by Queen, Nyna
Alex felt a little sorry for him. At least her dress was floaty.
His grandmother, Alex’s nemesis Heloise Dubois-Marcrant, whose dove-gray gown showed no hint at the flower tradition whatsoever—perhaps due to her name and status she saw no need to accommodate the trend—cast a watching brief over the poor kid.
When she noticed Alex’s approach, the corners of her lips drooped ever so slightly. How one could manage to look both cheerful and disapproving at the same time was beyond Alex.
Since they were in public, Alex gracefully ignored the reaction, pulled out her lady manners and performed a small curtsy.
“Lady Dubois.”
The old lady fleetingly touched her cheek. “Alexandre dear, how was the ride?”
“Quite enjoyable,” Alex lied just out of spite because she knew that the Dubois’ family matriarch disliked horses with a passion, and if she’d had her way, Josy wouldn’t have been allowed to learn riding at all. “I think I’m getting the hang of it. Why, I might even make it a habit of mine.”
Heloise smiled thinly. “Well, even the least gifted of us usually have one or two hidden talents up their sleeves.”
Alex jaw tightened. The bitch! The woman smiled her in the face and insulted her in the same breath!
Heat filled Alex’s cheeks. The spider hissed and pushed upward through her skin, its claws pricking at the tips of her fingers. Oh, she was well aware that the old shrew was only waiting for her to lose her temper so she could prove her point—shapers were unable to control themselves and in the end no better than untamed animals.
Before Alex could take the bait, Stephane skillfully reverted a question of Patricia Devilier to his mother and used it as an excuse to take a step back and slip between them.
Nicely done, Stephane. Nicely done.
“Alexandre.” He kissed her cheek for the audience.
Returning the gesture, Alex whispered in his ear, “Where’s Roukewood?”
“Not here,” he answered in an equally low voice.
“Well, I can see that.”
Stephane raised an eyebrow at her tart tone. “Apparently, he cancelled at the last minute. Some kind of family emergency, or so I heard.”
Family emergency for sure! According to Stephane, the Midsummer Festival was one of the last official chances to chat up undecided voters in an informal atmosphere. Roukewood wouldn’t pass up this chance without a really good reason.
Damn! This practically reeked suspicious. Unfortunately, they didn’t have any way to get to the bottom of his absence, given that they were all here at the big picnic and Darken stuck somewhere in the mountains. Damn, damn, double damn!
Well, nothing they could do about it now.
Letting go of each other, she and Stephane rejoined the conversation. The two senators exchanged a couple more argument points before Devilier finally straightened his lapel.
“Time to do the rounds, I think. An election doesn’t win itself now, does it?”
“You take the words right out of my mouth, Alistair,” Stephane said with a sharp twinkle in his eyes. “There should be enough voters here for the both of us. We shouldn’t get into each other’s hair.”
“As long as you keep your hands of my voters, Stephane.” Devilier shook a warning finger at him.
Stephane flashed a predatory smile. “Only if you do the same.”
A little stiffly, they shook hands and Devilier departed with his wife.
Turning on the spot, Stephane took Max’s shoulder. “Come on, young man. Let your old man show you how the family business is run.”
Max groaned and shot Alex a please-help-me look. She replied with a sympathetic grimace. Not that she was in a much better position. Since Stephane was off wooing voters, it meant that she was on Devilier duty for now. Yay!
She sighed and made to follow the Deviliers.
For what felt like several hours afterwards, though it couldn’t have been even half that long, Alex accompanied Heloise around the perimeter, pretending to listen to the conversations the old lady conducted with several important people, while in reality using her shaper senses to listen to Devilier. They stayed close enough so that she was in shaper hearing range as he droned on about his oh-so awesome election program to person after person after person. She soon knew all the lines by heart. Donation to the Heatherby Child Poverty Center … benefit run … forest conservation program…
Seriously, if the guy did all he claimed he would, he was a fucking saint—with a cherry on top.
