Page 38 of The False Vow

I remained there for a long time.

Without Eliot’s speech to fill the turret room, it was silent, its only occupants me and the tarnished bronze coin, sitting before the threshold like some kind of poisonous toad. Beyond the windows, a sudden burst of rain pattered against the glass. Its chatter felt accusatory, as if the storm were peeking in on me, gossiping.

I attempted to breathe in and felt panic slash behind my sternum. Each time I tried to process Eliot’s departure, my thoughts seemed to flee. I could not gather them—I could not focus—I could not—

I could not breathe.

Bending over, I placed my hands on my knees and forced my lungs to expand. My fingers were shaking—or perhaps it was my vision, blurry with tears. In every blink, I saw Eliot’s crestfallen expression as he turned away from me. To be frank, I am not sure whether you can love anyone, Lovett.

It pained me more than the sight of his engagement band, the metal matched to Clio’s as if, already, the two of them were one. All my life, I had thought myself corrupted. Where others had sympathy, I had only drive; where some extended kindness, competitiveness possessed me; where most saw a line, I refused to halt. My own brother, the sole family I had left in Balmoore, had tossed me out like a bad seed prior to Eliot’s finding me, and though I knew an argument could be made in my favor when it came to his actions, I wondered if, in reality, he’d been the one in the right. If perhaps his hatred of me was natural. Instinctive, like the way one hates a criminal, or the sight of blood unjustly spilled, or an unprovoked act of war.

During the Vainglory, Eliot had seen good in me, and his affection had made me soften. But now, even his vision had cleared. And I understood the truth.

I was not as bad as I thought. I was worse.

Bile rose in my gullet. I wanted desperately to cry—could feel the sobs in my throat—but each time they pressed too high, I forced them down. Instead, after a minute had passed, I made myself straighten and walk to the door, where Eliot’s coin still waited.

The metal bit into my skin as I picked it up. Let it be the last gift I ever give you.

I squeezed the coin tight. During Eliot’s and my partnership, he’d been my conscience, guiding my steps whenever I veered too far off course. I’d tried my hardest, in the months since the Vainglory, to imitate the morals I’d seen him emulate—to be worthy of him, though I’d known I was not.

I’d failed. Even at my best, I could not be what he deserved.

And there was nothing to hold me back now.

—

The day ghosted by, as if I were not a part of it at all.

By the time I returned to the library, Eliot and Clio had already left—gone into the city to attend to some business with Eliot’s father, Bastian informed me. I could sense the Weaver King’s curiosity as he relayed the news to me and quickly wiped my mind clean in preparation of a mental assault, but none came. I wondered if even he could tell I needed privacy.

The remaining silkwitches departed Fortblanche soon afterward. Noé did not appear to send his former maidens off, nor did I spot him skulking around the second-floor balcony where we’d argued earlier. Once all my bridesmaids had gone, I wandered Fortblanche aimlessly, my fingers moving to my waistband every few minutes to rub at Eliot’s discarded coin which I’d stowed there.

What I mean to say is…you will be all right.

Salt burned at the corners of my eyes again. Swallowing, I went to wipe at them—then faltered.

My vision clouded. For the second time that day, I felt a distant force tug at my thoughts, my mind flashing with the image of a door. As I watched, it swung gently open, then shut again.

The entrance to my bedroom. Alarm pounded dully through me. Someone had just accessed it—but who? Mia? Or was it another of Noé’s former maidens, come to do what Manon had attempted earlier and kill me so they could take my place at the altar?

For a moment, I held still, debating a plan of attack. I should fetch a weapon, or at least summon Noé and have him investigate the presence in my quarters alongside me…and yet after a few seconds of pondering, I did neither, only lowered my shoulders and resumed walking.

My body felt empty, an eggshell sucked of its yolk. I knew the potential danger which awaited me up ahead in my chamber.

It was just that I could not bring myself to care.

I ran into Mia on the turret stairs. My maid jumped back as I bumped against her, her eyes widening. “Miss—I—I am so sorry,” she stammered, meeting my gaze. “I tried to keep him out, but he pushed past me. I—he said…”

She drifted off, cheeks flushing. When her words dried out completely, I blinked, a sinking feeling in my gut, and turned to my bedroom door.

Inside my quarters were two men. The first, a balding, red-faced fellow dressed in servant’s livery, was kneeling on the floor, tending to what at first glance appeared to be an enormous heap of fabric deposited in the middle of my room. The second figure lounged behind him, draped against my windowsill with a cigarette in hand. At the sound of the door opening, his gaze crawled over to me.

Noé. Leaving Mia on the landing, I stepped over the threshold, not bothering to shut the door after me. “What are you doing?”

My attention dipped from my fiancé’s face—grinning his usual fox grin—to the hump of material on the floor and the servant attending to it. The red-faced man had sat back at my entrance and was now swiveling his neck between Noé and me, evidently desperate for orders.

“Sweetheart!” Noé said pleasantly. He had a hospitable air about him—as though I’d wandered into his quarters, and not the other way round. Taking a final draw of his cigarette, he stubbed it out on the stone sill, then flicked it through the cracked-open window. “I thought it best I sleep here tonight. And for the remainder of the nights until our wedding.”