Page 57 of The False Vow

He smiled thinly at Noé, who tensed beside me. Groomsman. That explained the Cloister Master’s presence easily enough. Noé had said the Maiden’s Race was meant to be run by both sides of a bridal party; since only my half was attempting to kill me, though, I hadn’t given much thought to his.

Is Adélard the only member? The question came to me unbidden. If the Cloister Master had been asked to replace Dorian—one of the Vainglory’s two judges alongside Noé—as a groomsman, would the other have been enlisted as well?

Eliot. Was he here?

“Yes?”

Adélard’s voice was like a whip—I stiffened, fearful it was me he was speaking to, only to realize a second later that his attention was trained on Anais. His fiancée straightened in her seat, as though she’d been flicked with a switch. “I didn’t say anything.”

The Cloister Master’s tone grew colder. “You appeared intrigued just now,” he replied. “Did you hear a name which interested you? You are eager to find my nephew, too, hmm?”

Her cheeks colored. Brow creasing, Noé stepped forward, but I spoke first. “I’ve been meaning to offer my congratulations, sir, on your own upcoming union,” I offered. “You couldn’t have picked a better match for yourself. Your fiancée and I grew close during the Vainglory—I count her among my dearest of friends.”

Anais glared at me from her chair. I let my lips quirk for a half second before Adélard’s arched brow prompted me to flatten them again.

“Oh?” He glanced over at Anais, his tone like that of a man who has just been informed that his dog has done a clever trick. “I wouldn’t know. I told Bastian I disapproved of that event. Females throwing themselves about like hens for plucking…I refused to step foot in Fortblanche until the proceedings had concluded.”

He sighed.

“I must admit, I am endlessly fascinated by the notion of female friendship. Your kind does not seem capable of true platonic love, I think. You draw near to one another only in the way that wolves do—so that you might tear out one another’s throats.” He nodded vaguely in his fiancée’s direction. “I have informed Anais of this.”

The fair-haired silkwitch’s expression was forced. “Many times, dearest.”

Adélard’s response was cut off by another loud thump from the corridor. The noise was heavier this time, and somehow less human; Delphine, I guessed, had fetched some sort of makeshift battering ram and was hurling it against the door.

It was as good an excuse as any to depart. “We didn’t mean to disturb you two,” I said with another glance toward Noé. “We must continue with our game, but…Perhaps if you hear from your nephew, you will share the news with me?” I asked the Cloister Master. “I should love nothing more than to meet with you both before my wedding day.”

Adélard’s interest in me visibly waned at the reminder of my upcoming nuptials. Desperate to get it back, I added, “I’d be happy to tell you more about my Wit.”

His eagerness was palpable, like fingers on my skin. Still, he demurred. “Anais manages my correspondence.” Turning to his bride, Adélard asked, “You will handle it?”

The other silkwitch jolted. “If that is your wish,” she replied evenly. She looked at me. “I would exit through the windows, if you cannot use the door,” she stated flatly. “Mr. Alaire told us he had them all unlocked for the race.”

It was the first time in the course of our encounter that she’d sounded even mildly like herself. I paused, debating. I’d directed Noé toward this room with the intention of utilizing the tunnel door I’d sensed hiding within it, but that was before I’d realized Adélard and Anais were taking their tea here. I didn’t know whether either of them was aware of the passage’s existence; was it worth the potential exposure?

Briefly, I let my gaze skip to the place where my Wit had detected the entryway lurking, in an alcove filled with a stern-looking marble bust. The Cloister Master followed the path of my stare. When he saw what I was looking at, he frowned as though intrigued.

“I wonder,” Adélard said abruptly. “This race. Is it true that if I were to succeed in taking the young Mr. Alaire’s crown, I would earn Miss Lovett’s company for the evening?” He blinked at the ivy garland on Noé’s head, then at me. “I do rather like to observe silkwitches without their keepers around. Their Wits…It is fascinating, how far their magic may be pushed when paired with a knowledgeable teacher.”

His statement, along with an additional thump from the hallway, made my decision for me. I reached out to touch Noé’s wrist. “We’ll use the windows.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

Anais’s advice proved sound. The drawing room was on Fortblanche’s ground floor, making it simple to drop from the stone sill of the window we’d selected to the earth. Once both Noé and I had managed the feat, we crept along the exterior wall of the estate, debating a way back in.

From this side of the building, the reason for the closed drapes was evident. Though I’d been too distracted to notice it when we’d returned from our drive, Bastian had thrown every window in Fortblanche wide open, carving dozens of paths for intruders hoping to make their way inside. Truly, his mind was dastardly; even as his enemy, I couldn’t help but admire it.

He’d turned his very house into a weapon against me.

Eventually, I decided to take a risk. Rising up on my toes, I reached through the window directly in front of me and caught hold of the drapes, nudging them gently aside to reveal a sliver of hallway. We’d rounded the side of the house and were standing at the end of a gallery corridor, windows on one wall, a line of doors along the other.

I flinched as, without warning, a form sprinted by: dark-haired and slender, a familiar white mouse at her heels. As she ran past my window, Good Sister paused, lifting her nose into the air and emitting a single plaintive peep.

My heart stopped when Nathalie turned my way. Our gazes met—hers startled, no doubt by the sight of me peering in through the curtains, mine panicked. For a moment, I could not breathe; then the other silkwitch jerked into motion again.

Slowly, deliberately, she nodded into the gloom ahead of her. Her lips parted, mouthing a single word: trap.

I drew in a relieved inhale. Her message delivered, Nathalie took off again, Good Sister scrambling after her. Only once they’d both vanished did I drop the curtain I held, twisting to look at Noé behind me.