Kyrith has been hurt enough.
Pierce is waitingfor me in the foyer, his hands in his pockets.
“You ready?” he asks.
“Let’s get this over with.”
He knocks on the main door. “Carlton Manor.”
It swings open, revealing a marble-tiled entry room, painted in creams and oranges that do nothing to warm the space. From my first step, I can feel the wards around us pricking.
“Good evening, sirs,” a butler—of course they have a butler—says.
Pierce shoves past him without acknowledging that he spoke at all. “Dinner is being served in the formal dining room, I presume?”
“Yes, sir. Your mother and her other guests are waiting.”
There’s a touch of admonishment in his tone, but Pierce simply shrugs. “We were held up.”
The older man says nothing, and I forget all about him as Pierce leads us along a corridor hung with drab family portraits, then through a solid door into a room drenched in deep emerald. The huge table in the middle is laid with a crisp white tablecloth, although no one else has sat down yet.
Isidora is by the fireplace, staring quietly into the flames. Anthea is by the door, looking like she’s about to pounce—or bolt—I’m not quite sure which.
But the two people who immediately hold my attention are in the far corner.
Mathias Ackland seems visibly older than he did when Pierce proved to us he was alive with the necklace. His liver-spotted skin has taken on a papery cast, and his hair is thinningso badly that he resembles a walking skeleton. His fingertips are dark, almost black, and his lips are a deep purplish blue…like he’s already dead.
No doubt, being without his pet restorationist has taken its toll on his body. Pity he won’t die from ageing. No. We have to find that phylactery.
I scan his suit for a glint that might give away its location.
Nothing.
But my perusal means my eyes inevitably land on the second man. The one I’ve been avoiding.
Galileo.
If I could throttle him or curse him all over again, I would. Our girl is so strong, pretending like his defection isn’t cutting her to the bone while she continues working to save his ungrateful ass. Now here he is, shoulder to shoulder with the lich. I can’t make out what they’re saying, only the rasp of the magister’s speech and the lyrical edges of Leo’s accent, but I doubt it’s good.
When Kyrith hears about this, she’ll rage—as she should—but then she’ll hide herself away and lick her wounds in quiet dignity.
Does he even know that he’s the reason she’s been working non-stop for days? His face is looking particularly punchable, so I force my gaze away. Isidora is approaching us with a practiced smile on her face.
“Dakari Talcott, you’ve been a difficult man to find.” Her greeting is laced with reproach, and I suppress a grimace as she does those awkward little air kisses over both of my cheeks. “Your uncle was supposed to be here, but it seems he’s been delayed. Hopefully, he’ll arrive before the main course.” She clicks her fingers. “Anthea, stop lurking. Come get your betrothed a drink.”
Hearing her refer to me like that rankles, especially because I have less than zero intention of ever marrying her daughter.The idea is abhorrent. Still, I offer Anthea a polite nod as she comes to my side and brace myself for whatever invasion of my personal space she’s decided to unleash on me this time.
Only…she doesn’t.
Since her mother and my uncle came up with this stupid alliance, she’s all but thrown herself at me. Now she seems…quiet. Withdrawn.
The glass of wine she hands me shakes slightly.
Thank magic Kyrith agreed to close the Arcanaeum and lock it, because that tremor winds my gut into knots.
Anthea Carlton has never been afraid in her life.
I’ve certainly never given her reason to be.
