“I didn’t think it made sense to forget the weapons before they could be proven in a fight.” Hopefully, that sounded respectful as well as bold. “Sir,” I added.
The corners of the Imperator’s mouth tightened, though whether he was suppressing a smile I couldn’t say. “How did you come to make them work?”
“We practiced with Strangewayes’s book whenever we’d a spare moment.” I didn’t lie. I simply left out Mickelmas’s help. But I could swear that Whitechurch glimpsed the truth.
“When you were an Incumbent, your lessons improved miraculously overnight.” Slowly, Whitechurch stood. “You had help in that.” I stayed still beneath his scrutinizing gaze. “But Dee and Magnus and Blackwood have all corroborated that you worked together. Alone. Blackwood in particular was adamant about it,” he said.
I nearly gasped. Of all the boys, he valued the Imperator the most.
“If you did not have their support, I would suspect you of being in league with the magicians.” Whitechurch’s tone made me wonder if he had entirely got over that suspicion. “But the Child Eater ran today. Korozoth was destroyed in a single night. In nearly twelve years of war, we could not do what you have managed in recent months.”
He sounded…pleased.
“Then may we continue using the weapons?” I asked.
“I would be the greatest fool alive to forbid it.” The footman opened the door, and we passed into the hall. “But you must pay for your disobedience to your commanding officer. I’m removing you from Valens’s squadron. For the next month, you are relegated to dawn patrol.”
I’d be out of bed at four in the morning every single day. I wanted to groan just thinking of it, but I’d do it. And if Whitechurch thought that not being under Valens’s thumb any longer was a punishment, I’d gladly take a second round.
“Thank you, sir,” I said, curtsying to him at the door. Whitechurch paused, his sharp black eyes considering.
“Cornelius would be proud of you,” he said, and walked to his carriage.
A lump formed in my throat, as it always did at the mention of Agrippa. Before the door closed, Magnus came barreling up the walk. He’d on a sky-blue coat, looking nothing so much like a drop of pure color on the gray London streets. He bowed quickly to the Imperator. Behind him, Dee and Wolff were carrying bottles of what appeared to be champagne—where the devil had they got it?
Magnus burst through the doorway, snatching me by the waist and whirling me around. “Music!” he cried, before setting me down and rushing along Blackwood’s cavernous halls.
Bottles clinking, Dee and Wolff grinned as they ducked inside. Wolff’s coat collar was upturned, the tips of his ears bright red from the cold. Dee knocked beads of rain from his hat, clumsy as he juggled the champagne.
“Should we leave?” Dee asked me, almost dropping one of the bottles. I caught it just in time.
“Absolutely not,” I said, laughing.
Blackwood appeared at the top of the stairs. “Has the Imperator gone?” He paused, looking baffled by the company. “What are you all doing?”
“Celebrations!” Wolff popped a cork and raised a foaming bottle in a toast. Dee went up the steps and dragged Blackwood down by the arm, and we all followed Magnus. We ended up in the music room, with an elegant, polished pianoforte. Normally, rows of chairs would be set up so that visitors could enjoy private concerts. But most of the furniture had been removed for Eliza’s debut ball, which was now only a few days away. The buffed parquet floor was simply begging to be used.
“Who here plays? Howel?” Magnus called as we entered. I went and plinked two notes. The instrument was very fine, but I’d always been a lackluster player at best. “No, we need an accomplished musician. Dee? You’re good with flutes,” Magnus said.
“Never played this before,” Dee admitted. Magnus shrugged, slapped Dee on the shoulder, and embraced Wolff. If only Lambe could have been here. If only he weren’t still up north, shut away in the Dombrey Priory. There were footsteps in the hall, and a breathless Maria ran into the room.
“You beat him?” she gasped.
Magnus gestured to the instrument. “You don’t know how to play, do you?”
Maria grinned. “No, but if anyone loves to dance…”
While Magnus tried picking out a simple song—not doing a very good job of it—I got some glasses from one of the servants. Dee and Wolff poured champagne, and we all toasted. Wolff even took swigs from the bottle, spluttering as it fizzed down the front of his shirt. Blackwood, meanwhile, looked as if he’d no idea how he’d got here.