If only he possessed an ounce of charisma, Alex suspected he might have out-competed Stephane in the run for the governor post quite a while ago.
Stephane, though popular among large parts of the population, wasn’t exactly universally loved. He was too edgy, and he held too many unconventional opinions. That and his infamous temper made him a red flag for many of the more conservative voters. At the same time, his passion gave him an edge, since Devilier so thoroughly lacked one himself. While Stephane could engage the masses and make them listen to him, most people simply got too tired by Devilier’s nasal monotone to listen to him long enough to hear what he was offering the South. Well, except for a couple of older people who, by the looks of it, had already exceeded their expiration dates themselves. Bad for him, good for Stephane.
When the sun passed its highest point and started angling toward the lake, Edalyne and Josy had finally kissed and greeted their way over to them. Before anyone could decide they still needed her special set of skill, Alex excused herself and headed away from Heloise and her incessantly criticizing mouth as quickly as possible without actually running.
Glad to be alone for a moment, she aimlessly strolled along one of the rambling paths between beautiful cherry trees in full bloom, their blossoms snowing pink petals onto the grass. The sheer mass of different flowers planted along the ways was staggering. Although Alex had always paid close attention when she’d spent time in the garden with her sire as a kid, she didn’t even know the names of half of them.
Several pavilions on a clear stretch of grass sheltered punch fountains and étagères with sweets and baked goods as well as people in flowery attire indulging on all the treats on offer. The Summer Solstice might once have been a celebration of the Great Mother, the creator of all life, Alex reflected, but today it was just another good excuse for the elite to show off their riches, stuff their bellies, and get roaring drunk. Not that it was made particularly difficult for them here. When the third servant approached her with a tray of fruit punch, she all but ripped a glass out of his hand just so they would finally stay off her back.
Tasting the fruit punch, Alex rounded a bend and had to jump back so not to be run over by a group of shrieking kids racing across the path in front of her. Laughter floated behind them. The boy at the front was holding the line of a hover-dragon, which was soaring overhead. It was bigger than any Alex had ever seen. They were a bit like halfborn kites, hover-dragons, but unlike kites, which did nothing but float on the draft, this one was growling and spitting smoke, its eyes two glowing red pits in its reptilian face. It roared and flapped its paper wings, trying to break free, and the kids squealed and several hands grabbed for the line. They sure seemed to be having the time of their lives with the beast. Alex’s lips curved. As a child, she would have killed to have one like that.
Her wanderings brought her to the edge of a big, tree-sheltered meadow. On the grass, groups of children were playing bocce and croquet and other games with hoops, sticks, ribbons and colorful magic bubbles while adults occupied bar tables arranged around the meadow, keeping an eye on their frolicking offspring.
Underneath an old, scarred maple tree not far from where Alex stood, a woman with braided auburn hair in a dress of brown and green slightly reminiscent of bark covered in emerald moss was lecturing a boy who looked like he’d rather be playing around with the other kids instead of listening to her. Behind her, a blond man in a light brown suit with a ponytail fastened at the nape of his
neck and a trimmed beard leaned at a bar table and read a book.
Alex’s heart toppled in her chest.
Makesh!
Emotions cascaded though her in a sickening rush. She hadn’t seen her half-brother since the Summerball and hadn’t tried to contact him either.
The words of the chief interrogator still rang loudly and clearly through her mind. Makesh had been one of the witnesses who had confirmed her presence in the Great Hall at the time of the murder, strengthening her alibi and thereby pulling her out of the investigative focus.
But more importantly, he had kept her secret. He hadn’t told them about the shaper woman posing as trueborn royal at the ball, which would most certainly have counted as ‘something odd’ that needed further investigation. If he had busted her, you could bet your ass she would have been executed by now. But he hadn’t. No, he had covered for her, although it must have been difficult to keep a secret from an Empath, and it had probably drawn suspicion onto himself. Was he angry at her? Did he resent her for putting him in that position? If so, she could hardly blame him for it.
