“I’m terrified,” she said.
He held her to him. “I wish I knew what to say,” he murmured. “I wish I had the right words.”
“Tell me what will happen if we win,” she asked.
“If we win, I will find you,” he told her. “And if it’s in my power, we will never be apart again. If you will have me.”
“And if I won’t?”
He raised his eyebrows. “I’ll probably beg. Or do one of those stupid dramatic things men do to win women over. If we still lived in the time of knights, I’d just unhorse anyone who stood in my way.”
“I’ll hold you to it,” she whispered, and kissed him back.
HER Grace, Lady Jane Olivia Camarine, Duchess of the Southern Provinces, was flawless, Charlotte reflected. She looked to be in her late forties although likely older since her son, the Earl of Camarine, was past thirty. Her tunic and trousers, a gorgeous emerald green and cream, were tailored with a deceptive simplicity that masked her thickening waist while playing up the duchess’s curves. Her hair, artfully layered on her head in twin plaits, elongated her round face. She wore a single piece of jewelry, a wedding ring crafted from spider-silk-thin tendrils of gold. It was both extremely expensive and superbly tasteful. She stood on the terrace, next to a picnic table, bathed in morning light.
“Look at the way she stands,” Charlotte murmured, as she and Sophie followed Jack to the table. “Chin tilted upward to make the neck appear thinner; light on the left, so it will play up the draping lines on her tunic. Long vertical lines, like those, make you appear thinner. You must always be aware of the light and know your best angles.”
“Your Grace,” Jack said. “May I present Charlotte de Ney and Lark.”
“Sophie Mar,” Charlotte murmured under her breath.
“And Sophie Mar,” he intoned.
Charlotte curtsied. Next to her, Sophie sank down gracefully.
“What a pleasure to meet you both.” The duchess smiled warmly. “Children, do you actually want to be here?”
“No,” Jack and Sophie chorused.
The duchess grinned. “Broderick fixed the fountain in the pool.” She pointed with her thumb over her shoulder in a distinctly unblueblood gesture. “Flee while you can!”
The two teenagers took off down the wide white stairs toward the pool gleaming in the middle of the lawn. At the last step, as if by some signal, they broke into a run, flying across the grass. Jack spilled out of his clothes. Sophie grasped the hem of her gown. Dear Dawn Mother, please let there be something under it. The gown flew off, revealing a small bikini. The two teenagers leaped in unison and vanished into the water.
“They planned this, didn’t they?”
“I’d imagine so,” Her Grace said. “Shall we?”
They sat at a table.
“I remember you. You were only fifteen at the time, but I recall you escorting Augustine al Ran.”
“I’m flattered,” Charlotte said.
“So is it Charlotte de Ney?”
There was no point in hiding. “Charlotte de Ney al-te Ran, Your Grace.”
“I thought so. Jack mentioned that you’ve been living in the Edge for the past three years. Have you been to see your mother since your return?”
“No, Your Grace.”
“The boys have given me a summary of your plan. Is it true? A Brennan is dealing in slaves?”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
The duchess looked at the two teenagers splashing in the pool. “I knew his parents. They were nice people. Capable, morally upright, conscious of their responsibilities. I wonder if they know. I doubt it. As a parent, you always worry and wonder if you went wrong somewhere, if something you said or did caused your child to stray from the path.”
“With all due respect, he did more than stray,” Charlotte said. “You wouldn’t believe the horrors I’ve seen.”
A shadow passed over the duchess’s face. “Perhaps I would. I will help you, my dear. We have a duty to bring him down.”
“Thank you, Your Grace.”
An outraged howl came from the pool, followed by Sophie’s laugh.
The duchess sighed. “Sophie doesn’t trust many people. I’ve tried to forge a bond, but she very politely keeps me at arm’s length. If Sophie chose, she could live with her sister, but she selected not to do it. She holds herself apart, but she seems to respond to you. It’s a precious connection. Please safeguard it.”
THIRTEEN
GEORGE stood next to the Duchess of Southern Provinces, or Lady Olivia, as she preferred to be called, and surveyed the glittering gathering of the Adrianglian elite. Not all of them were blueblood, but all were rich or powerful or both. Lady Olivia wore a green bracelet on her left wrist, which signaled that she wished to maintain her privacy, and they were left to their own devices.
Around them, the vast terrace of the Evergreen castle stretched into the night, bordered by tall, pale columns, each supporting a tasteful cascade of flowers growing from marble planters. Dense trees surrounded the terrace on the north and south. To the west, the entrance to the castle’s first floor gaped open, illuminated with golden light. There, the new arrivals paused at the entrance to be announced and recognized before drifting on to mingle. To the right, the trees had been cleared, and the ground dropped to the shimmering waters of the Evergreen Lake. Above burned the sunset, a garish spectacle of red and gold so vivid, it almost hurt.
Standing there, watching people flutter by, George felt a peculiar sense of detachment, as if he were in a dream. The end of spring was an ancient celebration, born in a more violent time, when starvation decimated the population, war was frequent, and human life cheap. The people who’d begun it wore simple clothes and carried savage weapons. They gave thanks to their gods for surviving to summer. Now their descendants floated on, dressed in fine gowns and tailored jackets, aware but unwilling to acknowledge the tradition of blood that gave the festival its roots. But they were still just as brutal as their ancestors. If a threat were to appear, the entire gathering would spark with bursts of lightning as their magic sliced it to pieces.
The George Camarine side of him reminded him of the commonly known facts about each familiar face, while the Mirror agent side served up their secrets. Here came Lady Olla in a beautiful gown of sea-foam green, a white flower in her red hair. She had a penchant for collecting crystal figurines of dragons and a severe addiction to sumah. He knew the names of her suppliers and where they could be found. Lord Ronkor, a former logistics officer and now a transportation supervisor in the Department of the Interior, broad-shouldered, confident, exuded an air of masculine swagger as he took wide strides across the floor. Lord Ronkor enjoyed being spanked by young women and was notoriously quick in bed, according to the prostitutes he frequented. His wife hadn’t noticed—she was carrying on a decade-long affair with her best friend’s sister. Yes, hello, how are you? How’s your cousin, the one working in Kamen Port Authority? Is he still taking bribes? What a delightful scamp.
A small hand rested on his shoulder. “You look distant, my dear.”
He bowed his head slightly. “Apologies, Your Grace.”
The woman next to him frowned with her eyes. Her face remained perfectly pleasant. Her Grace Olivia Camarine wore a gown of deep regal purple. The theme of the festival was nature and rebirth, a celebration of spring, and the hue of her dress precisely matched the clusters of widow’s tear flowers spilling from the planters. Her dark hair was put away into a tasteful arrangement. In her late fifties, she looked twenty years younger, and despite her age and a life that was more than trying, she remained beautiful. She was Declan’s mother, and she had stepped into the role of George’s grandmother as soon as Jack and he arrived in the Edge. That role had been officially chiseled into stone when Declan and Rose formally adopted him and Jack.