It was a dangerous favor to ask, which was why he didn’t add that Lourdes was a monarchist. He didn’t intend for Chez or Mansi to go digging and leave an incriminating trail. Lourdes was well-known, but only in a few circles—nothing that would’ve touched the Irons. The less they knew, the better.
He turned to Mansi. “I also need your help tonight.”
“For what?” she asked eagerly.
“I need you to help me sneak four people into the Sauterelle.” Mansi worked there as kitchen staff, as well as an amateur card dealer.
“Celebrating something?” Chez asked, a slight sneer in his voice.
“A business meeting of sorts,” Levi said.
Mansi nodded. “I can do that. No problem. Who’s going?”
“Me, Jac, that girl you met yesterday and a friend.”Reymond. He couldn’t say that in front of Chez. Tonight, he’d make Mansi swear to keep it a secret. It wasn’t fair to her, but Levi didn’t have the luxury of playing fair. “I’ll even bet a hand or two at their tables. You should play, too.”
She beamed. “I’ve been practicing. The boss says I could be as good as you someday.”
“You could even be better.”
Behind her, Chez glared. It was an empty glare, Levi thought. Hesuspectedthe truth, but he didn’t know. Like Mansi, the Irons were loyal to him. And no matter what Chez told them, no matter how bad it got, they all needed to believe in him for nine more days. He needed to believe it, too.
Nine more days, and he would fix this.
ENNE
Enne stared down an impossibly long hallway. The tiled floor, the alternating doors, and the stone columns all repeated the same pattern of black and white.
She knew she was dreaming, but she couldn’t wake up. Not until she found the right door.
She turned the knob on a white door to her left. Locked. She tried the black one beside it, and it clicked and swung open. Once she stepped across the threshold, she slipped back into her own mind from four months past...and entered a memory.
She was in a wool coat. February—she didn’t detest anything quite so much as she did February, even if it was her birthday month. She stomped through the snow. Look at her. Stomping. Ladies were supposed toglide. A girl from her class passed by in a motorcar whose two flags bore her family’s crest. Enne froze and tried to make herself appear smaller. This really was a hideous wool coat. Perhaps if she didn’t move, the girl wouldn’t see her.
The girl didn’t. But to Enne, that was almost worse.
The motorcar drove away, and Lourdes was behind it, standing beneath a streetlamp with a newspaper tucked under her arm, wearing her favorite crimson scarf. She smirked; she must’ve seen Enne stomping.Hmph.Well, Lourdes might think it was amusing, butshedidn’t have her society entrance in a year. Besides, Lourdes didn’t glide, either. Her motherstrode, the heels of her boots clicking rhythmically, deliberately. Not that Lourdes was a lady every day, like she had dressed this morning.
Lourdes hugged her when Enne crossed the street, and despite Enne’s worries a few moments ago, she instantly felt safer. Lourdes smelled like fresh ink, which meant she’d spent all morning writing letters to her friends in New Reynes. Honestly, Enne didn’t understand why Lourdes associated with them. Everyone knewtheydefined reputation by the amount of voltage one gambled away or the number of mistresses one kept.
They entered a nearby café and were instantly enveloped in the aroma of fresh bread. Lourdes and Enne shared a cheese pastry to start, as they always did when Lourdes visited on Thursdays. Lourdes ate delicately, her slender fingers easing the crust from the filling. Enne refrained from tearing at it and tried to mimic Lourdes’s easy grace.
“How are your classes?” Lourdes asked, sipping her tea. It was in that moment that Enne admired—as she had many times before—how striking her mother was. Her blond hair was as pale and thin as the threads spun from a silkworm, her features serious yet elegant, from her aquiline nose to her deep-set eyes. Enne considered her best quality to be her skin, free of freckles or blemishes of any kind, and surprisingly youthful despite her age. Lourdes had an effortless grace that Enne was convinced she’d never possess. No matter how many etiquette lessons she took, how many classes she spent walking with books upon her head—nothing in Enne’s life had ever felt effortless.
“They’re horridly dull. Algebra is illogical. My history teacher’s voice puts everyone to sleep. Madame Tensington threatens to strap a ruler to my back to keep my posture straight—”
“Breathe, Enne. You’ll impair your digestion.” Lourdes laughed. “You know, I bet algebra isn’t all that illogical.”
“It is to me. Some days, if it were not for my ten fingers, I don’t know how I’d survive.”
“Surviving with fewer than ten fingers would be taxing, indeed,” she said solemnly. Somehow, Enne still suspected she was joking.
They picked at the last pieces of the pastry, or rather, Enne did. Lourdes seemed to have lost her appetite.
“I’m leaving for New Reynes tomorrow,” she said. “I have some business there.”
What business?Enne wanted to ask, but she never did. She’d decided long ago that she didn’t want to know.
“I’ll be back before school finishes, of course.”