Eliza rushed into the room. There was high color in her cheeks, her shoulders were back, and her eyes were bright and blazing. From the look of her, I expected a fight to break out, but she stopped short as she took in the laughing, shouting group. “George.” She stared at her brother. “You’re giving a party?”
“It just happened,” he said, as if he’d been accused of trying to murder someone.
“Play!” Magnus kissed Eliza’s hand. “We all know what a genius you are, my lady.”
Whatever anger I thought I’d glimpsed evaporated on the instant, and she blushed prettily.
“Well, if everyone would like.”
Magnus led her over to the pianoforte, where Eliza struck up a jaunty tune. Maria grabbed Dee and started dancing with him, hitching up her skirts rather daringly as she twirled about. His eyes bulged just watching her, while Wolff clapped in time to the music. Magnus and Blackwood stood against the wall and made room for me to slip in between them. It was so unusual to see them not at each other’s throats; this really had been a day of miracles. Together, we watched the dancing.
“Feels like old times,” I said.
At Agrippa’s, Dee had taught me to dance. Magnus would make fun of us from the side of the room, and Blackwood, seated nearby and studying some document, would shake his head and tell us how incorrigible we all were.
I didn’t let the memory drag me down. This was supposed to be a celebration.
“Agrippa would be happy to see us like this,” Magnus said quietly. He raised his glass in a toast to our absent Master and took a sip. “Eliza plays beautifully.”
“She does.” Blackwood looked proud as he watched his sister. Then, “She probably requires help turning the pages.”
“Indeed. Quite rude of me.” Magnus drained the last of his glass and went to the instrument. Eliza beamed up at him as he shuffled the music, and Blackwood and I were quiet together for a moment. I studied him from the corner of my eye. He really did have a striking look: his firm jawline and full mouth made him at once harsh and beautiful. That was him all over, a massive contradiction.
“This is the perfect night for dancing. Wouldn’t you agree?” he asked.
“Perhaps.” I tilted my head. “Are you asking me?”
“That’s an idea.” He held out his hand, a challenge in his eyes. “Do you accept?”
I put my hand in his.
“Lead on,” I said, bemused.
Maria and Dee had stopped dancing, so the floor was entirely ours. Blackwood escorted me to the center.
“How about a waltz? I need the practice.” He nodded to his sister, who selected a piece with Magnus’s help.
Eliza’s fingers glided over the keys. The music was lilting and graceful, the melody wrapping around me like an airy caress. I leaned my head to the side, feeling the waltz’s movement. Eliza had an artist’s gift, truly. Blackwood slipped his hand to my waist, and I touched his shoulder delicately. We moved as one, back and forth, around and about.
“Thank you for lying to Whitechurch,” I whispered. We were close enough that no one could hear. “I’m afraid I’m always getting you into trouble.”
“You don’t need to thank me for anything, especially not now.” He squeezed my hand. “Before tonight, I’d never truly known triumph.” He made the word sound delicious, although maybe that was the champagne talking. He picked up speed, and I grinned as I managed to kee
p up. Gently, he pressed me closer against him. We’d never danced like this before, and I felt the surprising strength and grace of his body. We spun and whirled—one, two, three. One, two, three. Faces blurred around us.
“You’re not a bad waltzer at all.” I laughed. “You don’t need practice.”
“No.” He looked into my eyes. “I don’t.”
My next words faded. Blackwood wedded his gaze with mine. I had seen such intensity in him before, but it had never been focused upon me. Not like this. I might have compared it to the sun applying all its power on one lone spot upon the earth below. It was overwhelming. Strangely exhilarating. A bit frightening. I could have looked to the side, broken our gaze, but I found it difficult to do so. I half imagined he could see into the hidden compartments of my soul. Something inside me stirred to think of it.
Fanciful talk, that. Clearly, I’d had too much to drink. I imagined putting up a wall behind my eyes. And gradually, I felt him recede back into himself. The dance became just that, a dance.
