by Dylan Steel
“Mr. Grayson,” he corrected. “The only benefactor you can be so informal with is sitting right beside you at this moment.”
Her fists clenched at her side. This time, she didn’t apologize.
“But I didn’t ask you who you saw. I asked what you saw.”
A number of words spilled through Sage’s mind—none of them appropriate to say aloud. “A trazk,” she blurted out, putting aside her better judgment.
Weston’s eyes widened, then a smile crept over his lips. “I won’t argue that. But you might also say you’re looking at the crux of Eprah’s transportation. Edward Grayson is the only benefactor whose estate breeds horses. If he were to stop providing Eprah and its benefactors with horses, no one would really notice it at first. Not until the animals started to thin out, dying of sickness or old age—or even, perhaps, some sort of sudden, inexplicable tragedy,” he said slowly, watching to make sure she understood what he was saying.
“You mean he would kill his own horses?”
“If the gains were big enough? I have no doubt.”
Her stomach turned. Sick. But not altogether surprising, considering who they were discussing.
He pursed his lips. “Eventually, the loss of too many horses would cripple trade and communications. The inability to transport supplies and meet Eprah’s other leaders promptly in person would cut this estate and many others off from viability. He would be uniquely positioned as savior, and Eprah itself would be in his debt. That is the type of power he is capable of wielding—the type of power he has even without a seat on the Quorum.”
She frowned. “Then why doesn’t he? Stop giving everyone horses, I mean.”
“Excellent question,” Weston said, obviously pleased she’d asked. “Put very simply, he realizes he needs the rest of us. For now.”
“Us?”
“Benefactors. Eprah. Even his workers.”
Even though he treats them worse than dirt, Sage thought.
“Are you worried he’s going to decide he won’t need you anymore?” she asked.
“There’s no point in worrying about anything. Things will either happen or they won’t,” Weston said firmly. “But it would be foolish of me not to prepare for the possibility.”
Sage tapped her fingers along the desk. Her eyebrows drew together in concentration as she went over what Weston had just told her. “Why are you telling me this?”
“It’s important to know your enemies, Sage. Even if—especially if—they masquerade as friends. We are connected in more ways than one now, and I may not always be by your side to protect you. Our enemies are not separate. Mine and yours—they are the same.”
“You’re saying Grayson—er, Mr. Grayson—is your enemy?”
“Not just mine.” His tone sent a chill rippling over her skin. The implication was clear. As Weston’s pair, Grayson was her enemy now too. “I’m saying my family didn’t become the most powerful benefactors in Eprah by trusting other benefactors to play fair.”
“That sounds like a terrible way to live,” she said frankly.
His features twisted in a sort of sadness for a moment before returning to normal. “I may owe you an apology, Sage.” Her heart pounded, a mixture of fear and hope gripping her. She stared back at him uncertainly as he continued, “In pairing with you, my aim has been to protect you, but I fear my actions have only added to your troubles.”
“Then why?” She barely managed to bite back her frustration. “Why pair with me at all?”
“If I’d seen any other way, I would’ve taken it.” He rested his head in his hands for a moment, then straightened and met her eyes. “But in that moment in the alley, I saw no other way. And make no mistake—if I had to do it all again, I can’t honestly say I’d change a thing. That’s not why I’m apologizing.”
She furrowed her brow in confusion.
He heaved a sigh. “My apology isn’t because of regret. It’s because—despite knowing how it’s complicated things for you—I still find myself glad you’re here with me.”
Her breath caught in her throat. She wanted to look away, but his blue eyes locked onto hers, searching them earnestly.
“I value your company. But I admit, I wish you would at least try trusting me.”
“I do.” Her response came a little too quickly, and she cringed inwardly, knowing neither one of them believed her.
Weston’s lips pressed together in a thin line. “That explains why you ran,” he said dryly, taking another sip of his drink.