Alex’s chest clenched. After the first moment of shock, she had been so happy to see him again at the Summerball, and she wasn’t sure she could handle seeing fury or worse, rejection, in his eyes. As a little spider, she’d fought hard to gain the affection of her brothers, and that little girl was still somewhere deep inside her, watching with wide, anxious eyes.
A tiny little part of her had hoped that now that they had reconnected after all those years they might get to know each other again. Form a new connection. Perhaps she could join his family for dinner one afternoon…
Sweet Jester what was she thinking! Join them for dinner? Sometimes it was too easy to forget that she wasn’t part of the royal elite at all, and that her alliance with the Dubois would end the moment they managed to get the Master convicted for his crimes. And then what would she be? Alexis Harper, the shaper-mongrel. Homeless, penniless, no good. An embarrassment to the name Sylvaigne. A great dinner guest she’d make. She could already picture the conversation. We heard you’re no longer on probation, Alex? Lovely. And how’s that new place of yours coming around? Still swarming with rats? How charming. Darling, can you please pass me the potatoes?
Alex stared at her brother beneath the tree, the spider in her whimpering softly. As much as she wanted to be part of his life, the best thing she could do for him was to vanish without making it any more complicated.
She had just decided to quietly sneak away when Makesh put down the book and raised his head. Their gazes connected.
Damn it!
His eyes grew big at the sight of her, his lips about to form a word—her name. Her real name.
Shit!
Alex only had a second to act. She rushed forward and made a wobbly curtsy, holding her skirts out to the sides.
“Lord Sylvaigne! What a pleasure to meet you again.”
The brown-haired woman who had spoken to the boy a moment ago turned around and studied her.
Makesh caught himself quickly.
“The pleasure is mine, lady.” He bowed his head, then leaned to the side and gently took the hand of the woman. “This is my wife, Isabella Sylvaigne. Darling, this is”—my sister—“Lady Alexandre de Nuy. We literally ran into each other at the Summerball.”
Alex stiffened, almost expecting a spark of recognition in the woman’s eyes. Yet there was none. Her body deflated a bit. She wasn’t quite sure if she felt relieved or disappointed. Apparently Makesh hadn’t told his wife about her. Why? Was he still trying to protect her, or was he ashamed of his misbegotten shaper-sister? Had he ever even mentioned to her that he had a sister at all? Or was she still the dirty secret of the family?
Alex pulled herself together and strode closer. “Oh, your husband is being too kind,” she drawled. “The truth is, I almost ran him over in the cloister.”
Isabella smiled warmly and took Alex’s hands. “I remember seeing you. You were with the Dubois, weren’t you?”
“Yes, milady. Lady Dubois senior has taken it upon herself to introduce me into the fine society. A family favor.”
One of Isabella’s eyebrows arched a little. “I heard she is quite the daunting lady.”
Alex permitted herself a small grin and leaned forward with a confidential note in her voice, “Then you heard nothing but the truth.”
Isabella’s brows pulled together. Her grip on Alex’s hands intensified as she bent closer, peering into her face.
Alarm bells wailed in Alex’s head. She jerked back in surprise, yanking her hands out of the other woman’s grip.
Isabella blinked. “I-I’m so sorry. I just thought”—her eyes flickered toward her husband and back—“the two of you have exactly the same eye color. I mean … it’s such a rare shade of blue…”
Realizing how that sounded, she took a step back and let out an embarrassed little laugh. “I apologize, I’m behaving awkwardly. I didn’t mean to offend.” She touched her fingers to her forehead. “I shouldn’t have drunk so much Jambale, and in the blazing sun, too. It’s never good for me.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Alex said with a forced smile while her heart was bumping wildly against her ribs. After the first rush, the adrenaline left her cold.
Although she was well aware that she was the female spitting image of her sire, she sometimes tended to forget she also bore a strong resemblance to her brothers, Makesh in particular. The years hadn’t changed that. How could she have been so sloppy? She should have left the moment she saw him.
