“I couldn’t agree more,” Kincaid says from behind me. His voice is low and even, not his usual airy, bouncing tone. “None of my guests are to be touched…”
“We can put him in the cells until—” the guard begins.
But Kincaid waves off the suggestion and gestures for him to be silent by raising his hand merely inches from his face. “I want Adelice to sleep tonight. How can she if definitive action isn’t taken now?”
“I’m fine,” I say, but I know I’ll ask Jost to stay the night. Then I’ll be able to sleep.
“Bring him into the gardens,” Kincaid says, ignoring my input. The guard nods and walks a few steps away to use his complant more quietly.
“And how do you plan to make her feel safe after this?” Dante asks Kincaid, coming into the hall’s light. He’s dressed in a thin tank-style shirt and soft flannel pajama bottoms. His shirt reveals a techprint on his biceps—three braided bands circling his arm.
“Don’t worry. You’ll be pleased,” Kincaid says.
“Your defenses were penetrated. This may not be the only threat. I’d like permission to investigate further.” Dante isn’t asking him.
Kincaid’s jaw twitches, but his mask of authority stays in place. “That won’t be necessary. I assure you that your daughter is my priority. Remember that.”
My eyes fly to Dante. How could he have told Kincaid? Dante claimed it would be a secret until I decided I wanted to share the information, if that day ever came. But Dante looks confused. He has no more idea how Kincaid found out than I do. I consider how quickly security responded to my screams when Deniel attacked me. They couldn’t have heard me unless they were watching me.
Which means it isn’t Dante’s fault that our secret is out. It’s mine.
FIFTEEN
SOMEONE LAYS A THICK FUR COAT OVER my shoulders after Kincaid announces that the punishment will transpire in the garden. I turn, expecting to see Jost behind me, but it’s Jax. I haven’t seen him since our first day here. He doesn’t speak now, but he gives me a resolved nod as he slips to the back of the security team that’s amassing for Kincaid’s verdict. With the lighting system dimmed, the chill outdoors is reminiscent of the Icebox, without the lurking, shifting shadows. There’s no need for me to watch the corners and hidden spaces around the plants and fountain; the monster is in plain sight now, no longer able to hide.
Deniel is dragged across the uneven masonry of the brick path, his knees scraping against the rough surface, but he doesn’t speak or cry out. He keeps his head low, his ink-black hair falling over his eyes. When the guards bring him to Kincaid’s feet, they drop him there and one nudges Deniel’s head up with his knee. I gasp at the sight of the man’s bloodied mouth and crooked nose. It looks like the guards have already put him through some significant punishment before they brought him to Kincaid.
“Who do you work for?” Kincaid asks in a singsongy voice. The amusement in it isn’t lost on me.
Kincaid is enjoying this.
Deniel doesn’t respond to the question. Instead he lolls forward again, his head drooping to his chest. Kincaid snaps his fingers and one of the guards bends forward, taking Deniel’s chin forcefully into his hand and jerking it up.
“I’m waiting.”
“No one.” Deniel’s answer oozes slowly from him, and I notice how swollen his cheekbone is. It balloons out, swallowing the space around his eye and forcing it shut.
“Let’s try that again,” Kincaid says.
I barely make out the guard’s fingers tightening, but Deniel strains against the force, clawing at the hand that holds him.
“You could have had a fine life here, son,” Kincaid tells him. “The Guild forced you to run because of your ability, but while the Guild abuses Tailors, I value them. I would have valued you.”
Apparently the time for secrecy has passed. Dante isn’t the only Tailor on the estate. It seems Kincaid collects them.
Deniel tries to splutter something against the guard’s hand, but Kincaid continues. “The time for excuses has passed. You have betrayed my trust.”
“What’s going on?” Valery says, her voice elevated a decibel sharper than normal. She flies into the courtyard, her silk dressing robe rippling behind her. It’s loosely bound by a sash at her waist, and it does little to hide her flawless lithe figure, which does a lot to distract Kincaid.