Ridiculous to think it had ever been anything else. We came to rest as the music stopped, and Maria and the boys clapped enthusiastically, save Magnus. He watched us with a fixed expression.
I prepared to curtsy, but Blackwood didn’t release me right away. His hand still rested on my back, the faintest pressure through the silk of my dress, and I still hadn’t taken my hand from his shoulder. Finally, we stepped apart.
“Thank you,” he murmured, and bowed.
The lid of the pianoforte slammed shut, startling the room. Eliza stormed away from the instrument. Her face was white with anger.
“I think I should go upstairs. There’s a great deal of freedom down here,” she said. None of us knew what to say.
“Eliza, may I speak with you in the study?” Blackwood said.
“Do as you please. You always do.” Eliza rushed out of the room, her heeled shoes echoing sharply. Blackwood followed while the rest of us milled about in silence.
I couldn’t help myself—I went out after them. It’s not that I wanted to poke my nose into the Blackwoods’ anger, but I had an idea what this was about, and I wanted to support Eliza. Blackwood’s study was on the second floor, the door half-hidden behind a green silk tapestry. It had been his father’s, and he’d told me that he didn’t like going in there.
Odd that he should all of a sudden be using it. But it was private, and from the sound of Eliza’s voice behind the door, they were close to shouting; I had never heard anything like this from either of them before.
“You had no right to send a letter to Foxglove!” That was Eliza. So I’d been right. “I told you I don’t want anything to do with that wretched old man!”
“You are a Blackwood.” His voice was calmer than hers, which made it all the more terrifying. “You must marry whom I choose, and bear sorcerer children. That is your function, Eliza.”
Her function was to be a brood mare for any man with the right pedigree? I had to control myself from walking in there and smacking him myself.
“You said I had a choice!”
“I do not have to explain my decisions to you!” Blackwood shouted, and I flinched. “Foxglove can provide you with safety even Sorrow-Fell cannot match. I know you’re still too young to see the good of this decision.”
Too young? Eliza was only a year younger than he.
“Try to understand. You are all that I care about,” he said, his voice gentling.
“You don’t want me to be happy because you can’t be,” Eliza sneered. “Do you believe for a second Whitechurch would ever allow it?” Allow what? There was a moment of dead silence.
“You will do your duty.” His voice was ice. “Or there’ll be no more parties.”
It sounded as though she was crying.
“You think I’m some stupid doll.” She burst out of the room to find me there, obviously eavesdropping. Her face was blotchy, her eyes glistening.
I didn’t know what to say.
“You talk to him,” she sobbed.
I tried to comfort her, but she ran down the stairs in a flurry of skirts. Blackwood nodded for me to come in. When I entered, he closed the door and, turning, went behind his father’s desk. Rather, his desk now.
Charles Blackwood had been a scholar, among other things. The bookcases along the walls strained with the weight of so many books. Yellowing maps papered the walls; a golden astrolabe sat inside a bell jar. Several thick books had been taken down and piled haphazardly on the table, a decanter of red wine placed beside them.
A pulsating glow drew my eye. Strangewayes’s optiaethis had been placed alongside a volume of Newton. The sight of it chilled me. In truth, Blackwood’s return to his father’s old study was troubling in itself.
Now was not the time to ask questions, however. Blackwood poured a glass of the wine, drank deeply, then poured another glass. Eliza’s words had shaken him, though he tried to hide it.
“No,” he said, as if replying to someone. “I won’t let this night be ruined.” He poured another glass for himself and one for me, then slammed the decanter back down. “We need to celebrate properly.” He handed me the wine, which I reluctantly took.
“There’ll be other times to celebrate,” I said. “We should talk about Eliza.”
“Stop, Henrietta.” I knew he was serious when he used my first name. “Not now.”
My temper flared. “This won’t be the only battle we’ll ever win.”
“This is our first victory with those weapons. Thanks to you.” He clinked glasses with me. Leaning against the edge of the desk, he fixed his eyes on my face. “You disobeyed the Imperator and found Strangewayes’s house, all against my wishes. You sought out Mickelmas, and now look at us.” His lips were red from the wine; his smile looked bloody. “Do you have any idea what you’ve given me?”
