The Eidolon

  Veronica blinked once. Twice. Then found a grin curling the corners of her mouth. “An ox, am I?”

  Matilda laughed and then placed her hands on her hips. “I’m quite serious. Tell me what happened this instant.”

  Veronica wanted to. Watching Matilda’s curls bounce as she tapped her foot, waiting for an answer, started that feeling of rare warmth inside of Veronica. Matilda had known Veronica would leave in spite of Dr. Hoch’s warning, had sent Clank after her even. She’d stitched Veronica up so many times—this was one wound even Matilda’s capable hands couldn’t fix. She might be disgusted, feel betrayed.

  But their friendship wasn’t a fragile one. Matilda was strong and could be trusted.

  Veronica carefully pulled off the glove on her left hand, one finger at a time, revealing the metal monstrosity beneath. Matilda gasped. Instant tears sprang to her eyes. She stepped forward, but Veronica drew her hand back.

  “Don’t come closer. I still don’t quite know how to use it. I could hurt you,” Veronica warned.

  Matilda brushed away the wetness from her eyes, then rolled her shoulder back, all business. “Nonsense. You’d never hurt me. That bandage around your arm needs changing. Now come here before I find your Tesla-ray and make you sit still.”

  Veronica sank down into a chair and before she knew what was happening, Matilda took Veronica’s metal hand gently in hers. Matilda turned Veronica’s wrist to and fro, examining the contraption. “Brilliant. Dr. Hoch’s work, I assume?”

  Veronica nodded. “Its dangerous though. Strong. I don’t have control of it yet.”

  “You’ll figure it out though, milady, you always do.” She looked down at Veronica, eyes softening. “We’ll figure it out together.”

  This wasn’t the first time Veronica had underestimated Matilda. Hopefully it would be the last. She used her good arm to pull Matilda in for an awkward hug. Matilda laughed and squeezed her tighter. “We’ll work on that.”

  * * *

  Some impulse made Veronica cease her pacing and glance at her wardrobe. It’d been several days since she’d seen Clank. She’d been relieved he hadn’t been captured. Such numbers would’ve overwhelmed even her most loyal companion. The thought of what Grillett might’ve done—attempted to re-program him, make him his own—made her sick.

  Veronica reached forward with her mechanical, left hand and slowly opened the armoire. The door moved silently, as it always did. She pushed aside the false panel. Light filtered in through the crack, revealing the unanimated face of a being more alive than most she’d met during her lifetime. Clank’s eyes didn’t begin their familiar whir. He didn’t bow, nor step out of his hiding spot with his usual eagerness. She reached forward to see if he’d been charging

  Dr. Hoch never answered her question about the origin of her hand and the reason he hadn’t stood before her. Of course he would never have had such a thing lying about. She placed her mechanical fingers on Clank’s chest. “I’m sorry, dear friend,” she whispered. “Forgive me.”

  Too cowardly to turn him on, she patted his metal head and replaced the false panel. She would have Matilda return him to Dr. Hoch when she left. She couldn’t take him with her, after all. Silly tears threatened. Veronica would miss Clank, a machine. A being made of wires and cogs.

  The fact that she took some small part of him with her comforted her in a way Alec couldn’t.

  Mercy. At some point during this past week she’d accepted it. She was going to marry Durad. It was her conversations with Emil—not only about the beauty of Sombor and its’ passionate people—but about the Eidolon’s work. How she might continue it after her marriage. If that were truly a possibility, and she now believed it to be with Emil’s help, she might even have more freedom than she had now. With his help, and that of his ship and crew, she could do more. Save more children.

  The conversation of the women at the SteamExpo rose to the front of her mind. With her independent means, she could possibly recruit others to help as well. The defunct debutante they might not regard, but a princess?

  As always, such a bright future came with a price. The heartache she’d feel working alongside the man she’d never thought existed. One she desperately loved.

  Though how could she regret marrying Durad? She was certain his kindness would have a chance at thawing her already melting heart.

