My father raised his hand. I sensed my comment had offended him, and he said, “I have broken no laws of wardenship. I have recorded every nightmare that was dreamt during the time I was guarding the residents.”
“That may be so, Papa. And perhaps you anticipated this happening someday, and you prepared years for it. But I want to know why. Why are you protecting Mazarine?”
“Mazarine Thimble?”
“Don’t pretend. I know she’s the spymistress of Seren. She’s a wraith, and I want to know why you were shielding her.”
“I was ordered to.”
His quick response shocked me. “By who?”
“That I will not tell you, Clem.”
I held his stare, suspicious. I had never doubted him before, and my breath turned shallow.
“Both Lennox and Phelan are hunting us, Papa, with the hope that we will identify the troll. And I think the countess ordered her sons to find Mazarine by November seventeenth,” I said. “Does that date ring any bells to you?”
Again, the silence was thick enough to drown in. I glanced from Papa to my mother to Imonie. Why were they acting so strange?
At last, Papa dropped his gaze as he viciously cut into his pie, and said, “I have no idea what that date means. But thank you, Clem, for the news. I hope you’re being very careful.”
“Yes,” I said, but I felt no better for having shared what I had learned. And even though Imonie’s chocolate pie was my favorite, it suddenly tasted like ash in my mouth.
Phelan was home when I returned to his place later that night. I followed a trail of light into the library and found him sitting at his desk, his face buried in his hands, jacket thrown over the back of the chair. His cravat was untethered from his neck, his waistcoat unbuttoned down his chest, and he had cast off his boots. His socks were surprisingly mismatched. It was the most undone I had ever seen him.
I stopped just within the threshold, uncertain if he wanted my company until he raised his head and looked at me.
“Long day?” I gently inquired.
“Hmm.” He reached for a teapot and poured two cups.
I drew up a chair, keeping the desk between us, and I accepted the cup. I studied him in the candlelight, the lines on his brow, the pallor of his face.
“I know this is none of my business,” I began. “But if you tell me what’s ailing you . . . perhaps I can be of assistance, Mr. Vesper.”
He sighed and leaned back in his chair. “I’m looking for someone.”
“Really? Who?”
“A magician.”
“He must be an old friend of yours?”
“She is not an old friend.”
“A former lover, then?”
He nearly choked on his tea. “No, not a lover. A rival would be a better term. She despises me.”
“Ah,” I said, pleased as I realized he was talking about me. “Why are you seeking this rival, then?”
“She possesses knowledge of something that’s very important.”
“And you think she would tell you as soon as you found her?” I countered. “Given that the two of you are not friends.”
Phelan leveled his eyes at me. For a moment, I feared he had sensed my wicked amusement, savoring this humiliating moment of his, but he exhaled a long breath and said, “You’re probably right, Miss Neven. Even if I found her, she wouldn’t want to tell me anything.”
“You could enchant her to tell you,” I nonchalantly suggested, curious to know if he would do such a thing.
“No,” he said swiftly. “That sort of magic is illegal and deplorable. But perhaps there is another route I can take.”
I was wary as he stood and walked to his bookshelves. He pulled a leather-bound book with an illuminated spine, and turned through its pages until he found a loose square of parchment, tucked safely within the leaves. I watched, horrified, as he set that parchment on the desk. It was one of my charcoal drawings.
I went hot and cold all at once. This little drawing of mine was about to expose me.
How had he stolen it?
And then I remembered. The day we had collided on the street, when I had been studying the knight’s sword mark on the cobblestones. My portfolio had fallen open, my drawings scattered in the wind. Phelan had helped me collect them, but I hadn’t noticed him pilfering one.
I quelled my trembling and forced a calm mask over my face. I took the drawing in my hand, studying it as if I had never seen it before. My blood felt like molten gold, simmering in my veins. My chest ached as rock scraped against bone, and I determined in that split moment that this was a game I must win. I detached all emotion from my artwork.
“Is she an artist?” I asked, sounding as if I was only vaguely interested.
“Yes.”
“She’s not that accomplished. Why would you steal her artwork?”
“I . . . what?” Phelan frowned at me. “No, I didn’t steal it.”
“She gave it to you, then?”
“Well, no.”
“Then you stole it.” I set the drawing on the desk and leaned back in my chair. I drank the tea, hoping it would ease my dread.
“I found it,” Phelan said. “A few weeks ago, I bumped into her on the street and some of her art came loose from the folder she was carrying. I helped her recover her pages, but it was not until after we parted ways that I found this one hung up on a bush farther down the road, carried by the wind.”
“Why didn’t you return it to her, then?”
He was pensive. I was coming to learn that I didn’t like it when he was so silent.
“Never mind that.” I stood so I could mirror him. “You have a way to find her now. Use this piece of her art to summon her to you.”
“Yes, I was thinking to do such,” he said, rubbing his chin. His gaze remained on my drawing, transfixed.
I needed him to do it now, while I was in the room with him. I couldn’t afford to have him summon me when I was away.
Perspiration began to dampen my dress. I prepared for anything to unfold, readying my protective spell in case his summoning broke my disguise and I needed to flee. The enchantment waited on the tip of my tongue like a drop of honey.
I decided I should sit and settled into my chair. “Do it now, while you still have a few days before the new moon comes again. Summoning her will undoubtedly require much of your reserves.”
“Have you ever summoned someone before, Miss Neven?”
“No. You?”
“Never. But perhaps you’re right,” he said. “I should summon her now, while you’re here with me.”
“And why is that?” I asked. “Do I need to protect you from her?”
He laughed. I realized I had never heard his laugh before. The sound was bewitching, even if it held a hint of scorn. “Yes, you might. She’ll probably set a curse upon me when she realizes I’ve summoned her in such a way.”
“Then maybe you should practice on me before you cast.”
“Practice for what?”
“The words you will say to this magician when you summon her. How will you explain yourself? You’re about to burn her artwork.”
Phelan groaned and paced the library. In and out of the firelight, the candle flames wavering with his apparent distress. “I don’t know what to say to her.”