“I have a clear head,” he said, but his words were slurred as he fought the cloying effects of the tonic. “Come, sit here, Anna.” He patted the bed beside him, and I merely stared at it, the mirror still a threat.
“Lie down, and perhaps I will.”
He heeded me, easing his head to his pillow, his boots close to dangling off the bed.
I approached the other side and sank into the feather mattress beside him, a few generous hand widths between us.
“Ask your question, Phelan.”
His eyes were closed but he smiled. “I want to know your real name.”
“Mm, very well, although I think that’s a sorry thing to waste your one question on.”
That prompted him to crack open his eyes and look up at me. “Which means I have asked a very good question, because you don’t want to answer it.”
He was beginning to read me rather well, which stirred my apprehension. I resolved to be more careful around him. And I hadn’t thought of myself as performing a role, but I should have, from the moment we’d had our interview.
“Anna Bailey is my true name,” I said. “I chose Neven for myself after my mother died, to hide me from a few of her old acquaintances who might give me trouble. She had some old debts that she never paid before she passed away. That’s why I haven’t told you much about me.”
“You could tell me who she owes a debt to, and I will pay it.”
I frowned. “No, Phelan. I don’t want you paying my mother’s debts.”
Go to sleep, I thought with desperation, and listened as his breaths pulled deep, his eyes closing more and more with each stubborn blink. I delayed a minute more, just to be certain he was asleep this time, before I began to edge my way off the bed.
“Don’t leave, Anna,” he whispered. “Stay here with me.”
I wondered if he truly wanted my company, or if he was worried about me slipping away into the night without him. But I lingered.
Eventually, though, I couldn’t deny my weariness. I found a dreamless remedy in Phelan’s side table and drank it, surrendering to the soft embrace of the bed. And I fell asleep at his side.
23
“Miss Neven? Miss Neven!”
I woke to the shock and horror of Mrs. Stirling. She stood at the foot of the bed, her face blanched as she stared at me. Why did she look so upset? I wondered, groggily wiping the drool from my lips.
And then I realized this bed was unfamiliar, and Phelan was sleeping close beside me, his chest exposed and scarred and sewn up, his fingers entwined with mine. . . .
The memory of the new moon flooded through me and knocked away the last gossamer of sleep.
“Mrs. Stirling. Don’t worry, he’s all right,” I started to say, but my voice died when I saw another figure step forward. One that sparkled with diamonds and moved with terrible grace. I recognized her. We had crossed paths in the art shop last month. The countess. Phelan’s mother. Her blue eyes studied me with icy reserve, and I suddenly felt as if I were naked.
“Miss Neven, this is the Countess of Amarys,” Mrs. Stirling rushed to introduce us, but she couldn’t smooth away the tension in the air. “Lady Raven Vesper.”
“It is an honor to make your acquaintance, Miss Neven,” the countess said with a smile, which only made her eyes burn colder. I noticed she cast no shadow on the floor. “My son spoke very highly of you when I saw him last week.”
My mind went blank as I held her stare. I was acutely aware of the bloodstains on my chemise, the wrinkles in the gauzy fabric, the snarls in my hair. I knew I appeared like I had just risen from the gutter, and I swallowed, uncertain how to save this first impression of myself.
Phelan, of course, blithely continued to sleep, and I regretted giving him such a strong tonic.
“My lady,” I said, and slipped hastily from Phelan’s bed, as if the coverlet had caught fire. “Your son fought valiantly last night but was wounded. I felt it best to stay beside him until morning.”
“And I thank you for your diligence, Miss Neven,” said Lady Raven. “I can handle it from here, and I would appreciate if you kept my son’s wound a secret.”
I dropped a crooked curtsy, feeling as if every one of my bones had come out of socket. Mrs. Stirling hesitated before granting me a gentle nod, but I departed as swiftly as I could, retreating to the safety of my bedchamber.
I sat in the shadows until my cheeks had cooled, and I opened my curtains and my shutters, basking in the morning light. I washed my face and shattered the mirror that hung on the wall because I was weary of seeing myself. I watched the cracks in the glass spread into a glittering web, until Clem was broken into an array of pieces, and yet I still didn’t feel satisfied.
I needed to get out of this house, and I swiftly dressed and brushed the tangles from my hair, quietly descending the stairs.
I emerged onto the front porch, standing in the very place the knight had stood only hours ago. I shivered in the sun, longing for home. To rest in a place where I didn’t have to pretend. And I cast my stealth charm and began to walk north.
Imonie was shocked to see me at the door. She had the town house to herself, and was in the middle of scrubbing the hallway when I arrived.
“What happened?” she asked, tossing down her bristle brush to greet me.
“Why does everyone assume something terrible has happened every time they see me?” I asked, exasperated.
Imonie pursed her lips, but I noticed how her eyes flickered over me, from head to foot. As if ensuring I was hale. “Well, it was the new moon last night. I take it you were victorious?”
I only sighed.
Her eyes narrowed. “I think this conversation calls for tea. And a hot breakfast. Come here, Clem.”
I followed her into the kitchen, thankful that she didn’t ask questions while she cooked, but that she listened as I rambled on about the night. I wanted to tell her of the knight but refrained, and perhaps it was only because Phelan had seemed so intent on keeping it a secret. I was on my second cup of tea when I confessed, “I saw the countess this morning. I just so happened to be sleeping in Phelan’s bed when she arrived.”
Imonie’s face paled. “And why were you in Phelan’s bed?”
“Nothing happened. He was wounded and he asked me to stay with him.”
Imonie eased into the chair across from mine. She wrapped her fingers around her teacup, her eyes glazed in fear. I had never seen such a thing in her—she kept her emotions as guarded as she did her past.
“I want you to stay away from her,” she said.
“Who? Lady Raven?”
Imonie nodded. “She’s dangerous, Clem. She will stop at nothing to get what she wants.”
“How do you know that?” I asked, breakfast suddenly like lead in my stomach.
“Have you ever heard about the Count of Amarys?”
“Her husband? No.”
“That’s because he’s dead,” Imonie said. “Been dead for almost sixteen years now. There was much speculation at the time he died. One day he was fine, the next? He fell sick. He died three days later, bloated and choking on his own blood. The countess was a young mother to two boys, and it all seemed rather tragic until rumors began to fly that the Duke of Bardyllis was the boys’ true father, and not the count. And that perhaps the countess had poisoned her husband to get rid of him.”