  She had no other plan in place to thwart her father and save Bridges. With the Duke moving up the wedding, and the week lost aboard The Hırsız she’d had no time. Alec wasn’t entirely wrong. She would marry Durad, and oddly enough, she would have a measure of happiness she never thought possible. Even if it wasn’t what her soul hungered for.

  Veronica glanced toward the trunk she’d instructed Matilda to pack. All of her ridiculous frocks, muslins, and wrappings. Nothing truly her. All that she owned that mattered were her memories of her orphans, and they were safely stored in her heart.

  Still, she wished for a set of the loose robes Emil provided her aboard The Hırsız. He must be escorting her and Durad to Sombor. Durad would hardly trust anyone else to do so.

  She wrapped herself in a blanket and slid beneath her cool, silk sheets. In spite of Alec’s words, in spite of her determination to marry Durad, Veronica felt her mind drift in directions she couldn’t control. She remembered the feel of Emil’s hand on her arm. She remembered the many times he’d adjusted her covers, fed her meals and changed the bandages on her wounds.

  Emil’s firm touch, spiced scent and a smooth accent warmed her until she finally slept.

  But when the sun finally slid through her window in the morning, Veronica was already awake and ready for Matilda’s to help her into the wedding gown.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  The wedding day

  Veronica turned sideways, examining her reflection in the full-length mirror. She’d never imagined her own wedding, though she suffered through many a conversation at Almacks on the topic. The endless debate over silk or chiffon never failed to send her daydreaming about her next fencing lesson. Clank. Bridges. About the moments she would be free of the need for such tiresome society. Wondering whether that day would ever come.

  In fact, Veronica thought Alec would be the one to carry on the Richmond line. With a title, money, his youth and a face that made women flutter their fans and exclaim how hot it was, Alec’s future was assured. He had his pick, within the parameters the Duke set, of course. After Veronica’s spectacular failure at her debutant ball—involving a dress she spilled on several times, many innocent yet inappropriate remarks, and many bruised toes—she’d been written off. “Hapless, hopeless and an utter disaster,” was the phrase accepted by all. The Duke had been livid. Dr. Hoch proclaimed her absolutely brilliant.

  Standing here, now, in Westminster Abbey, preparing to be married—everything felt wrong. She wasn’t supposed to be getting married. Ever. She was a fool. A bumbler. Nor was she supposed to have feelings for a man she wasn’t marrying. A man that made her shiver with heat, with hands strong enough to carry her, and a heart big enough to care for the orphans like she did.

  The one thing that was right was the dress. Alec was genius. The only concession to the proper wedding gown was the color of the fabric. The white silk, overlayed with chiffon appeared conservative enough, until one saw the white corset. The corset outlined her waist and continued down several inches, defining her strong figure more than was proper. The gown had no sleeves, but Alec had provided a cropped lace sweater that matched the lace running vertically on the corset. He’d also laid out her butterfly necklace and a small, white top hat, meant to be pinned slightly askew on her head.

  She hadn’t even asked Alec what he planned for her, but as she stood there, she couldn’t help but feel grateful. The gown was nearly exactly what Veronica would choose.

  “Lands, my lady,” Matilda breathed out, her gray eyes alight and a little misty. “You look perfect.” She fiddled with the laces on the corset, patting and smoothing the gown.
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  Veronica turned and stilled Matilda’s hands with her good one. “Will you come with me? To Sombor? You don’t have to answer right away, it’s far from home and who knows what circumstances we’ll be forced into.”

  Matilda laughed, the sound bright. “My lady, we’ll be living in a palace. I’m sure it will simply have to do.”

  “Are you quite certain?”

  Her companion dropped to a curtsy. “But your highness, you know I have no family left to speak of here in England. You’re my family now.”

  The simple statement struck Veronica. She never truly believed in the idea of a family. Though Alec might be experiencing a change of heart, she couldn’t imagine the traditional concept of people who care for you above all else. The thought made her almost smile. Matilda. Suzie. Claire. Perhaps even Mistress Phillips. She might not have a family by birth, but she’d created one of her own.