“You were gone a long time,” Sage said, scrambling for an explanation. “I didn’t know if you were coming back or—”
“Don’t.” He shook his head. “Don’t pretend like that’s your reason. Have you already forgotten that I know when you tried to run? You didn’t wait.”
Stupid mistake, Indarra. She opened her mouth to protest, but he held up a hand, stopping her before she could spout off any more lies.
“I don’t need any excuses about the past. And it doesn’t matter anymore anyways now that we’ve made more secure arrangements,” he said, tapping a finger against his bracelet as he looked at her. She froze.
“You’re not at the Institution, and you’re not some no-name worker in the city. You’re in a totally different world now, Sage, and that world is more volatile than it’s been in a long time. You need to be prepared for what that means.” He rubbed a hand across his forehead, looking a little weary. “I just wish I had more time to prepare you, but there’s little point in dwelling on what we don’t have.”
Weston nodded to the databook. “Do you see anything else?”
Sage glanced at the picture again and shrugged, unsure what he wanted her to say.
“Our host,” Weston said with a strained smile. “Edward Grayson is known for throwing quite elaborate parties for Eprah’s elite, and we’re expected to attend one in a few weeks.”
A sense of foreboding squeezed at her chest, forcing air from her lungs. She grabbed the edge of the desk to keep from losing her balance as she swayed on her feet. One benefactor was bad enough, but an entire estate filled with them? She’d be lucky to survive the night.
“We are?” she rasped, throat dry.
He pushed the tablet across the desk toward her. Brushing her fingers over the screen, she shot a questioning gaze at Weston.
“I want you to study everything in this file.” His eyes narrowed. “Best if there are as few surprises as possible where Mr. Grayson is concerned.”
“Know my enemy?”
“And treat him as a friend.”
12. MASKS
Lanterns lined the path to the front of Edward Grayson’s mansion, flicking shadows away in the moonlight. Darkness crept around the edges of the large home, making it difficult for Sage to recognize the estate from her last visit so many years ago.
Sage peeked out the window of the trailer and saw that they weren’t the only ones arriving now. Pulling back, she rubbed her palms against her thighs, smoothing the deep violet folds of her gown. Her fingertips traced the fringe of the matching lace mask on her face, and she forced herself to take slow breaths. Even in an enclosed trailer, it took a tremendous effort to fight her instincts to bolt, keeping still as they neared the entrance.
“You look beautiful. No need to be nervous.” Weston’s breath tickled her ear, sending tingles skittering over her bare shoulders.
“Easy for you to say,” she mumbled under her breath. It wasn’t like Weston needed to worry about angering one of the dozens of people at the party—no one would dare end his life over something as petty as spilling a drink on them. Sage, on the other hand, had no such reassurances.
A fierce protectiveness flashed behind his eyes, darkening them to an electric navy that contrasted sharply with the light mask surrounding them. He spoke in a low, possessive growl. “You’ll be by my side as my pair. They won’t hurt you.”
She bit the inside of her lip and gave a slight nod. Since she didn’t have a choice about being th
ere, she had to hope he was right.
Only a few of the people attending the party tonight really had her worried. Unfortunately, one of those people was Edward Grayson himself—and it was unlikely she’d be able to avoid the host the entire evening. The only real positive was the chance that she might get to see Pippa, but even that was eclipsed by concern for her old friend.
Grayson wasn’t the only benefactor Sage had been studying. The file Weston had given her contained information about all of Eprah’s benefactors, and not surprisingly, none of it was anything like what she’d learned in the Naturagre Interest Society. Sure, the basics were highlighted, but now she knew that Benefactor Serefina Chartreaux was on her twelfth pair, that only one had ever lasted past six months, and that three had resulted in children who were currently being raised by other members of her estate. But she had almost no contact with them.
Also, she was deathly allergic to bees.
Ironic for a benefactor whose estate specialized in growing strawberries and other produce.
The file had also contained lessons on the finer points of Eprah’s etiquette, and every interaction tonight would be a test of what she’d learned.