“Darling, go back to bed. I’ll join you soon,” Kincaid assures her.
“I can’t sleep,” she says, crossing her arms against her chest. “What are you doing to Deniel?”
“Deniel attacked Adelice.”
I can’t help wondering why Valery even cares, but she swoops down to Deniel and stares him in the eye. How does she know him? If he’s new here, as Kincaid said earlier, I can’t imagine their paths crossing. I’ve rarely seen Valery out of her chambers except for dinners. Now she lingers before Deniel as if she’s trying to tell him something, but then her words come freely, in front of us.
“This is how you repay my kindness.” Accusation drips like poison from her words.
Deniel hesitates, still staring Valery in the eye. “We have our parts to play.”
Valery doesn’t respond. She rises up and turns to Kincaid. “I assure you I had no idea he was a traitor when I brought him here.”
“You know him?” The question sputters from my lips before I can stop it.
Valery winces, but taking a deep breath, she turns to me. “He was a refugee. We met fleeing Arras, and I helped secure his place here. I made a mistake.”
Mistake hardly seems to cover it. If Deniel fled Arras at the same time as Valery, he was sent here for some purpose and I have the scratches on my shoulder to prove it. She led him straight to his prize without hesitation. Without thought. But my ire softens when I meet her eyes. Valery helped him because that’s who she is—even if her graciousness no longer extends to me.
“You were trying to help him, darling,” Kincaid says, placing an arm around her waist and pulling her close. “It was a lapse in judgment. Now go to bed.”
He kisses her full on the lips, and I see it: whereas Valery melts and simpers into Kincaid’s arms during dining times, she’s stiff during this act. Unyielding. She doesn’t want his attention. Not now.
And still she goes to his bed, with the slightest glance at Deniel as she passes.
“Hold on,” Kincaid says. He gestures for Dante to come over, which he does reluctantly. “Will you do the honors?”
Dante’s eyes flicker to mine, and I know that whatever punishment Kincaid has in mind, I don’t want to see it. Is it too late to excuse myself? Beside me Jost takes my arm and pulls me close to him. Dante’s attention turns back to his boss and he shakes his head.
“I’m not playing your games, Kincaid.”
“Games?” Kincaid echoes with a guffaw. “My interest in your daughter should please you.”
Dante’s shoulders stay set, his lips a firm line of refusal.
“No?” Kincaid asks, but he sounds indifferent. He wags a finger at a burly guard, who steps forward. “Show Adelice that we will protect her. Show her what I do to those who would betray her.”
The guard nods, and Deniel is lifted to his feet. The guard’s eyes stay on Deniel’s chest, but Deniel remains passive and remote. Then he gives a loud groan as the guard’s fingers reach toward him.
My pulse leaps, pounding against my veins, and as the guard reaches forward, Deniel’s strands glimmer to life again.
I can see them so clearly now, more so than I did when he attacked me. His strands are thin, well worn, patched with newer strands. Some grafted in seamlessly and others barely attached. Whoever Deniel is, he’s endured a fair amount of alteration. Who did this to him?
Through the center of his jumbled weave runs a slender golden strand. The last pure thread remaining within the man. Another set of strands moves within Deniel, pushing apart the threads and patches, making straight for the man’s core. With a great wrench, the guard re
nds apart Deniel’s threads, below the tear that I gave him. For a moment my concentration is broken and I can only see the crimson that drips thin across the guard’s hands, but then the golden strand pulls slowly from Deniel and he starts to melt away. I am fastened to the sight, unable to turn my head.
First, Deniel’s skin shrivels. The blood stops flowing from his chest until only a seeping puddle remains on his shirt. His eyes sink into his skull and his head lolls back, and I know he’s dead, but it isn’t over. The golden strand pulls cleanly from him, and the shriveled skin cracks and falls away. Deniel’s bones follow, until the only thing that remains is a pile of dust at the feet of the guards.
Kincaid steps forward, surveying the guard’s work. His face is grim, but there’s a gleam in his eyes he can’t quite hide. And then, without a smile, he says quietly, “Dust to dust.”