  * * *

  When the doors to Westminster Abbey opened, a thousand people stood. Veronica clasped her bouquet of painted, steel roses (courtesy of her orphans,) and stepped forward. The organ sounded the wedding march and her heart thumped right along with her steps. She could barely see Durad at the end of the row of pews. Of course the Duke chose a place large enough to make a statement about his loyalties to the Queen. No one could be more loyal than a father that escorted his own daughter into the arms of a foreigner. Veronica paused as the Duke placed her hand on his stiff sleeve and marched in step with her. His touch was cold and hard, matching the disapproval she saw in his eyes at her dress and bouquet.

  Whispers rose from each pew she passed. Some of the younger set matched the attire she’d seen last at Almacks—corsets showing like hers, dangling monocles, leather gloves. Veronica thanked the style for the cover it provided her, as she sported a set of white leather ones herself. Luckily the Duke hadn’t appeared to notice that her hand no longer felt soft, but brittle and unforgiving.

  As she approached the front, she glimpsed Lord Grillett. He stood to her left on the bride’s side, his gold breastplate catching the occasional ray of sunshine through the windows and gleaming with a nearly blinding light. With his helmet removed and tucked under his arm, he saluted her. The thin smile he wore told her the action was a mockery.

  Of course he had to be invited, all the Ton were. Why hadn’t she told Alec to misplace his invitation? On this day, or any day, she couldn’t be in the same room with him and not want to strangle the life out of him.

  She forced her head back toward the front. Emil stood to the right side of his Prince, wearing robes of white, a decorative turban on his head and a white scarf over the lower half of his face. His eyes seemed to burn through her.

  Veronica focused instead on Durad. He smiled at her, white teeth gleaming, features brightening at her approach. He cared for her. Her life at his side would be considerably better than with the Duke. How could it not? No longer would she have to worry about the many masks she wore. No longer would she have to endure nights of the endless, nonsensical prattle that enraged her. No longer would she be subject to the Duke’s threats. She would be safe.

  Safe. The concept felt as unreal to her as Melilot’s fairy tale ending. But here she stood, about to exchange her life of fear and secrets for one where she wouldn’t have to worry about tests, punishments or concealing the biggest part of her. The part she’d hidden since that day Dr. Hoch met her in the garden—her desire for change. To do something, mean something to others. Durad understood and odd as it was, agreed with her.

  Veronica and Durad spoke their vows, exchanged rings. He leaned forward. She stood very still as he took her face in his hands and pressed his lips softly and sweetly against hers. She trembled at how the kiss made her feel—safe, loved. A little like Emil’s touch, except she missed that hot current of energy, like the rush of jumping off a building or escaping guards. Emil enlivened her, forced feeling. Durad’s arms promised security and shelter.

  She looked into Durad’s warm, brown eyes. They were tender. Soft. He smiled, his gaze widening in a way that most likely meant to look innocent, but failed. He leaned forward and kissed her again. This time, he dipped her back, holding onto her securely. She felt her world tip. His mouth slanted against hers. Tighter. She wanted to laugh at his boldness. All she could do was hold on.

  Her life with Durad would not be the same as it would be with a self-absorbed Earl, stuffy general or any other member of the Ton. Her life with Durad might possibly be enjoyable. Unexpected. Charming. Exactly like the man himself. She was ridiculously fortunate in this match.

  Amidst the cheers, Durad whispered, “I’m very lucky this day indeed.”

  Veronica couldn’t help smiling. Durad pulled her close for an embrace that was strong and gentle. He felt warm, solid, and smelled wonderful—sandalwood perhaps. Over his shoulder, she saw Emil, standing stiff, eyes scanning the crowd.

  Maybe the warmth she felt in Durad’s arms would replace the cold that gripped her heart every time she looked at Emil and wondered what could’ve been.

  * * *

  Lord Grillett bowed over her good hand. His touch chilled her even through her glove. “Best wishes to you both, Princess. Congratulations on such a successful match.” The corners of his mouth pointed downward as he spoke, negating the sincerity of his words.

  She didn’t curtsey, clearly intending the insult to the society standing he held in such high esteem. “Lord Grillett. How kind of you to come. I hear you have quite a busy schedule these days.”

