Page 42 of The False Vow

He sighed. “Well, you’ve earned it nonetheless.”

Standing, he raised his arms above his head in a stretch. “Until tonight, sweetheart.”

Chapter Eighteen

Noé departed my room directly after bidding me farewell. Once I could no longer hear the slap of his bare feet against the cold cheek of the stone steps outside, I lifted my head and crossed to my mirror.

As I rapped on its surface, I felt the risk of my actions. Based on the fact that Marie-Louise had not been in attendance at Bastian’s bridal tea yesterday, I thought there was a good chance she’d turned down the Weaver King’s offer to kill me—but then again, I’d been wrong about Manon. Perhaps the instincts I’d always prided myself on were not so superior as I’d previously believed. Alone in my bedroom, doubt came easily; I felt…not frightened, exactly…but brittle. Skittish, like an alley cat: a creature whose life is extended only by avoiding the frequent kicks aimed at its head.

I started more violently than usual when I caught sight of the other silkwitch’s petite figure in my looking glass—sitting cross-legged atop my unmade bed this time—and hurriedly composed myself.

“You’re alive.” Marie-Louise breathed out the greeting, her pale owl eyes spread as wide as saucers. She tipped forward, as if to better examine me through the reflection. “I tried to keep watch yesterday, through my mirrors, but I think the Weaver King may suspect my surveillance. When I went to access my network, I discovered a number of my favorite glasses had been sent out for cleaning.”

She frowned, less anxiety than annoyance, as if she were offended the task had been carried out without her consultation. I suppressed a relieved smile at her greeting. It appeared my intuition had not fully abandoned me yet.

“You tried to warn me yesterday morning, didn’t you?” I said, meeting her gaze in the glass. “I thought I glimpsed you just as the butler came to fetch me, but I wasn’t certain. Did you mean to tell me of the Weaver King’s scheming?”

She nodded. “I would have earlier, but your mirror was covered until the prior night. I’ve told you it is better to leave it bare at all times.” Her features collapsed into a pout, a furrow forming in the middle of her brow. “I would respect your privacy.”

Internally, I questioned that, but I made no move to counter her directly. “I apologize for the oversight,” I said. “Did Bastian make you the same offer he did the rest of the maidens? My life, for his son’s hand in marriage?”

My heart plunged when Marie-Louise’s chin dipped in another nod. So it’s true, then. Anais’s talk of a grand murder conspiracy was not just set dressing she’d arranged to distract from her beloved’s attack. My future father-in-law truly meant to kill me.

I was not sure whether I ought to be flattered or terrified.

“I refused him,” the other silkwitch added, distracting me from my revelation. Blinking, I looked up at her.

“Why?”

Her expression shifted, white lashes fluttering. “I told him I could never hurt my dearest friend.”

My stomach pinched. I’d hoped, of course, that the Owl had rejected Bastian’s offer—practically speaking, it would mean one less potential killer to defend against—yet I hadn’t anticipated her reason would be so…personal. A friend. Really, it was a ridiculous notion. The pair of us had hardly known one another long enough to be termed acquaintances, let alone dear friends. I was not…It was foolish to assume we were…

I struggled to swallow around the knot in my throat, my eyes unpleasantly itchy. Sisters three. What was the matter with me? Was I going soft?

Thankfully, Marie-Louise’s speech resumed before I could further examine my concerning new outbreak of sentimentality. “After I said no, Mr. Alaire rescinded his invitation for me to come visit you,” the Owl said, scowling. “It was horribly rude. I’d already picked out my traveling outfit.”

I suppressed a laugh. “You may visit anytime you like,” I offered with a smile. “Though I am unsure whether Bastian will let you in.”

Marie-Louise fell silent, pacified. I allowed the quiet to stretch out for a moment before venturing forth again.

“I’m afraid I didn’t call to speak only about my future father-in-law,” I said, eyeing her. “I have more questions for you.”

The Owl blinked her slow bird blink at me. “Oh yes,” she replied mildly. “Your new mystery.” She leaned forward, her shoulders hunched and her neck slightly bowed, like an old woman tucking herself more tightly beneath her shawl. “Go on, then.”

I felt a pang of gratitude at the ease with which she accepted the change in subject. “The night of the Midway Ball,” I said. “I know you’ve stated that aside from Anais’s missing gloves, you noticed nothing odd, but I’ve since found reason to believe that an unexpected guest may have been on the premises. Perhaps someone who arrived late, or without warning. Did anyone appear out of place to you?”

“Out of place?” the Owl echoed. “Not especially. I suppose Mr. Drake caught my notice, though he had every right to be there.” Her nose wrinkled, her expression darkening. “I can never enjoy myself when he is near. His presence brings such…unpleasant thoughts.”

Dorian, again. I curled my nails into my palms. Noé and I needed to track the former judge down—and quickly. Wherever he’d hidden himself after the Vainglory, his name was popping up in far too many conversations to let him sulk in peace.

Clearing my throat, I debated next steps. Should I keep pressing about the Midway Ball, or turn my questioning toward Marie-Louise herself, and her own activities? The Owl had never struck me as the violent type, but she certainly was odd. And—I couldn’t forget—she was still a suspect. Who knew what sort of strange emotions moved behind the placid waters of her gaze?

As if sensing my thoughts, the Owl’s eyes trailed after me. Even through the mirror, I felt the uncanny creep of her attention, like a pair of curious insects scuttling my way.

Her scrutiny made my decision for me. Hastily, I stowed my suspicions for another time. “I’m looking for information about that night—the evening of the ball,” I said. “But my reach within Fortblanche is limited. Aside from yourself, which other silkwitches in the Vainglory possess Wits which would have allowed them to track guests’ comings and goings during the party?”

Marie-Louise bit her lip in the looking glass. “Miss Moreau may be of use,” she replied after a minute had passed.