Leo had always thought it had simply been a luck-of-the-draw-type situation—that Pelago happened to be fortunate in ways Kaolin wasn’t. He’d never imagined there was a specific reason behind the difference.
“The Arboreal and the mertag are not merely grotesques,” Xavier said without waiting for a response. “They have abilities, Leo. Powers you and I have never dreamed of.”
“Like . . . magic?” he asked. It sounded awfully far-fetched.
His father chuckled. “I suppose you could call it that. Magic seems too frivolous a word, too fantastical, and these creatures and their skills are very much real.”
“What do they do?”
Xavier leaned forward. “They replenish. They can make this country as fruitful as Pelago. Imagine not needing to bow to the demands of the Triumvirate. Not to be dictated or talked down to by those three scheming, godless queens. And we will own this power, Leo. We will control it, the McLellans alone, and our name will go down in history as the family that saved Kaolin.” There was a fanatical gleam in his eye that made Leo uneasy. “They’ve been keeping this secret to themselves, all these years, those greedy and grasping Pelagans. She thinks she is untouchable. But she will see. . . .” He trailed off.
She? Leo thought. But he decided not to press that matter—something about it felt dangerous, especially in tandem with the conversation he’d overheard with Kiernan. He wondered if he should stop asking questions altogether, but his father had never confided in him like this, and the need to know more was irresistible.
“So then why perform a play at all?” he asked.
Xavier refilled his own glass. “Advertising,” he said. “And money. No reason not to have one last hurrah before I bow out of the theater scene, and no better way to get the word out than to make a big splash about it. It will leave no doubt as to who they belong to, who is responsible for bringing them to Kaolin. Those creatures are mine, and no one is going to take them from me.”
Something about this version of his father scared Leo more than the version he was used to.
“I have dedicated my whole life to repairing the damage my father has done, to ensuring that this family lives on with the respect it deserves.” There was a haunted look in Xavier’s eyes. “Think about what kind of man you wish to be, Leo. Think about the mantle you will wear one day. I would hate to see everything I’ve worked for, everything I have built, squandered as it once was. I would hate to think my own son capable of such ruin.”
Leo swallowed hard and gave a curt nod.
“You have surprised me with the ingenuity you showed in the plains, catching that girl and bringing her back to me. Let us hope she does not disappoint.”
There was a knock on the door, and Swansea poked his head in. “I have heard from Mr. Grange. It is done, sir.”
“Good.” Xavier stood and moved to stare out the back window at the garden. “You are dismissed, Leo. Go send your sister down to me.”
It was only after he left that Leo realized he’d forgotten to ask his father about the island he had seemed so intent on finding. But then, perhaps it was for the best—he’d gotten more than he’d ever dreamed, and he didn’t want Xavier to think him an eavesdropper.
15
Agnes
AGNES SAT IN THE TUB WHILE HATTIE, THE MAID, scrubbed her back, her mind replaying on a loop the moment when Branson had hit Sera.
She hated herself for just standing by and letting them take her away. But what else could she have done? The truth was, no matter how much she might wish otherwise, she was unable to disobey her father when he was standing right in front of her. Sneaking out was one thing. Ignoring a direct command was quite another.
“So Mrs. Phelps told him I was gone?” she asked. She hadn’t taken the housekeeper into account when she’d planned her escape.
“Yes, miss,” Hattie said. Then she lowered her voice. “I’ve never seen him so angry. He got all quiet. Like he turned to stone.”
Agnes shivered. Mrs. Phelps bustled into the room and Hattie fell silent.
“How are you feeling, dearie?” she asked, checking the temperature of the water and wiping her hands on her apron. “More hot water, Hattie.”
Hattie curtsied and left. Mrs. Phelps wasn’t as forthcoming as the young maid, but Agnes had to know what was happening.
“Where did the truck go?” she asked.
“Never you mind about that.” The Solit triangle brooch at her throat gleamed as Mrs. Phelps bent to wet a washcloth and scrubbed down the length of Agnes’s right arm before moving to the left. “Let’s get this nasty dirt off you.”
“I don’t mind a little dirt,” Agnes grumbled.
Mrs. Phelps sighed. “I know you don’t. But your father does.”
It was always what her father wanted. She thought about the jar with Sera’s hair in it, now hidden safely away in her lab. And the letter from Ithilia, tucked inside a book. She had thought she would feel prouder of herself, but mostly she felt like she hadn’t done anything at all. She should have let Sera escape right away. She should have found some way to get to Pelago already, her father’s money be damned—she had some jewelry of value she could pawn. Surely there was a Pelagan ship that would take her. They wouldn’t care about Kaolin rules, or needing a man’s permission. University or not, at least she could be herself there. Leo’s words rang in her ears.
Don’t worry, I’m sure he’ll just marry you off to some low-class Old Port boy and wash his hands of you.
And she knew he would. If Agnes was honest with herself, it was a miracle he hadn’t already. Her stomach clenched at the thought of being married to a man, sharing a bed with a man. If her mother had still been alive, Agnes wondered, would she have been able to confide in her about the type of person she truly wished to marry? Pelago wasn’t as strict as Kaolin when it came to matters of sexuality. There were two southern islands, Lisbe and Crake, that were almost exclusively homosexual. Agnes used to dream of living on one of them when she was younger and beginning to understand that she was not like the other girls she knew. But even as a child, she recognized the danger in expressing that dream aloud.
“My mother wouldn’t have minded,” she muttered.
“Oh yes, she would have,” Mrs. Phelps said. “I know you like to romanticize her, but I’m sure she would have wanted a clean daughter as much as your father does.”
For a heart-stopping second, Agnes thought the woman had read her mind; then she realized Mrs. Phelps was just talking about the dirt again.
“But you didn’t even know her,” she said. Mrs. Phelps had been hired after her mother died.
“No, I didn’t, and I can’t say I’m sorry for it. I worked for the Hornes back then. But everyone knew about Xavier McLellan’s Pelagan wife. All those parties she used to throw, the way she dressed . . . I don’t like to speak ill of the dead, but she was a dangerous woman, your mother. Wild. Unconventional. There were stories flying about that she had used her Talman magic and invoked some goddess or other to trick him into the marriage.”
Agnes snorted. “That’s ridiculous.”
“Well, he started acting strangely after a while, that’s for certain. But then she died and he came back to his old self and that was that. Best to keep the past in the past.”