  Durad stood by her side, but attended to another guest. Emil never moved from his post behind the Prince. Veronica couldn’t tell if he noticed Lord Grillett, or if he persisted in ignoring her, as he had since the ceremony ended. In any case, she faced Grillett alone.

  Grillett patted her hand and leaned forward as if to share a confidence. “My lady. Your highness. I heard from a fellow by the name of Blackthorne that you have many names.”

  Veronica’s heart plummeted and all the gaiety of her surroundings fell away, no longer visible through the smoke of her past.

  He knew. He knew her secret. The one that could destroy her, the life she’d built, and the orphans she cared for.

  She pulled her hand away. What could Grillett do to her here? They stood in front of the most powerful members of English society, whose opinion he cherished above all.

  “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean. Though I’ve heard Blackthorne got into a spot of trouble from which he’s unlikely to recover,” she said in a light, pleasant voice.

  Grillett smiled, an action as beautiful and fake as every word that came from his mouth. She couldn’t imagine a more horrible sight. He lowered his voice even further. “Following this reception, you will make your excuses and meet me at your workhouse, Bridges. Plead exhaustion, vapors, whatever you like. But you will be there by half past six or I will tell the Duke exactly how his daughter rounds up the orphans she brings to Bridges. Do you understand, princess?”

  Every muscle in her body seized and she found she couldn’t say or do anything but nod. She was right. Blackthorne had followed her. He’d known about Bridges and told Grillett. Of all the outcomes she imagined, this was the very worst. The Duke discovering her secret. Grillett stealing back her orphans. Replacing their newfound hope and sense of safety with his cruelty and despair. They were hers now, fully and completely. She would do anything, absolutely anything to keep him from them.

  He released her hand, bowed, and left with a graceful turn, his gaudy, gold armor gleaming, sword swinging by his side. When the next person stepped forward to offer their congratulations, she responded automatically with a smile that felt as cold as steel.

  Her face had grown numb with the tension born of false happiness. She pled the need to freshen up and kissed Durad on the cheek. Avoiding Emil’s gaze, she tried not to run toward the bridal dressing rooms. Matilda followed close behind.

  “What a beautiful wedding, my lady. Excuse me, your highness! You must be so please
d, everything turned out smashing.” Matilda prattled on, about the guests, the flowers, and Durad.

  Veronica listened with half an ear, unable to concentrate on anything but what kind of plan she would need to save her orphans. She’d have to ask Matilda for help—she had no choice.

  When they arrived at the suite of rooms, Veronica ushered Matilda in and then closed and bolted the door behind her. When Matilda noticed Veronica’s expression, she ceased her prattle. Veronica spun, presenting her back to Matilda. “Unlace me, Matilda. Hurry!”

  She obeyed immediately. “What’s happened, your highness?”

  “No formalities, please Matilda. It’s long past time you called me Veronica. I need out of this dress now. What clothes have you packed for me?” Veronica tried to be patient but she longed to cut the laces of her dress with her sword.

  Matilda didn’t respond for a moment, her hands working quickly. When she finished, she tugged the dress off, but Veronica was careful to keep her gloves on.

  Her companion said, “I brought those clothes.” She opened a trunk and tossed out fripperies until she reached a satchel at the bottom. With a sigh, she retrieved the cape, mask, trousers, shirt and even the Tesla-ray, which Emil had presented to her on board The Hırsız the day after her capture. Clank had retrieved it from Blackthorne’s body.

  “Is it the children? Our children?” Matilda asked.

  Veronica nodded and pulled on her clothes. “Grillett is at Bridges. He’s threatened to tell the Duke about the Eidolon if I don’t meet him there. You mustn’t tell Durad where I’ve gone.”

  Matilda huffed. “And what will I tell him when you turn up dead? You can’t do this, my lad—Veronica.” With her eyes narrowed and her jaw tight, she appeared frantic. “You’re so strong and you’ve proved the Duke wrong and all of them wrong in every way. You’ve made a difference in hundreds of lives. There must be another way to do this. Even if you go in alone, what will happen after they kill you? They will only take the children back to the Grave. Think, Veronica!”