. “That was you, by the way. Just so I’m clear.”
The Lord Sorcier’s eyes narrowed in thought. “Well, what sort of dangers might one run into at a party like this? There are knives about, I suppose. Duels sometimes happen, once people get far enough into their cups. Is there anyone who dislikes you enough to harm you so gravely, Miss Ettings?”
Dora shook her head at him. “Not that I know of,” she said. “Though…”
Elias leaned forward. “Though?” he prompted her.
Dora pondered the matter of her longstanding curse. It did not seem wise to bring that up with the Lord Sorcier, but her first instinct had earlier been that this must have something to do with Lord Hollowvale, and it was probably even less wise to ignore that possibility. “There is a man back in Lockheed who wishes me ill,” she told him. “I have a pair of scissors with me, which he fears. But those scissors might also be used against me, I suppose.”
Elias blinked at her. “I will admit,” he said. “You are proving to be far more interesting than I first assumed, Miss Ettings.” Dora walked herself past him, as the dance’s steps dictated, and caught sight of Vanessa nearby, staring at her curiously. Dora’s cousin was holding what looked like a glass of deep red punch. “Retire from dancing for the evening and stay close. If anyone asks, you may tell them I have mauled your toes—”
“No,” Dora told him suddenly. “Wait. I believe I’ve mistaken something, my lord.” She met his eyes again squarely. “If you would be kind enough to fetch me a glass of that punch, it would be of immense help to me.”
Elias now looked utterly bewildered. At first, she thought he might refuse and accuse her of playing a trick on him again. But as this second dance came to a close, he turned them both off of the floor, and he humoured her request by heading for th
e side table, where the punch sat out.
As Elias made his way back with a glass of punch, Dora waited patiently, considering the situation. She wasn’t sure just what to expect, or even when to expect it—but surely enough, just as the Lord Sorcier had come within a few steps of her, another gentleman jarred his elbow by mistake. Elias whirled with such sudden violence that several people nearby gasped and staggered back; as he did, the punch splashed forward, spilling all across the front of Dora’s dress.
Elias had raised his arm against the other man—to do what, Dora wasn’t sure—but he caught himself just in time and froze in place with his hand partially extended. His pulse hammered against his throat, and Dora thought for a moment that there was a strange fear in his golden eyes. He took a deep breath and drew himself up. “Be careful where you’re moving,” he hissed at the man next to him.
“Oh, Dora!” Vanessa had already hurried over, aghast. “Oh no, your dress!”
Elias turned back to look at Dora. As he saw the red stain on her dress, a flicker of consternation crossed his face. But Dora only smiled at him. “Thank you very much, Lord Sorcier,” she told him. “I am much relieved.”
Vanessa gave her a curious look—but Dora’s cousin was used to far stranger from her. “Dora?” she murmured. “What on earth is going on?”
“Nothing awful,” Dora assured her. “But please stay back from me. I would hate to stain you too.” She nodded towards Elias and began to nudge her way through the crowd. “Excuse me,” she said. “Pardon me. Can anyone tell me where I might wash up?”
Chapter 4
Dora spent some time in the washroom scrubbing at her dress, but it became clear in a hurry that the tools available to her were insufficient for saving the muslin. This caused a faint disappointment in her. She was pleased to be alive and unharmed, of course, but the dress had been very pretty, and it was the first one she had ever owned that had been tailored to fit her properly.
Rather than return to the party in her obviously ruined gown, Dora slipped her way out one of the side doors, into a back garden. She was sure that Auntie Frances would be upset with her for failing to dance with Albert, but she couldn’t imagine that the man’s kindness extended so far as to walk onto the dance floor with a woman covered in punch.
There was a very lovely fountain in the middle of the garden—it looked like a blossoming flower, capped with a very fine pineapple. Dora settled herself onto a bench to watch it, musing on the near future. Lady Carroway had wanted to speak with her, but that also seemed unlikely in her current state. Perhaps that was for the best, if she wanted to avoid pinning down poor Albert at the altar. But then, Dora had hoped to use the conversation to extol Vanessa’s virtues instead.
She frowned vaguely at the fountain in front of her. That is a lot of water, she thought. Enough to soak my dress properly. Perhaps I could scrub out the worst before the party is through.
Dora got to her feet and wriggled the dress over her head. Only a moment after she’d dunked the whole thing in the fountain, however, she heard a man’s voice utter a foul swear word behind her.
“What are you doing, you mad little twit?”
Dora glanced behind her and saw the Lord Sorcier standing just behind the bench she’d just vacated. His finery was every bit as pristine and untouched as it had been at the beginning of the evening, except that he had now loosened his neckcloth a bit. His golden eyes raked her up and down, clearly aghast.
“I would have thought the situation was self-evident,” Dora told him calmly. “Does a man of your formidable knowledge really require the concept of laundry to be explained to him?”
Elias pinched at the bridge of his nose with his fingers, sucking in a breath. “My dear Miss Ettings,” he said slowly. “You are standing in a viscount’s back garden in your unmentionables, washing your dress in a fountain. Have you truly no concept of the strangeness of your situation?”
Dora paused, looking down at her dress where it soaked beneath her hands. Oh, she thought. He’s probably correct.