Of course, there was no information in the file on Weston or his deceased parents, but Sage devoted every minute she was with him to studying him too. By now, she knew his morning routine, what his favorite mid-afternoon snack was, what time he retired each evening, and even the tune he occasionally hummed when he was concentrating—but still not why he’d bothered paying any attention to her at all in the first place.
The trailer came to a stop at the end of the long path leading to the estate entrance. A moment later, the door folded outward into a short set of steps.
“Mr. Bennick. Sage,” Jonah greeted them, inclining his head as he stood ready to assist them.
Weston stepped out first, then turned and held a hand out to Sage.
“Thanks,” she mumbled. She hated that it was actually helpful, but walking on level ground was enough of a feat on its own in the dress she was wearing, and she didn’t particularly want to start the evening off by falling flat on her face.
“Do you need anything else?”
Sage looked up at the sound of Jonah’s voice. He stiffened when their eyes met, and she dropped her gaze quickly, unable to stop her cheeks from reddening. They hadn’t spoken since she’d knocked him to the ground in her attempt to escape.
“We’re fine, thank you,” Weston said.
Jonah nodded and returned to the front of the trailer, directing the horses away from the main home.
“He’ll get over it,” Weston whispered.
“What?” Sage blinked, looking up at him in confusion.
“He feels guilty for dropping his guard around you.”
“Oh.” She hadn’t realized he’d picked up on the tension between them.
“Ready?” Weston smiled and offered her his arm. She slipped her hand around it, still holding up a fistful of her dress with her free hand so she didn’t trip.
“As much as I’ll ever be,” she said, ignoring the twisting sensation in her stomach.
Her nerves grew worse with each set of lanterns they passed. As they drew closer, Sage realized that Edward Grayson’s home was nearly as large as Weston’s, and at first glance, she might have even said it was equally beautiful, certainly no less extravagant. But whether it was due to the shadows cast in the darkness of night or the man who lived inside, there was a certain harshness—a coldness about it that the Bennick home didn’t have.
When she’d been to the estate several years earlier with her classmates, they’d stayed in the stable, not venturing into the main house. Other than seeing the benefactor again, she wasn’t sure what to expect inside.
Music and voices filled the air as they climbed the steps and stepped through the manor’s entrance. Her jaw dropped at the spectacle that greeted them. Gold, silver, crystal, and a rainbow of precious gems splashed around the room in intricate patterns. Everywhere she turned, spaces were filled with fabrics and feathers and furs. No wall—no person—was unadorned.
As they walked farther in, well-dressed men and women nodded their greetings, gushing generic welcoming phrases. It didn’t take long for Sage to realize that no one was paying any attention to her. Everyone’s full focus lay on her benefactor. Even among Eprah’s elite, Weston Bennick was a celebrity.
The entryway was really one enormous room that ended in a dual staircase and split on either side into a balcony that circled the immense open space, overlooking another room below. An immense crystal chandelier dipped into the center of the space, surrounded by at least a dozen comparatively smaller ones. It was as if the mansion had been specifically designed with elaborate events in mind.
“Nearly there,” Weston murmured reassuringly in her ear as he led her forward, down the curved staircase.
When they reached the bottom, they turned immediately, heading toward the back of the room. This area was filled with plush seating and tables piled high with edible delicacies that Sage didn’t even recognize. The Institution had never provided fine foods like this, and her stipend for working at the Peace certainly hadn’t allowed for anything nearly so nice.
She glanced over her shoulder, watching as couples danced in the center of the main room, spinning and dipping and swaying. Sage couldn’t stop herself from staring. It looked nothing like the dancing she’d seen at Perjaash. This was much more formal, rehearsed.
Panic rose up in her chest. She hoped Weston wouldn’t decide to join them—she didn’t have the first clue how to dance like that, and she didn’t want to make him angry with her for embarrassing him.
“Weston Bennick.”