SIXTEEN
THE NEXT MORNING, A KNOCK ON THE door to my quarters startles me. I’ve been sitting at the desk, absently brushing my hair. When I open the door, a younger valet is waiting with a silver tray perched on his fingers. A small ivory card with my name penned in elegant writing rests on it. I take the card and nod a thank-you to the valet.
“My instructions are to wait for your response, miss,” he says in a clipped tone.
“Okay, give me a moment.” I turn into my room, and after some hesitation, shut the door. I can’t stand the thought of him waiting there, watching me. I’m not fond of the idea of shutting the door in his face either, but, well, choices.
I unfold the card:
Adelice,
Please accept my sincere apologies for yesterday’s unfortunate interlude. I want you to feel secure here, but I don’t wish you to think ill of me. To relieve the tension from last evening, I’ve arranged a small play for you and your friends’ amusement in the theater. I hope it will show you the positives of having Tailors available for our use. Please let me know if you are available for the presentation at three o’clock.
Most sincerely yours,
Kincaid
My eyes flick to the ticking clock on my nightstand. It’s already noon. I scrawl my acceptance across the bottom, trying to sound enthusiastic and failing miserably.
I don’t want to go, but this isn’t so much an invitation as a summons. I traipse back to the door, nearly tripping over my dressing gown, and give the card to the valet, who does a good job of not looking too annoyed at having had the door shut in his face.
“Thank you,” I say, but he merely tilts his head in acknowledgment, pivots to the right, and moves down the hall.
I’ve barely shut the door when another knock forces me to open it again. On the other side I find Jost standing there with two large turquoise boxes. Another valet is walking hurriedly down the hall, carrying more of the same boxes. I raise an eyebrow at Jost.
“A gift from our amiable host,” Jost says, nodding to be let in.
“I see you’ve been invited to the show then,” I say.
“And what a show it will be,” Jost mutters. He crosses to the bed and sets down the boxes. I walk over and lift the lid of the one with the tag addressed to me. Inside I find a cloud of pink tissue paper. I push it open and pull a silk gown from the box. It’s a lovely pale pink and the fabric swims down my body when I hold it up. The décolletage is a sunburst of crystal. I turn it over and study the draping back, finding another sunburst to decorate my derriere.
“Pretty,” Jost says. It’s as much enthusiasm as he can muster up for something as shallow as clothes.
“Let’s see what you got,” I say.
“Oh, I hope mine is purple and shows more skin,” he says with a wink.
“If you are going to be a smart-ass, I hope it does too.”
He lifts a pressed black suit jacket from the box. “No such luck.”
“You’ll look dapper,” I say.
“I’ll be uncomfortable.”
“I never knew you were so anti-tux,” I say.
“Tuxes are for men like Cormac.”
“And what’s for a man like you?” I ask, pulling the jacket from his hands and tossing it down on the bed.
“Careful, you’ll wrinkle that,” he starts, but as I latch my arms around his chest, he stops.
“How very conscientious of you,” I murmur as I move closer to him.
“What can I say? You know what a conscientious guy I am,” he says, but the words mute as my lips meet his.
“I think the dress is pretty. It will be beautiful when you’re in it,” he says, pulling away from me.
“Should I try it on?” I ask.
Jost hesitates for moment, his eyes growing serious.
“We’re alone here and we have hours to get dressed.”
He sinks onto the bed and watches me with serious, widening eyes. For a moment, I feel shy, my bravado failing me, but my fingers grip the sash of my robe, and I hope he doesn’t see how they tremble as I begin to pull it open. His hand reaches up to grip mine, stopping the shaking, but also stopping me from opening the robe. For a second I expect he’s going to pull it open himself and I wonder what his hands will feel like there. Somewhere my mother’s voice calls to me, but it can’t compete with the roar of blood that floods through my body, igniting every inch of my skin.
