“There’s no need,” Iris said. “They’re still in the lab. It’s just us.”
Philomena exhaled with relief. “Oh, thank goodness. I love to perform, but I truly hate pretending. Come on, let’s go.”
Apparently, Iris, Philomena, and even Cam and Andrew had discussed a plan to teach Iris how to dance the previous night. Squealing with excitement, Philomena grasped her hand, taking off down the hall and leaving the boys to follow behind. Eventually, the five of them reached the palace Music Room, where Philomena had sung for the courtiers a few nights ago. They cleared away the chairs to make some space on the hardwood floor, and Andrew seated himself on the bench behind the piano. Moving slowly, but looking as though he felt better than the night before, Cam sat down beside him, and the two of them grinned at each other. The temperature in the tall, domed room began to climb, and Elliot shuddered, suddenly finding it difficult to breathe.
“I’ll show you what to do first,” Philomena said to Iris. “Then, after you’ve watched me, you can try it for yourself.”
Without warning, she walked to Elliot and seized his hand, sending a bolt of confidence and excitement through his veins. He jumped, and though Philomena hardly noticed, Iris did.
“How about I try it first, and you guide me through it,” she said.
“Trust me,” Philomena replied. “It’s easier if you watch.”
Iris looked at Elliot, asking if he was all right, and he swallowed and nodded, placing his other hand on Philomena’s waist.
“Andrew,” Philomena called to the piano. “Play a waltz.”
Andrew started to play a traditional song in three-four time, and Elliot moved with Philomena across the hardwood floor. His body went through the motions he had learned as a young man, but his mind couldn’t focus on anything but Cam and Andrew. As Andrew played, Cam watched his fingers dance across the keys, his heart stirring with warmth that drew beads of sweat from Elliot’s brow. Every now and then, Andrew glanced up and met his gaze, and Elliot nearly stumbled against Philomena, his lungs collapsing.
“Remember to keep your shoulders back,” Philomena said to Iris. “And keep your eyes on his, not your feet.”
After a few more rounds around the floor, she stepped away, releasing Elliot’s hand and then guiding Iris toward him. “Now you try,” she said. “Step backward first, with your left foot.”
Iris took Elliot’s hand, jolting his heart with her concern. “Is something wrong?” she whispered as she placed her hand on his shoulder.
“No,” he lied, taking her waist. A few nights ago, the prospect of dancing with Iris had kindled his blood, but now that she was in his arms, he barely even felt her. The rising heat between Cam and Andrew filled his veins with ice, creating a violent storm of longing and fear he couldn’t cope with.
Philomena straightened Iris’s shoulders and lifted her arms. Then she moved away and murmured, “Go,” and Iris stepped back. Elliot pushed her around the floor, but he still couldn’t concentrate, especially when he glanced at Cam and Andrew over her shoulder. They’d scooted even closer to each other on the bench, and Andrew was looking at Cam, drinking him up with hungry eyes. Cam grinned, returned the look, and bit his lower lip, and Elliot’s fear dissolved, replaced by a sudden, violent rage. Who did they think they were to be so reckless with their lives? So brazenly unconcerned with the deadly consequences?
“Elliot, what’s wrong?” Iris whispered.
He dropped her hand.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I ―I’m not feeling well. I have to go.”
He turned around and walked away before anyone could stop him. At first, his only thought was to simply get out of there, but once he arrived in his room, he headed straight toward his bed, reached beneath the mattress, and retrieved a bottle of gin he had stashed there weeks ago. Without hesitation, he unscrewed the top and gulped down as much as he could, leaning back against the wall as the alcohol seared his throat. His muscles relaxed, and he slid down and collapsed against the floor, drinking until he’d taken at least an inch off the top of the bottle.
“Elliot, what are you doing?”
He nearly choked but somehow managed to get his current gulp down, and when he opened his eyes, he saw Iris standing before him.
“I’m sorry,” he said, his face burning. “I needed to get away.”
“Why? What’s going on?”
Her anxiety was so pervasive he raised the bottle and took another swig without even thinking.