Sage’s attention was immediately pulled from the dancers to the elderly man in front of them who’d just spoken. Her eyes widened when she realized who he was.
“Rufius.” Weston clasped hands with the Quorum member warmly, as if he were greeting an old friend. And for all Sage knew, maybe he was. “So good to see you. I trust you’re doing well.”
“Indeed. Unlike Nicholas,” the elderly Quorum member said gravely.
Concern filled Weston’s eyes. “Have you seen him recently?”
“Not since the preliminary ordezko was enacted.” Sage felt Weston’s hand twitch against her waist at the man’s words. “No one has—only his doctors. I don’t know how much time he has left, poor man.”
Rufius shook his head, then glanced at Sage. “But forgive my rudeness for talking about such macabre things when you have a lovely young lady on your arm this evening.”
“Not at all.” Weston moved his hand to the small of her back, nudging her forward. “This is my pair. Sage Indarra, meet the Venerable Rufius Dagley.”
“A pleasure, sir.” Sage lowered her eyes as she curtsied. Throppin etiquette. It wasn’t even close to the way she’d have preferred to greet one of the men who’d approved her enslavement.
“Sage Indarra?” The Quorum member’s brows lifted. “This isn’t the same Sage Indarra your mother had… removed from the Institution?”
Sage’s cheeks flushed crimson. Her nostrils flared as she forced herself to steady her breathing. His comment had been insensitive at best, but it would be a very bad idea to chew out a member of the Quorum of Five. As much as she wanted to disappear at the moment, she had no desire to be struck dead where she stood.
“One and the same. And the most recent Bokja champion,” Weston added. Her lips parted in surprise at the note of pride in his voice. It wasn’t a secret, but he’d never even mentioned that he knew about that.
“Yes… Indeed.” Rufius nodded, unwilling to spare another glance at Sage. “Well, Weston, you certainly do have unique taste.”
“I won’t argue that.” He looked down at Sage, meeting her eyes with intensity. Her heart skipped a beat at the unexpected heat in his gaze. “You’ll have to excuse us, Rufius. I believe I owe my pair a dance.”
Not waiting for a dismissal, Weston turned
and led her toward the center of the room.
“You just blew off one of the members of the Quorum.” Her voice was shaky.
“Did I?”
“Well, I—” Sage cut herself off, observing the other dancers as they navigated among them. She looked up at him worriedly. “Weston, I don’t know how to—”
“Follow my lead, and you’ll be fine.”
Grabbing one of her hands, he guided it to his shoulder before dropping his hand to her waist and pulling her closer. His touch ignited her mutinous senses, stirring desire deep in her belly as he laced his other hand with hers. The music sped up, sweeping them along with it before she knew what was happening.
“I’m sorry about that.” His words slid over her neck like a warm, smooth caress.
“What?” she asked distractedly, suddenly finding it difficult to concentrate with his solid body pressed so near her own. Her pulse pounded with the rhythm around her.
“Rufius. Quorum members have an unshakable belief that they’re better than everyone else. He knows he insulted you, but he doesn’t care.” His jaw flexed. “It’s not personal.”
“Oh.” The smallest spark of rebellion flared inside her, and she added, “So they’re like benefactors, then.”
Weston’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Yes.” His grip on her waist tightened as they spun around another couple. “And benefactors won’t stand for insults.”
Her brows drew together. She clamped her mouth shut. If he was looking for an apology, he could forget it. It wasn’t like what she’d said wasn’t true.
A sharp breath escaped her lips as Weston dipped her unexpectedly.
“You should be more careful, Sage,” he said in a low voice, still bent over her. “My patience extends further than most, but it’s not infinite.”
Her heartbeat quickened. She searched his eyes for the familiar glint of his good-natured teasing, but she saw nothing but ice. She wet her lips nervously.
He lifted her back up as the song changed. Their movements slowed to match the sensual tempo.
“Weston?”
“Yes?”