“You don’t have to do this, Ad,” he whispers instead. His hand pulls mine away from the belt and we stare at each other for a long moment, and then I listen to my body and sink against him, my legs straddling his lap, my arms wrapping around his neck. His breath is hot against my collarbone and as he slides his fingers through my loose hair a shiver runs down my spine. He’s bringing his lips to mine when another knock interrupts us.
“What is it, annual knock-on-Adelice’s-door day?” I grumble.
Jost’s hands fall from me and he grins shyly and then casually pulls me up to my feet.
“Come on, Kincaid is probably inviting us to another wild party.”
“Can we be so lucky?” I ask.
But it’s not a valet waiting outside the door. It’s Valery. Her cosmetics are perfectly applied, less drastic than the first night we saw her here, but she still looks exotic with her wide, dark eyes and midnight hair. She’s wrapped in the same robe she wore last night, but it’s clear that she’s done up for this afternoon’s event.
“I thought I could get you ready,” she offers. Her eyes flash to Jost, who’s standing awkwardly by my bed.
Like old times, I think. I want to send her away. She might feel the need to hide under a painted mask when she’s with Kincaid, but I’ve got more important things to do than getting primped for a charade of civility.
“That sounds nice,” Jost answers for me, grabbing his tuxedo box. “I should get dressed. Check in on Erik.”
Check in on Erik? Erik is the last person he’d want to see. He’s trying to avoid where we were going a few moments ago. “Sure,” I say. “Help him tie his bow tie. Curl each other’s hair.”
I don’t try to hide the annoyance in my voice.
Jost smiles and shakes his head slightly as if to remind me to watch myself. “I’ll see you later.” He kisses my forehead at the door, then looks to Valery and back to me. “You two have fun.”
Fun is probably the last thing we’ll be having, but I give him a small smile.
Valery wastes no time once he’s gone.
She rushes to my bed and lifts the silk dress from the heap I’ve left it in. Smoothing it out, she crosses to my closet and hangs it carefully on the closet door.
“Lovely,” she says, surveying the gown. “You should wear your hair down. We’ll put some waves in it.”
I open my mouth to ask her why she’s doing this, but then I shut it again. It’s the friendliest Valery has been since we discovered her here. Perhaps she feels badly about what happened with Deniel. I can’t exactly blame her for being cold to me after Enora’s suicide.
But I can wonder what she’s up to.
“It’s good I came now. They don’t have the kind of
tools I had at the Coventry. This will take some time,” she says.
I follow her into the bathroom and she urges me toward the sink. There’s no fancy chair for me to sit in while she dampens my hair, so I bend awkwardly and she presses my head down under the flowing water. It’s freezing and my body tenses.
“Sorry,” she says absently, and I feel the water grow warmer. A moment later, her long fingers run through my hair, massaging shampoo into my scalp. It feels good for a moment but then her fingers grow more frenzied in their actions until she’s practically scraping me with her fingernails. I wince, and she repeats her apology. She lets the water rinse out the soap and it slides into my eyes. I squeeze them shut but feel the sting of the shampoo. She lifts my head and wraps a thick towel around me, offering me a washcloth to wipe my eyes.
When we return to my room, I sit at the vanity and she pulls the towel from my head. Water drips down my back, and my robe sticks to my skin from the moisture.
I feel a comb running through my hair and water gushes to my shoulders as she pulls it into a straight line.
“You should cut this,” she says. “Less work.”
“I like it long,” I say. My mother’s hair was long. My mother’s hair is long, I correct myself, but I push the thought back out of my head, fighting against the helplessness I feel when I think of her. I don’t want to imagine her roaming around her cage, deep in the cells under the estate.
“As you wish.”
“You don’t have to do this,” I say. “I mean, I can get ready on my own.”
“I’m sure you can, but Kincaid expects a certain level of aestheticism when it comes to his guests.”
“I can put on cosmetics,” I snap.
“Fine.” She drops her hands and steps back from me. “I thought we could talk.”
I soften a little at her words, feeling ungrateful and confused at the same time. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to feel like you had to do this. You aren’t my aesthetician anymore.”