“It’s really just such a special eye color,” Isabella kept on rambling, intent on justifying her odd behavior. “And the two of you do have a certain likeness. Perhaps you share an old ancestral bloodline? Who knows?”
Shared bloodline? Yes. Ancient? Not so much.
“That’s definitely possible,” Makesh cut in, clearly trying to mollify his wife, looking a bit unsettled himself. “These things happen.”
“Who is that, Momma?”
A pair of big, round eyes the color of dark-rimmed toffee peeked out from behind Isabella’s skirt.
The speaker was a little girl, maybe six, in a poofy, knee-long white dress with a pink sash adorned with a fat rose bud. A pink bow sat in her golden curls.
Isabella nudged the little girl forward, resting her hands on her shoulders.
“Norah, this is Lady de Nuy.”
Norah. Makesh’s daughter. My niece. A lump swelled in Alex’s throat. Suddenly there was an invisible ribbon around her chest pressing all the air out of her lungs.
The little girl smiled timidly. “You look beautiful. Like a princess.” A little lisp in her voice made it sound like ‘pwincesss’.
Swallowing her heart, Alex crouched down in front of the kid so that they were at eye level, trying not to show too much of her emotional turmoil. “Nah, sweetie, you’re the one who looks like a princess.”
She knew that she should just leave it at that, but it was killing her to think that the only memory this girl would have of her would be this meaningless encounter. Just another adult quickly forgotten over the next daydream. She wanted her niece to remember her by something.
Aware that it was risky to showcase her strength that way, Alex grabbed one of the gold metal ornaments decorating the tables, quickly twisted it into a circle, and carefully set it atop the girl’s blond locks.
“And now you even have a crown.” She winked.
Norah’s small hands reached up and she gawked at her ‘crown’ in amazement.
“Look, Momma, Momma, now I’m a real princess.”
Isabella stroked the girl’s rosy cheek. “Sure you are, honey.” She smiled at Alex. “You’re kind, milady. There is—Alexander! What did I tell you about running around with a glass in your hand?”
The boy she’d been talking to earlier and who had been dashing past in a group of older kids stopped in his tracks. With his auburn hair he looked a lot more like Isabella than his sister, but ther
e was no doubt he was Makesh’s son. Making a face, he mumbled something under his breath, but hastily put down his glass on one of the tables before chasing after the other boys.
Isabella sighed with a rueful smile. “Children.” She shook her head. “They give you gray hairs, but I wouldn’t want to miss them for the world.” She looked at Alex. “Do you have children, Lady de Nuy?”
The invisible ribbon around Alex’s chest tightened even more. Before she could answer, there was a soft chime, and Alex felt a subtle vibration shiver through her feet.
Makesh dipped his hand into his trouser pocket and extracted a horanium iactari.
“Great Mother, is it time already?” Isabella threw Alex an apologetic look. “I’m afraid we must leave early today. We’re having a big family celebration tonight.”
“Oh?” Alex lifted an eyebrow. “What’s the occasion?”
“Nothing important,” Makesh muttered.
Isabella shook her head. “My husband is always so modest.”
Makesh grimaced. “Isabella.”
“What? It’s something to be proud of. You worked hard for it.” She leaned toward Alex. “He’s been appointed legal clerk at the High Court.”
Now, wasn’t that something. “Congratulations, my lord.” Alex smirked. “Your parents must be very proud.” The latter she couldn’t bite back because she remembered only too well that their sire had always wished for one of his sons to pursue law as a career. As a kid, Makesh had always insisted he would never be that one. Well, some things changed. Others…
Her brother gave her a slightly sheepish grin. “Thank you, my lady.”
Isabella was busy packing books and toys into a large bag. “Madeline messaged me saying she and Kizdan are bringing little Elias tonight,” she said. “I can’t wait to hold him again. Alexander and Norah have been grown for such a long time. My brother-in-law just became father,” she explained to Alex, then touched her husband’s arm. “Makesh darling, can you please go and fetch Alexander? He was here a minute ago, but now he’s off somewhere again. Norah and I will meet you at the coach.”