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So she didn’t push the subject, letting him lead the way inside.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
The Musicale House
An attendant came forward to take their coats, and Clare reluctantly handed hers over. Impulsively, she pressed a coin to the man’s hand. “See that it doesn’t get lost. It’s my favorite.” When Numair’s lips curved into a smile, she snapped, “What?”
If anything, her snapping seemed to amuse him more. “Nothing. Only, you have excellent taste in outerwear.”
So he did recognize his coat, then.
Another attendant came forward, her gaze darting to the gemstone hanging from Clare’s ear, clearly having been informed to recognize her from it. “Miss Brighton, your patron is in the courtyard.” To Numair, she bowed. “Your Highness, we weren’t expecting you this evening.”
Clare arched an eyebrow at her. “I trust that won’t be a problem for you.”
The attendant’s gaze snapped between Clare and Numair, as if suddenly realizing they hadn’t simply happened to walk in at the same time. “You’ll be sitting at the countess’s table, then?”
At his nod, a flurry of subtle hand gestures followed, and two other members of the staff slipped down a hallway. Presumably to find the requisite seating for Numair’s unexpected arrival.
“Right this way.”
Their attendant led them through the building and into a stunning outdoor courtyard, although that was, perhaps, too light a word to describe it. Forming a perfect sphere, the courtyard walls soared to twelve-foot heights, formed of interlocking gray stone that had been polished and lacquered to a hypnotizing shine. The ground between was all set floor, a glory of white marble veined with black and gray, the pieces having been fitted together so perfectly that not even Clare’s eyes could find the seams. Tables and chairs sprouted from the marble as if they had grown organically from it, the chairs twisting, beautiful creations, the tables supported only by the most fragile looking stem in the center, yet appearing as if they could withstand the weight of centuries.
Tall trees arched between the tables, towering with such perfection that it took Clare a moment to realize they were not living, but only facsimiles carved from colored glass with so much realism that one could almost hear the wind rustle through their inanimate leaves.
The crowning jewel of the courtyard rose in its center, a twisting silver spire ten feet tall. Water spilled from its tip, traveling down veins that branched off from the spire. The veins twisted and spiraled around each other, little notches cut into them here and there, encompassing the main body and forming a latticework of paths, the water following them down to spill into a basin set flush with the ground. Siren rock, in all its glowing, blue-violet glory, lined the bottom of the basin, covered deeply enough under three feet of water that, as the flowing water from the spiraling veins fell into the basin, it elicited only a soft, beautiful lull from the rocks. Enough sound to impart a slender fraction of the hypnotic calm the rocks were known for, but not enough to truly distract.
She wasn’t surprised to find winter’s chill banished from this outdoor space. A span of days was, it seemed, all it took to accustom her to the ways in which money bought precisely the setting one desired without any of its natural drawbacks. She followed their guide through the courtyard, grateful for the delicate softness of her slippers that allowed her to move silently across the room, a ghost drifting through shadows. The marble floor slid by, perfectly smooth beneath her feet.
A little too perfect, a little too smooth. It would look better shattered, Clare thought. But then, so many things did.
The thought brought the hint of a true smile to her lips, and it was still upon her face when their guide stopped before the table closest to the fountain. Its inhabitants had the look of those recently rearranged and irritated about the fact. Somehow, she wasn’t surprised to find the Countess Duval—who fit perfectly Alys's description of a pale-skinned, auburn-haired woman in her early fifties—in the company of Madame Aria, Estrella Vane, and Lady Meraland. She was, however, betting that the last woman had been a more recent addition, made after yesterday’s events.
The reasons behind the choice of Estrella were obvious, though how the countess had known to go after Madame Aria, Clare didn’t know. Clearly, the woman was extraordinarily put out by her sudden inability to afford the Rival Theater, and had gone digging for anyone who might have a grudge against Clare.
She couldn’t help but find a small bit of satisfaction in having managed to produce three such individuals for the countess’s picking, having been given only a few days to work with. Making enemies was every bit as much an art as music.
When the attendant indicated the seat next to Estrella Vane for Numair, she felt his loathing to take it. The sentiment wasn’t anywhere to be seen on his face—no betraying tightening of his mouth or narrowing of his eyes—but she was certain it was there. Just as she was certain he was going to take it anyway.
She blocked his path, turning to him. “You don’t mind if I sit next to Miss Vane, do you? The artists really should stick together.”
She felt his tension ease, even as he gave her a lopsided smile in what she now fully recognized as his already-pretending-to-be-mildly-tipsy fashion. “Far be it from me to deny a pretty woman anything.”
He held the chair out for her, drawing the curiosity of half the damn courtyard. She took it, ignoring the stares, and ignored everyone else at the table in favor of her patron for the evening.
“Countess, you honor me with this invitation.” Her voice held just the right amount of sincere earnestness to convince the table she had no idea this was an evening intended to ruin her, and it brought smiles to every woman’s face. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”
“Oh, I assure you, the pleasure is all mine.” Countess Duval flashed her teeth in a slightly predatory manner Clare might have approved of in other circumstances, then turned to Numair. “Though I admit I wasn’t expecting to see you in attendance tonight. After you sold me your stake in this establishment, I was under the impression you had no further interest in it.”
Somehow, Clare wasn’t surprised to learn he’d once owned part of this place.
Numair answered with an air of affected boredom. “I thought it was time I saw what you’d done with the old place. And Miss Brighton sings so prettily, I’m loath to miss a performance.”
“Indeed. I seem to recall another young Songweaver you were once loath to miss a performance of.” Estrella stiffened, leaving no doubt which Songweaver that had been. The countess smiled at Clare. “The attention of men is so fickle, is it not?”
“For some, perhaps. I can’t say I’ve ever found it to be so.”
Irritation laced Estrella’s voice as she said, “I’m sure you will find yourself exposed to the experience soon enough.”
