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Clare shrugged. “She was younger and prettier.”
To anyone else, it would have sounded like a shallow reason. But he understood her well enough. Understood that often, younger and prettier meant more vulnerable.
“You know she wanted two days so she can warn them all off from you, yes?”
“It’s to be expected.”
“Then why not find them on your own? Going like this—they’ll know you don’t belong in their circles.”
She didn’t answer for several strides, enough of them that he thought she wouldn’t. “Because they would eventually put together who I am, even if I tried to hide it.” The corner of her lip twitched. “I’m not so good at wearing different faces as you are. It would eventually come out and they wouldn’t trust me. They won’t trust me this way, either, but they won’t be able to feel betrayed. And if word starts circulating that the Black Diamond prefers to spend her time with musicians of no affiliation and refuses to pay any dues to the Musicians Guild, well, I wouldn’t terribly mind that.”
He shook his head. “Be careful. No matter how long a stick you use to poke that hornet’s nest, Madame Aria has a long reach, within the city and the Mages Guild. She can be vindictive.”
Clare’s lips settled into a cold smile. “So can I.”
He didn’t try to talk her out of it. She wouldn’t bend or be persuaded. But unease coiled in his stomach. For a woman who’d come here determined to move up in rank, she seemed equally determined to make as many enemies as possible along the way.
He admired the blunt honesty of her approach—she was unapologetically herself, though he suspected most people would never realize that—even as he wondered how much difficulty it would cause her. He and the Arrendons could only protect her so far. He was limited by the constraints of his role, one he already stepped too far outside of simply by associating with her. The Arrendons were frequently gone, and the members of the Mages Guild disliked them almost as much as they feared them. If they thought they could get at the Arrendons by getting at Clare, they would.
But he suspected if he said any of that, she would only tell him she didn’t need anyone’s protection.
They passed a mural painted on the wall of one of the nearby buildings and Clare halted Kialla, her eyes going over the vivid strokes of green and red that so perfectly brought the flowering bush they depicted to life.
“It’s beautiful.” She said it as if it was an indictment. “I like beautiful things. Even if I shouldn’t.”
He nudged Hellack closer alongside her. “Why shouldn’t you?”
“Because they never last. You have to make them ugly, just a little, if you want them to endure.”
She wasn’t talking about things anymore, he knew. Her fingers had curled into fists around the reins, and there was a hardness in her voice, an anger that didn’t want to be tempered.
“Do you want one?” he found himself blurting out.
She looked at him, startling out of that anger. “A mural?”
He shook his head. “How do you feel about taking a detour?” He didn’t wait for her to answer, nudging Hellack into a canter and trusting she would follow. They reached his estate soon enough and he dismounted, leaving Clare with a quick, “I’ll be right back.”
He went in, down the stairs to the basement level, where the rooms were cool and dry and spelled to keep out unwanted moisture. Cabinets lined the walls, hundreds upon hundreds of small drawers, all meticulously labeled. He searched until he found the one he wanted, slipping an envelope of seeds into his pocket before grabbing a small trowel and running back outside, half convinced he’d find Hellack waiting and Clare gone.
But she was still there, wry amusement on her face at his enthusiasm as he mounted Hellack and led them back toward the Arrendons’ estate.
“Dare I ask what we’re doing?”
“It’s a surprise.”
“I never like surprises,” she muttered. But she didn’t argue as she followed his lead.
Outside the Arrendons’ manor he asked, “Which window is yours?”
She humored him, pointing out the right one and crouching beside him in front of it. He handed her the trowel.
“What am I meant to do with this?”
“It’s a digging implement. One imagines you dig with it.”
“One imagines it’s also great for hitting princes upside the head with.”
“I think you’ve already caused me enough physical injury for one friendship. And all I ask in return is a tiny bit of digging.”