“Elliot, please,” she said, crouching before him. “Talk to me.”
He swallowed and lowered the bottle, glancing away. “I can’t. I’m sorry.”
“Is it… is it because of what the Lord Mayor said today? About me being… immortal?”
Panic flooded her veins and Elliot looked back up in shock. She was afraid that he was somehow repulsed by the revelation. “No, no―not at all. It’s nothing to do with you.”
“Because I meant what I told him. I wouldn’t want to live―”
“Iris, I promise, it isn’t you.” He rubbed his brow and closed his eyes, already feeling dizzy. “It was the feelings of other people. They were just… too much.”
“Then share them with me,” she said, reaching out. “I’ll ease the burden.”
“No,” he cried, and the sound came out much harsher than he’d intended. Iris flinched, pain splitting her chest, and he covered his face. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m so sorry, Iris. I can’t think straight right now. It’s probably better if you just go and leave me alone for a while.”
“I’m not leaving you alone like this. There has to be a way for me to help, to make it better.”
Elliot crawled to his feet and walked to the other end of the bedroom, terrified of hurting her again. “I’m sorry. You can’t.”
“Just let me try. Let me feel it, or tell me―”
“Iris, I can’t tell you.” He clenched his jaw and turned away, remembering when she said that immortality “went against nature.” What would she say about Andrew and Cam?
“Elliot, you know that you can tell me anything.”
A small laugh escaped his throat. “How could I know that, Iris? You don’t tell me everything.”
Her heart froze and he turned around to look at her again, but the movement caused him to sway on his feet. The gin was hitting him―hard.
“I told you,” she said, her blood running cold. “I will tell you, in time.”
“But why don’t you trust me now? After everything we’ve been through?” He gripped the bottle, trying as hard as he could to steady himself, but it was no use; he felt control and composure slipping away.
“I do trust you.”
“Sure, you trust me. Just not enough to tell me why you feel so much rage for my father.”
Her stomach sank, but he didn’t turn away or soften his gaze. His tongue felt thick, and he knew the word “father” had come out a little bit slurred, but he found he didn’t care. He was miles off the earth.
“Why did you decide to stay at the palace?” he asked, approaching her. “Why did you feel such rage the first time you met me and Cam? Why, when you speak of your mother, do you feel no grief at all, but when you speak of Lady Cullum, your heart nearly breaks with it?”
She set her jaw and glared at him, but her chest was full of pain. “Yes, I have secrets,” she said, her voice unsteady. “But they aren’t mine to tell. It’s not just me I’m protecting. It’s other people, including you.”
Somehow, the last comment angered Elliot more than anything else. “What is that supposed to mean? You think I’m so weak and helpless that I need you to protect me?”
Iris glanced down at her feet. “I think you were right. We shouldn’t talk now.”
She turned and walked away, heading back toward the door, her pain and revulsion so powerful they penetrated his haze.
“Iris,” he called. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean―”
But then she was gone.
“Damn it,” he m
uttered, closing his eyes and rubbing his brow. “Goddamn it!”
He hurled the bottle against the wall before he could stop himself. The glass shattered, causing his room to explode with the smell of gin. Raking his hands through his hair, he slumped back down against the floor, his stomach churning with both the alcohol and self-disgust.
“Elliot?”
His heart stopped, and he opened his eyes; his father was in the doorway. How long had he been standing there? How much had he heard?
“What is going on?” he asked, wrinkling his nose as he stepped inside the room. “I thought I heard something break…” He glanced at the wall and saw the shattered bottle. “Elliot―”
“Everything’s fine,” he said, climbing up onto his feet. He could barely feel his legs, and his words were quite slurred now.
“You’re drunk?” his father murmured. “Christ, Elliot. It’s not even noon!”
Even in his stupor, Elliot felt the bite of his fear. “It’s not like you really care,” he said, then a hollow laugh escaped him. “Oh wait―I forgot. You do care. It’s just that you don’t want to.”
