“Tristan?”
It was strange hearing his name on my brother’s lips. I looked away. “Yes.”
Fred’s hands clenched where they rested on the table. “Him I’d like to have a word or two with. Stealing my little sister and performing godless magic so that I don’t dare strike at him for fear of hurting you. Bastard!”
The cook made a comment under her breath about soldiers and foul language, making Fred’s scowl deepen.
“Well, then, there you have it,” I whispered. “Fine if you have no care for starving innocent people, but at least have a care for your own sister’s life.”
He gnawed on his bottom lip, eyes narrowed to slits. “You’re an idiot and a fool when it comes to judging character, Cécile. Always have been. Refusing to see the black side of folk even when it’s right in front of your eyes.”
Was this about the trolls or our mother?
I pressed my palms against the table, and met his gaze. “You don’t know them, Fred. You don’t know him.”
“I don’t have to!” He stood up, knocking the table hard. “I can’t listen to this. I need to go.”
Fred started to go to the door, but then came back and enveloped me in a fierce bear hug. “I love you, Im-be-Cécile,” he mumbled into my hair. “But you’re blind when it comes to those you love. You need to open your eyes.”
I listened to the heavy tread of his boots, hoping that he’d reconsider and come back. But he was gone.
The clock in the great room struck the hour, pulling me from my thoughts. Bong, bong, bong, it sang softly, and I counted the beats up to twelve. “Do you know when my mother plans to rise?” I asked the cook.
“She rose at a decent hour, mademoiselle,” the cook said with a little sniff. “She departed several hours ago, but she left you a note. It’s on the front table.”
Frowning, I went out to the front entry and found a folded bit of paper with my name on the front.
Darling, I hope you are feeling much improved this morning. Please meet me at the opera house at noon today—I have wonderfully exciting news to share with you.
I glanced at the water clock, then back at the note. “Stones and sky!” I swore, then bolted to the stairs.
9
Cécile
I was late, but my mother was later.
We had grouped in the foyer de la danse, a grand room reserved for the premiere ballerinas and the gentlemen subscribers who admired them. It was a golden place, pilasters rising up to the graceful arches of the frescoed ceiling and mirrors reflecting the light of the massive chandelier hanging in the center.
Portraits of famous dancers and sopranos ringed the room, their intricate frames clutched by gilded cherubs. It was, in a way, a history of the Trianon opera, for while this building was relatively new, the portraits dated back to when the company was in its infancy some two hundred years prior. It reminded me of the gallery of the Kings in the Trollus library, and made me wish I’d taken the time to see the gallery of the Queens. History told through faces and clothing, the skill of the artist whispering a story with oil and brush.
I stared at the portrait of my mother hung in a place of privilege on one wall and wondered what secret truths, if any, it told about her. Moving almost of their own accord, my fingers brushed against the golden locket hanging at my throat, even as my eyes fixed on the one painted around hers.
“Cécile?”
I blinked. Sabine was staring at me with a frown on her face. “Sorry,” I said. “What was that you were saying about Julian?” She’d been telling me about my co-star’s antics the night prior, but I’d barely been listening.
She frowned. “Has something happened?”
I nodded. “Chris and I had a little adventure. I’ll tell you about it after.”
“Bad?”
I gave her a grim nod. We were practiced in speaking in code when we weren’t alone, but this conversation needed to wait.
I shifted on the velvet banquette, pulling off my shoes and tucking my feet underneath me. I needed to change the subject before anyone took note of our conversation. “Does anyone know what this is about?”
“I do,” Julian said from where he sat perched on his own cushion. He looked as fresh as someone who has had a night of uninterrupted sleep, although from what Sabine had been saying, he hadn’t gotten any more than I had.
“Do you intend to share what you know with us?” I asked.
He shook his head and grinned. “It’s Genny’s news to tell.”
I winced inwardly at his familiarity, remembering all too clearly how she had rejected my father’s use of the very same nickname. They were very close, Julian and my mother. Uncomfortably so, at times.
She had “discovered” him years ago, an orphan singing on the street corner for coin, and had taken him under her wing. Then she’d made him a star. Unbeknownst to me, or to any of my family other than Fred, he had been living with her for the past four years. He’d been ousted the day I arrived in Trianon because it would have been improper for us to live under the same roof, and anyone with two wits to rub together knew that he resented me for it.
I glanced around the room to see who’d been invited. It was all the principal members of the company, plus a few from costuming and set design. A select group, which indicated we’d be performing outside of the theatre. “A private performance for some nobleman?” I asked, hoping to take the wind out of Julian’s sails if I guessed correctly.
His grin widened, white teeth gleaming. “Better.”
I slouched down. Whatever. It didn’t matter what or for whom. Adding another performance meant more rehearsals, and I didn’t have time for that. I needed to be out looking for Anushka. The need to be out on the streets doing something was like an itch that couldn’t be scratched.
But my mother had set conditions when I’d come to Trianon, and the primary one was that I perform often and that I perform well. Failure would see me evicted from her house before I could blink, and I had no other skills for supporting myself in Trianon. Even if I did, none of them would give me the sort of access to all the levels of society that singing did, which meant that I had no choice but to indulge my mother’s wishes.
I closed my eyes, feeling the pressure of the promise I’d made to the King. It wasn’t anything like a promise made to another human. I had barely gone a moment without thinking about how badly I needed to find her. My hunt had monopolized my thoughts since I’d left Trollus, but now it was much worse. Obsessive. I needed to find her, but the question was how? I had already done everything I could think of to find her—short of walking through the streets, screaming her name, and hoping she might deign to show herself.
And I hadn’t the slightest idea how to use magic to improve my chances. None of the spells in the grimoire mentioned anything about how to find someone, and it was my only resource. I needed a teacher, and not just anyone would do. I needed someone who understood the dark arts.
The room went quiet, and I opened my eyes to see my mother swaying across the floor. She settled down on a banquette in the middle of the circle, always the star of the show.