“No wonder your cousin is so desperate,” Elias muttered. “If you keep behaving in this way, you’ll be ruined within the week.”
Dora turned towards him fully at that, concerned. “What about my cousin?” she asked. “Is something wrong with her?”
Elias knitted his brow. “Please put your dress back on, Miss Ettings,” he said. “I am not unused to the female figure, but I would prefer not to be caught in a scandal that might tarnish Albert’s mother. I am sure that I would never hear the end of it.”
Dora sighed and pulled the dress back out of the fountain, squeezing the water from it where she could. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the Lord Sorcier pull a finely-polished wooden wand from his jacket. He flicked it once, and the dress jerked itself from her hands, rolling itself into a tight ball. Pink- and red-tinged water dripped from its folds onto the grass. When it had straightened again in her hands, Dora saw that the dress was now both perfectly dry and devoid of all colour. There was no remaining trace of the punch stain—though the pink muslin was now unmistakably a white muslin.
“Oh,” Dora said. “That is very kind of you, my lord. Thank you.” She tugged the dress back over her head. It took more than a bit of effort to make it lay correctly without a maid’s help—but within a few moments, she was at least presentable again.
“I played a part in wrecking the dress in the first place,” Elias said, with a hint of annoyance.
“In a way, I think that you were fated to wreck the dress,” Dora told him helpfully. “Perhaps we should both blame the mirror instead.”
Elias scowled. “This is why I hate divination,” he muttered. His eyes flickered towards the leather sheath that still dangled over her chest, with the two finger loops of her embroidery scissors sticking out of it. “Your... scissors are still visible,” he murmured at her. He sounded half-perplexed by the idea, as though he were trying to decide whether scissors ought to be considered scandalous or not.
“Oh.” Dora glanced down and tucked the scissors down the front of her stays once more. For some reason, this seemed to relax the magician. He stowed his wand and gestured towards the bench.
“Sit,” Elias told her. “I need to have a proper look at you, now that I know what afflicts you.”
Dora sat down on the bench obediently, giving him a curious look. “Do you know what afflicts me?” she asked. “I wonder.”
Elias came around the bench to stand in front of her. His golden eyes studied her in a penetrating manner, as though he were examining beneath the surface of her skin. Dora closed her arms over her chest, distantly uncomfortable beneath his gaze in a way that she had not been before, even while dressed in her underthings.
“Your cousin tells me that you are faerie-cursed,” Elias said finally. “I will admit, I avoid the Fair Folk as much as possible, and I have never seen someone who was faerie-cursed before. Still... I should have seen that there was something off about you.”
Dora frowned. Vanessa’s interest in the Lord Sorcier suddenly made an awful amount of sense. The moment I was gone from the room, she must have cornered him and spilled everything. “Vanessa should not have told you that,” she said. “Our whole family might be ruined if it were to get out.”
“I have no interest in ruining your family,” Elias replied absently. He continued to study her with a focussed consideration. “I have much interest in investigating the strange and unnatural.”
The words strange and unnatural added themselves to the small pile of miseries at the back of Dora’s mind. But she forced herself to straighten and put down her arms. “Will you swear it then?” she asked him. “You’ll swear not to tell anyone else what’s happened to me?”
“Oaths are dangerous to a magician, and I do not make them lightly,” Elias told her. “So I will not swear to that. But I will swear that I currently have no intention of bringing you harm. That shall have to suffice.” His gaze came to rest on her face, and his lips tur
ned down into a frown. “Your eyes were not always different colours, I assume? The grey one drained of colour after the elf got hold of you?”
Dora looked away. “Yes,” she said. “That’s correct.”
“I have had reason to study the spiritual humours lately,” Elias told her. “I wonder if the elf might have drained you of one of them.” He reached up to rub at his chin. “Would it be fair to say that your emotions and cognitive abilities are out of balance, Miss Ettings?”
Dora nodded slowly. She was still uncomfortable with the idea of trusting the Lord Sorcier with such a terrible secret, but now that Vanessa had revealed her situation, the only reasonable thing left to do was probably to humour him. “I do not feel things the way that others do,” she said. “There is little difference between my dreams and my reality. I can sometimes exert myself to act more normal, but it is difficult, and I do not think I ever get it quite right.”
Elias nodded thoughtfully. “I have not seen you scared or angry even once,” he said. “You didn’t so much as flinch when I came up behind you in the magic shop.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “But you know when you ought to be scared or angry, don’t you? You responded tartly when I called you a dog. There must be some shred of real emotion left to you, even if it is deeply buried.”
Dora considered that logically. “...there is, I think,” she said, with faint surprise. “I have often thought that I am capable of... of emotions with a long tail. I am not sure if that makes sense. I do not feel the shock of fear, but I can feel dread—I was scared of the image in the mirror, after thinking on it for a while. And while you do not enrage me, per se, I am vexed when I think of the way that you treat others.”
Elias smiled sharply at that. “Alas, such long-tailed vexation will not drive you away,” he said. “So it is rather useless to me.” He stepped back from her again. “Have you felt happiness at all, Miss Ettings? Even the sort with a long tail?”
Half a Soul Page 5