His father parted his lips. “How dare you―”
“Why don’t you just go away and pretend I don’t exist? That’s what you’re good at, and that’s what you really want―to not have a son.”
Pain erupted inside his father’s chest, and he stared at him. Then he glanced at the door, as if he wanted to run after all, but he set his jaw, barreled at Elliot, and gripped his sleeve.
“You will sleep this off and clean yourself up before the ball tonight. I will not lie to your friends for you like I did in the Green Drawing Room.”
“Lie to my―” Elliot furrowed his brow. “You mean about the cadavers?”
He’d assumed his father had lied about the body snatching being a one-time thing for selfish reasons―to keep the Lord Mayor from finding out how weak his son had become. Had he actually lied to protect Elliot? To keep Cam, Andrew, and Iris from looking down on him?
“I mean it,” his father said, releasing his sleeve and turning away. “I’ll send a servant to come clean up this mess. Now go to bed.”
Elliot blinked, kneaded his temples, and sat down on the bed. Then, after a moment, he fell backward and closed his eyes, too confused and tired to argue with anyone anymore.
hen Elliot woke, his room was dark and still smelled faintly of gin. He rolled over and squinted at the clock beside his bed. It was half-past eight, which meant the dinner before the ball had begun. His head ached, and his stomach felt sour, but he managed to get up, bathe, and change into his eveningwear. By then, he knew the dinner would be over, so he crept to the kitchen, and after a couple of salmon patties, a hunk of bread, and quite a bit of water, he felt better. Physically, anyway―the fear he’d felt that morning was now joined by shame and regret.
The ballroom was by far the largest space in Buckingham Palace―fourteen meters high, thirty-four long, and eighteen wide―and the massive gold and ivory room was currently filled with people. Still, when Elliot crept through the doors and edged inside the room, he spotted Iris immediately, and his heart stilled.
She must have completed her lesson with Philomena after leaving his room, because she was on the dance floor, waltzing with grace and precision. Her partner was a young man Elliot vaguely recognized, but it didn’t really matter who he was―he only saw Iris. The gown that had been made for her not only fit perfectly but seemed to be fashioned out of pure gold. Her hair was pulled up and styled on top of her head with golden pins, her lips and cheeks were flushed, and her golden eyes were glowing.
“Notre fée ressemble à un ange ce soir. Une vision de l’or et de lumière.”
Elliot’s pulse leapt as he turned to see Cam beside him. He was smiling, holding a glass of champagne, and he’d said, “Our fairy looks like an angel tonight. A vision of gold and light.”
“She does,” Elliot said, taking a breath and trying to steady himself. He hadn’t spoken to Cam one-on-one since discovering his secret, and suddenly, he was terrified of giving his knowledge away. “How are you feeling?” he asked to cover his fear, nodding at Cam’s injured rib.
“Fit as a fiddle,” he said, taking a sip of his champagne. Then, more seriously, “How about you? You gave us a fright today.”
“Oh, yes, I’m feeling much better. It… must have been something I ate.”
He flushed―the lie sounded unconvincing even to himself―but strangely, Cam let it go. When Elliot glanced at his face and followed his gaze, however, he figured out why. Andrew was out on the dance floor, waltzing with a girl whose name Elliot couldn’t recall. A warm ache flooded Cam’s chest as he watched him move across the floor, as well as a feeling Elliot realized he hadn’t felt from Cam since the night with the Victor:
Joy.
In that moment, the world seemed to shift, and everything suddenly changed. After his initial shock, Elliot had accepted the way that Cam and Andrew felt; how could he not, when he knew their love was no different from his own? Still, he’d been plagued by fear for them and angered at their recklessness, but now, as Cam’s joy washed through his veins, the anger completely dissolved. He was still afraid, of course, and he probably always would be, but the fear seemed inconsequential in the face of such happiness. For once, Cam was full of hope and void of fear and self-hatred, and Elliot simply couldn’t wish for anything else for him.
“Cambrian,” an annoyed voice rang out from behind them, and they turned around to see Philomena letting out a sigh. Her gown was a deep, emerald green, and her caramel hair had been curled into ringlets and piled on top of her head. She looked lovely, and more like a real, grown woman than ever before, but the angry pout on her face slightly ruined the effect.
