I paused in the foyer, listening. I reached out with my magic, mindful to go gently, or else I might gain their attention.
Mrs. Stirling was in the kitchen. She stood at the counter making dumplings. Flour was on her apron, on her face. She sang beneath her breath. Farther down the corridor, I sensed Phelan in the library. The doors were open, and he sat with the book of nightmares cracked before him. He was so still he could have been hewn from stone as he stared at the page. His worry hung in the air like a thundercloud. And then beyond the back door, in the garden, was Deacon. He was supposed to be gathering herbs for dinner but he was preoccupied with whittling a stick into an arrow.
I called my magic back to me and slipped away from the town house, careful to make no sound.
I hurried down the street, fighting the sensation I was being followed. It eventually overcame me so greatly that I did pause and wait in the alley between two shops, to see if anyone was trailing me. Phelan, most likely. But I never saw him, and I imagined I was simply being paranoid, after discovering that my father was not who I believed him to be.
I called a horse and cab and traveled to the northwest point of the city.
I lingered in a shadow by the mine yard, waiting for dark, when my father’s shift would be over.
It seemed like I waited an eternity before the miners began to file out of the earth, their faces streaked with grime. My father was at the end of the line, his head bowed, his boots dragging. I intercepted him, grasping hold of his shirt and tugging.
“What—?” He let out a startled sound until he realized it was me. He followed me to an alley, and his concern nearly smothered me.
“Has he discovered you? Do we need to flee?”
I gaped at my father. He acted as if nothing had happened the night before. As if he had not tried to strangle me.
“Clem,” he urged, impatient.
“Who are you?” I countered coldly.
He blinked, taken aback. I could just discern his face—the face of a forty-seven-year-old man who I had implicitly trusted—as a nearby lamp limned us with faint light.
“What?”
“You heard me,” I snapped.
“I have no idea what you mean, Clem.”
“It’s Anna. And you do know, Ambrose.” I drew my hair away from my neck, so he could see the bruises.
The shock and fury on his face were electrifying. My father reached for me but I evaded him, my stomach knotting. I was going to be sick. I was shaking, fuming. My anger was so keen it felt like I might break apart.
“Did he do this?” he demanded, his voice trembling.
“No, Phelan did not do this to me. You did. Last night.”
“Last night?” he whispered, bewildered, and then he realized it had been the new moon. “Wait a minute, Clem. Wait!”
But I had already taken a step away from him. When he moved to follow, I held up my hand and he halted.
“Where did you get the armor? What spells are you casting to step into the dreams? Why did you wound Phelan twice? Why are you disguising your face?”
He stared at me as if I had lost my mind. I felt trapped in an upside-down world with him, one where nothing made sense, and all I could hear was my own uneven pulse, beating like a drum in my ears.
“I have no idea what you speak of, Clem!”
My eyes burned with angry tears. “I know you’re wearing a glamour. One that makes you look far older than you are. And I want you to stay away from me, in both worlds. The waking as well as the new moon realm. Stay away from Mama and Imonie. Do not come near me or Phelan again, or I will have the duke eviscerate you. Do you hear me?”
“Daughter, please,” he said, stepping nearer to me. “Explain to me what happened. Did you see me in a dream?”
For a moment, I almost believed him, that he had no recollection of last night. But I wouldn’t be deceived by him and his act.
“Don’t come any closer to me!” I warned. “Did you not hear me? I don’t trust you. You are vile and deceptive and I want no part of you.”
I turned and began to stride away.
“Clem! Clem!” he shouted, which only fueled my anger as he recklessly exposed my cover.
I gathered my stealth charm about me, slipping from his reach and his sight. And yet I couldn’t resist. I glanced over my shoulder to see my father on his knees in the street, dazed as if I had just given him a mortal wound.
30
It was late when I returned to the town house. Mrs. Stirling and Deacon had departed for the night, and I found Phelan sitting in the drawing room before the fire, a glass of wine in hand.
“Miss Neven,” he greeted me as I joined him in the room. I should have known then that something was wrong, but my mind was trapped in a daze. “Are you all right? We were worried about you.”
I sank into the chair across from his. “I’m fine. I went for a walk. I apologize for missing dinner.” I met his gaze, shocked when I saw that his dark hair was unbound, brushing his collarbones. Why was he regarding me in such a way, as if he were memorizing me?
“Is there something on your mind?” he asked.
“No.” It was strange how his eyes, slowly taking me in, made me ache to be known. To not have to hide and pretend and feel this rock in my chest.
“You know you can confide in me, Anna.”
Let it crack, I dared myself. Let yourself fall and come undone and be who you want.
“I know.”
The enticement lasted for a minute before I regained control of myself, glancing away from his intensity. I watched the safety of the fire. And I realized I was just like my father, cut from the same cloth. Deception and secrets and vengeance and lies ran thick in our blood.
“Can I tempt you with a round of Seven Wraiths?” Phelan asked quietly.
“I’m sick of Seven Wraiths,” I replied, pinching the bridge of my nose when I inevitably envisioned my father in that bloodstained armor.
“Then grab another game. I think it’ll take your mind off whatever is troubling you,” he said. “At least for tonight, while you are here with me.”
I sighed but conceded to look at him once more. His gaze was on my neck. On my bruises, I realized, and I watched as his knuckles drained white.
“Very well,” I said, and rose.
I was glad to turn away from him, walking to where the cupboard sat against the wall, just beneath the mirror. I crouched to avoid its taunting gleam, opening the cabinet and sifting through the other board games until I found one that seemed promising. I stood without a second thought.
I hadn’t heard him move.
I hadn’t sensed his presence, not until it was too late.
Phelan stood behind me. I met his stare in the mirror, and his shock sent a pang through me.
He beheld me as I truly was, the girl he had first met and championed. Neither of us moved or spoke. It felt as if ice had fettered my ankles, sprouted in my chest, making it difficult to think through the frost that gleamed between us.
And then he broke it with his voice—the ice and the uncertainty and my entire facade.
“Clem.”
The sound was beautiful and terrible, piercing me like an arrow. I felt a crack in my chest. It wasn’t deep; it was only a hairline break, the stone faithfully holding to my heart, even as the pain swarmed. I pressed a fist to my breast, clenching my teeth until I thought they would chip.