I smiled, and warmth began to seep in my chest. It emanated a shallow ache, the sort of ache one feels when they have run too far, or when they are about to be reunited with someone they have missed for years.
An ache of stone being shifted, and I couldn’t believe it. Not this soon. Not by the kindness I had met here, the welcome and the genuine smiles. Not by the sweet adoration of a little boy and his toothless grin. This would not be my undoing, I vowed, and struggled to steady my heart, dwelling on the fact that I’d once had such things until they had been taken from me.
I drew in a deep breath until the ache eased, but Phelan was regarding me intently.
“Are you well, Miss Neven?”
I forced a smile, although I could only wonder what lurked in my gaze when I looked at him. “I think I’m just hungry.”
“Then come, let me take you into the dining room.”
I trailed him out of the library, down the main corridor—my eyes seeking mirrors of all shapes and sizes. The dining hall was a narrow chamber occupied by a table, velvet-lined chairs, and a marble hearth alight with a fire. Mrs. Stirling was just setting down the last dish.
“Oh good, there you are. Come sit here, Miss Neven.” She indicated the chair across from Phelan’s.
Wonderful, I thought drolly as I surrendered to the chair. I would unfortunately have to look at him all throughout dinner.
Phelan waited to sit until Mrs. Stirling and Deacon had taken their seats. And then he reached across the table and poured wine into my glass flute.
“Potatoes?” Mrs. Stirling asked, offering the warm bowl to me.
I filled my plate, and the dishes were passed until everyone had taken a spoonful of everything. We fell silent as we began to eat; there was only the sound of cutlery and the crackle of fire.
I relished every bite, eating slowly. The last meal I had taken was dried meat and a plum on the stagecoach hours ago, offerings from Imonie’s satchel. Thinking of her made me think of my parents, and my mouth went dry when I anticipated telling them what I had done. What I was doing.
“The food is delicious, Mrs. Stirling,” I said, to distract myself from the apprehension. “Thank you.”
The older woman smiled and waved off my compliment.
“Do you have any siblings, Miss Neven?” Deacon asked after wiping the edge of his mouth with his sleeve.
I saw the disapproving look Mrs. Stirling sent him before pointing to his napkin.
“No,” I answered. Creating siblings, as tempting as that was, would only complicate my story. “Do you, Deacon?”
“I’m the youngest. I have two older sisters.”
“That sounds fun. I wish that I had sisters.”
“What about your parents?” the boy asked. “Your mama and papa.”
“What about them?” I didn’t like the idea of lying to a child. But he was certainly full of questions, and I felt my cheeks flush.
“Do they live nearby? Did they teach you magic?”
“I think that is enough questions, Deacon,” Mrs. Stirling said. “Remember your manners.”
Deacon looked downcast by the chiding, his attention returning to his plate as he pushed his peas around in a circle.
“It’s quite all right,” I said, reaching for my wine. “I never had the opportunity to know my father. My mother raised me. She was the one to teach me magic.”
“I bet she is proud of you, Miss Neven,” said Deacon, and I heard the longing in his voice. I had not sensed illumination in him, that unmistakable flame of magic that some of us were born with. But it was apparent that he wanted to become a magician.
“She would be, yes,” I replied, and took a long sip of wine.
Deacon’s mouth opened, ready to spout more queries, but Phelan swiftly moved the conversation to other, safer things. I ate my fill, listening more than I spoke, but chiming in when it felt right, and Mrs. Stirling brought out chamomile tea and almond pudding for dessert. I despised almond pudding but swallowed every bite, washing it down with overly sweetened tea.
“Deacon, help me clear the table,” Mrs. Stirling said, rising from her chair.
Deacon groaned but then asked, “Can we play Seven Wraiths tonight?”
Seven Wraiths, I thought with alarm. That card game my father had forbidden me to play. The one the Fielding girls loved, even with its enchanted consequences. All I could think of was Elle, terrified of a nightmare she had been given by losing the game. A nightmare that had frightened me as well. I could almost hear the heavy clink of the knight walking through the streets again.
“I think we should,” Phelan said, also glancing to me. “Would you like to join us, Miss Neven?”
“I fear I need to return home,” I said, standing. “But thank you again for the lovely dinner, Mrs. Stirling.”
She smiled and nodded, but I could see the tension in her face. I hadn’t shared my decision yet, if I was accepting Phelan’s offer or not, and Deacon carefully began to stack the plates. When he came to take mine, he begged, “Please, Miss Neven! Please choose us! Mr. Vesper needs you.”
“Deacon!” Mrs. Stirling called to him through the swinging kitchen door, mortified by his outburst.
I wanted to smile at the boy, to reassure him. But I worried about drumming up that ache in my chest again, and so I merely watched as he retreated into the kitchen with a pile of precariously stacked dishes.
Phelan cleared his throat and rose. “Let me see you out, Miss Neven.”
I followed him back into the corridor, where I did find one small mirror hanging in a collage of paintings, gleaming mirthfully on the wall. But I didn’t think it would be likely to give me away so long as I ensured no one trailed me into the hallway.
Phelan opened the front door. The night rushed in, encircling us with the fragrance of sweet cedar smoke from a nearby tavern. We stepped out onto the front porch, and the lantern light trickled over our faces.
“Do you need more time to consider the offer, Miss Neven?”
“No, I’ve decided. But there is one thing I want to ask you, before I give you my reply,” I said.
“And what would that be?” he drawled, gazing intently at me.
I held his stare, even though I felt oddly vulnerable. I didn’t know if I liked or disliked the way his attention was so rapt upon me.
“Why did you offer the position to me?” I asked. “You must have had plenty of other promising magicians at the interview today.”
“I did. And yet all of them performed for me, as if they were on a stage. Not a single one engaged me as you did,” he replied. “I confess, Miss Neven, that there was a moment when I thought your intentions were to kill me. And then I realized how absurd that was, and that you were testing me as I wanted to test you. You challenged me as if you were a nightmare on a new moon, and I knew then that you were the one that I wanted beside me.”
His confession took me by surprise. “You must have some terrible nightmares haunt these streets.”
Phelan paused. “I do. I’ve come to learn that they are treacherous on the darkest of nights.”
Every street is treacherous, I wanted to say, remembering the gills that had scarred my neck. I resisted the urge to trace where they had once gleamed.
“Then I accept your offer, Mr. Vesper,” I said. And before he could respond, I added, “When do we begin?”