“I need you to dance with me,” she said. “So my mother will get off my back.”
Cam pressed his hand to his heart. “Why, Miss Blackwell, that’s the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
“Oh, shut it,” she said, swiping his glass and setting it down. “Let’s go.”
She seized his hand and led him away, and Elliot stifled a laugh. Once they were out on the floor, he returned his gaze to Iris. He needed to get her alone so he could apologize for that morning. As soon as the current song ended, however, another man approached her for a dance, and she accepted. Elliot let out a breath and edged a bit closer to the dance floor, determined to catch her the next time. While he waited, he looked to see if Cam or Andrew were free, but he couldn’t find either of them, and Philomena had a new partner.
Finally, the orchestra finished the song and Elliot started for Iris, but the moment her partner released her, she turned around and walked off the floor. Elliot darted after her, weaving his way through the shifting clusters of people and their feelings. She walked to a door in the back, glanced behind her, and then slipped out, and Elliot picked up his pace and followed her into the empty hallway. He started to call out her name, but she was quite a bit ahead of him, and he didn’t want to frighten her by crying out from the shadows. So instead, he hurried faster, trailing her into the State Dining Room. The vast space was silent and dark, except for the moonlight streaming in through the glass of the tall French windows, and just as Iris stepped into one of their beams, Elliot spoke.
“Iris,” he whispered as softly as he could, but she still jumped. “I’m sorry,” he said as she turned around. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Elliot,” she gasped. “I didn’t think that you were here.”
“I wasn’t until a few minutes ago, and I’m sorry again to have frightened you, but I had to apologize. The way I behaved this morning… there’s simply no excuse for it.”
She let out a breath, and Elliot’s caught in his throat when he felt her forgiveness, which was not only immediate but whole and unrestrained. “It’s not completely your fault,” she said. “You told me to leave you alone; I shouldn’t have pushed you like I―”
“No. You were only tryin
g to help me, and I should have been grateful, not rude. If I could, I would take back all of those terrible things I said. You can tell me whatever you want whenever you choose. Your secrets are yours.” He paused and took a breath. “Also, you look lovely tonight.”
He watched as the blood that burned in his own cheeks rose in Iris’s, and she smiled and glanced at the floor. “Thank you,” she said. “So do you.”
She started to meet his gaze again, but then suddenly she froze, staring out over his shoulder through the glass of the French windows. Her heart stopped, and Elliot spun around to look as well. There, in a shaded corner of the moonlit balcony, were Cam and Andrew―pressed against the wall.
Kissing each other.
Even in the darkness, there was no mistaking the scene. Cam was slowly lacing his fingers through Andrew’s ginger hair, and Andrew was parting his lips with his own, drinking him up like water. They clung to each other, absorbing each other, kindling a fire Elliot felt through the panes of glass, but the ice in Iris’s veins brought him back to reality.
He seized her hand, fighting the bolt of her fear, and dragged her out of the room. When they reached the doors to the Blue Drawing Room, he flung them open, pulled her inside, and quickly shut them again. The room was filled with sofas and chairs, but Iris sank down to the ground, staring straight ahead as her skirt billowed up around her. Silence swelled as the fabric of her dress slowly deflated, and then, after a moment that felt like forever, she finally spoke.
“You knew, didn’t you?” she murmured. “That was what you felt today, what you didn’t want to tell me.”
Elliot nodded. “Yes, but, Iris…” He sucked in a breath and crouched down beside her. “It’s not like what we’ve been told about… about people like that. They aren’t sick―their feelings are just like ours. It isn’t wrong. I know that’s hard to believe and understand but―”
“Elliot, you don’t need to explain,” she said. “Yes, I’m a little bit shocked, but I agree―I don’t think it’s wrong.”
He furrowed his brow, his mouth going dry. “But yesterday you said that immortality went against nature. If you think that’s wrong, then why would you not feel the same?”
The Heartless City Page 18