Page 23 of Bloodgrove

“But you are not interested in women.” Elodie released the strand and curled her fingers around her cup again.

“No. And magic is forbidden.”

For a moment, she waited to see whether he would say more. But Will remained silent, because once again he had no answer.

Distant footsteps sounded as the servants began their shifts. Elodie slipped past him and set her cup on the counter. Though nothing about her appearance changed, she was suddenly the duchess again.

“It is already improper for an unmarried woman such as myself to share her home with a young man like you,” she said coolly. “We should not repeat a meeting like this.”

Will gave a brief bow. “Your Grace.”

Chapter 12

Will had no answers. He stood in the middle of the ballroom, now little more than a gutted skeleton, and cursed. Everything he was seemed to dissolve between his fingers; even the last few truths he had believed he could hold on to with certainty were fading. Paper lay scattered all around him—some sheets crumpled, others torn, others tossed aside without thought. The new ballroom refused to take shape in his mind. He knew the pressure was causing a creative block, one that hardened the more he fought against it.

But it would not be so frightening if he had an answer to anything else. To one damned part of his life.

The moment Elodie had left the kitchen, he had gone to the conservatory, grabbed his sketchpad, and ever since, he had been standing among the shards of his life. He had hoped that designing might give him at least one thing he could control. The fact that the weather had chosen this day to mock him with sunshine only made it worse.

At least he could identify the problems: this project, his magic, Elodie, and nothing less than his entire future.

The proportions of the ballroom did not work. It was too wide for its height, and the windows were not large enough to compensate for the lack of light in the narrow street outside. Worse still, because the room faced southeast, it received no sunlight in the evening, when it mattered most.

And just as he had been warned, magic had done nothing but make his life harder. It had been naïve to flee from the power inside him to a cursed city like Bloodgrove. Would people smell the stench of magic on him when he returned to the Capitol? But what kind of future did he have at all if this project didn’t work out? And even if it would be perfect…

He stared up at the ceiling, finally freed of its chains.

A temple, high and airy, spreading wide as the crown of a tree. Chandeliers floated overhead like golden clouds, lit by the setting sun. This ballroom was not the black of the witching hour, but the azure of dusk, when the veil between the faerie realm and their own grew thin, and maidens danced with fauns and young men with elves until the soles of their shoes wore through.

Will stepped back in shock. He could see the vision settling over reality, demanding to be made real—but how? A project like this, in a room like this, would only be possible with magic.

Raised voices broke through his thoughts. He recognized them at once, coming from the stairwell and sounding suspiciously heated. Curiosity won out, and for the moment, there was nothing he could do about his problem anyway. He followed the voices, stopped in the doorway, and peered over the balustrade into the entrance hall below.

Elodie stood halfway up the stairs, one hand gathering the skirts of her dark-green dress, her face twisted into a mocking grimace as she looked down at Arcos.

Mr. Arcos was seething with rage. He raised one hand in accusation, while the other held the leashes of his two dogs, who waited patiently beside him. Their long black coats gleamed in the sunlight pouring through the open front door, and still Will thought of the chimera and its filthy, matted fur. Had Elodie not said she had stolen it from Mr. Arcos?

“Have you lost your mind, setting a chimera on me during a council session?” Mr. Arcos shouted. Only then did Will notice the long cuts across his face, the bandaged hand, and the spatters of blood reaching into his hair. His strange black clothing hung from him in shreds. It was not his usual elegant suit, but a robe with wide sleeves ending in fitted cuffs, not unlike a judge’s gown. A heavy chain of silver links rested across his shoulders. “Two council members are dead, and everyone thinks I did it! They had to adjourn the session.”

“The council session where I was meant to be sworn in!” Elodie shouted back in the same tone.

“If you had not caused a scene at the opera, they might have given you a seat! But once again, you’ve proven to them that after your father’s death, you are still too emotional.”

Will drew in a sharp breath, and Elodie stared at the ambassador in disbelief.

“You mean when you humiliated me? When you passed off my blood pledge as your own? Just as you are taking the credit again now.”

“You spend blood as though you have nothing to lose! You paid the blood toll to bring in a damned interior designer. For what? So you can host prettier balls? You know exactly how your father’s last ball ended!”

Will crept a few steps closer to the balustrade. History hung heavily in the air, and everything inside him wanted to understand it. He wanted to know why he was here, why the two of them hated each other, and why he had been caught between them.

The dogs lay down as Arcos dropped their leashes and crossed to the staircase, stopping at its foot.

“You know exactly why I am doing this,” Elodie hissed.

“Because you want to become the next Red Hand,” Mr. Arcos said, stunned. “Still.”

Elodie had regained control of herself, her expression once more a cool mask. “Still. What should have changed?”