The way he said it sounded…odd.
“Today I cut the monster and watched him bleed. You gave me that.” There were a million unspoken words in his eyes. Carefully, he said, “My father was the Blackwood who nearly destroyed this country. Thanks to you, I’m going to be the Blackwood who saved it.”
“Thanks to all of us,” I said. His focus frightened me again.
There was something about that answer he didn’t appear to like. He put his glass down and swept out the door without another word. The Blackwoods were the most dramatic people I’d ever known, and I’d known many.
I returned downstairs, hoping to find him, but Blackwood had vanished. Dee, Maria, and Wolff were gathered around the pianoforte, playing jokey tunes. Eliza huddled by the window with Magnus, talking in low voices. He was nodding emphatically, his brow furrowed in thought. Eliza dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief.
“Eliza, are you all right?” I asked as I came up to them. Magnus said nothing, but Eliza nodded.
“I will be,” she said.
—
LATER THAT NIGHT, AFTER I’D GOT ready for bed, there was a tap on my window. Mickelmas waved cheerily at me from the ledge, his coat blowing in the wind. I let him inside.
“I take it the day went well.” He kept his voice down, since servants might still be in the hall at this hour. Something sloshed in his hand.
“Not more gin.” I made a pained face.
“Don’t you want hair on your chest?” He held it up to the light, where it glinted red. “A very fine Bordeaux. Come. Celebrations are in order.”
Good lord, how much drinking could I do in a day?
He flung his coat around me, and a whirling instant later we stood on the roof, staring down at the street below. I pulled my wrap tighter about my body, shivering in the near-autumn air.
“Here, this’ll warm you.” Mickelmas thrust the bottle into my hand. Oh, what the hell. I took a swig, wincing. “Here we are, drinking responsibly on a rooftop after a hard day of fighting monsters. It feels like old times,” he said.
“Funny. I said something similar earlier.” I smiled as Mickelmas looked out over the cit
y. “Blackwood thanked me, but really our victory’s due to you.”
“One day, the Imperator will agree.” He stroked at his beard. “He’ll welcome your army with gratitude.”
My army. Heavens. The wine lit a fire in my stomach, making me bold enough to ask a question. “Do you think my father would be proud of me?” It was idiotic, really, to crave the approval of a man who’d never wanted to meet me. I frowned at my feet, which were already turning blue. “Did—did he know about me?”
“He did,” Mickelmas said. He paused, then said, “He wanted to be a father.”
That made it worse somehow. “Why did he leave?”
“Hard to say. Don’t hog the bottle.” He snatched the wine back. “I don’t know what your father would think of what you’ve become, but he’d be proud of the person you are,” Mickelmas said. Odd distinction.
“Thank you for being an excellent replacement,” I said softly.
He shook his head. “I’m not much of a father figure. But you’re a fine apprentice,” he murmured. And then he drank.
—
MY HEAD WAS SPINNING WHEN I got into bed and blew out my candle. The air about me felt chilled as I bundled under the blankets. When I closed my eyes, the darkness sloshed about. Perhaps I’d had too much to drink today.
Mouth fuzzy, I struggled to wake one last time—I felt I’d forgot something—and then slipped into sleep.
Dense gray fog swirled about my ankles, but I didn’t feel the chill of it. I tried to get my bearings. Where in God’s name was I? The astral plane? But how—
Fenswick’s sachet of herbs. I was supposed to put it under my pillow, to keep from coming here. Cursing my stupidity, I tried to force myself awake by pinching my cheeks. Panic thundered through my veins. I had to wake up. I had to, because if I didn’t, he could find me.
And then, by my ear, I heard a voice whisper, “Miss Howel. What an unexpected delight.”
R’hlem gazed down at me.
Wake up. Wake up. I stumbled away from him, my vision lopsided. How had I been this stupid?
A Poison Dark and Drowning (Kingdom on Fire, Book Two) Page 18