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“Is that so?”
“Yes, conflicting reports. I heard you were shot. I also heard you were in a motorcycle accident. Care to elaborate?”
“Perhaps it was both. Perhaps I’m a fast healer.” Lila smirked, glad it had only been a tranq that had felled her, rather than a bullet. “Perhaps you rely too heavily on your sources.”
Ms. Carpenter bit her lip. “How does it feel to acquire the Wilson estate so early? Unofficially, of course.”
Lila recalled the exact words her mother had beaten into her head at breakfast. “While the Randolphs obviously regret the fall of any highborn family, on occasion, one must step aside so that another can join our ranks.”
“You feel regret for the Wilson family? The same Wilsons who rioted throughout the family’s compound the night Celeste Wilson and her son were taken into custody? The same family who killed a Bullstow militiaman during their tantrum?” Ms. Carpenter crinkled her nose. The highborn did not express violence; it just wasn’t done. Even the poorer classes avoided it like a young child copying its elders. “The woman defrauded her own family and tried to do business with our enemies. Her son tried to make a deal with the Roman Emperor, promising to return his long-lost nephew for a pile of riches and safe haven. They rioted and killed for that, yet you feel regret?”
“I sincerely hope that the men of Bullstow will see justice for their fallen brother,” Lila said carefully. “I also feel pity for anyone betrayed by Celeste and Patrick Wilson, regardless of their bloodline. I hope the next matron will not be so careless with the futures of her family and those who serve it.”
“You sit on the New Bristol High Council. The rumor is you’ll discuss candidates for the next matron soon. Which lowborn family will you support?”
“I couldn’t say.”
“Bullshit. You could. You just won’t. Give me a name, chief. Will it be the Parks? Everyone says it will be the Parks. Just confirm it for me. Unofficially.”
“It’s not my job to confirm things. You’ll have to wait until the council announces its decision. Good day, Ms. Carpenter.” Lila stepped forward in line, finding herself before the auction house sign. LeBeau’s had been scrawled in an artsy cursive script. The branding served as a backdrop for photo ops during the event.
Ms. Carpenter made the poor choice of stepping with her, blocking the view of the press behind the stanchions.
“Madam, we need the shot!” a member of the paparazzi yelled, already snapping photos of the pair, not realizing which heir he’d captured on film. “Get out of the way!”
Others clamored at the ropes, shouting at the journalist to move aside. Bright lights flashed around the pair, searing Lila’s eyes. She lifted her hand to block them. Light-shadows danced in her vision.
Ms. Carpenter turned at their continued boos and jeers. “Unless you want a slave’s term and a lifetime suspension of your license, I’d suggest you put down your cameras.”
The paparazzi snuck a peek at Lila, faces falling as they marked her blood-red dress. Most deleted her photos immediately, scared they might post one by accident.
Ms. Carpenter swiveled back to Lila. “My sources tell me that you were instrumental in the capture of Celeste and Patrick Wilson. Is that true?”
“Your sources have interesting imaginations.” Lila didn’t know where the rumor had come from, but it spurred a sense of unease and apprehension among the highborn. Lila enjoyed keeping the matrons and primes on their toes.
“Do you plan on attending their executions?”
Lila steeled her face. Patrick might have hired Peter Kruger to kill her, but he was her best friend’s little brother. “It’s a bit early to talk of executions. The High Council has not even confirmed the sentence yet. If you’ll excuse me, I have my mother’s auction to attend.”
Before Lila turned away, Ms. Carpenter blurted out a last question. “Are you still friends with Alexandra Craft-Wilson? Have you two spoken since her family’s fall?”
The journalist scanned Lila’s face, then smiled at the expression she found.
Lila cleared her throat. “My feelings for Ms. Wilson have never wavered.”
“Have Ms. Wilson’s? After all, it is her mother and brother who will be executed, some say due to your own maneuvering.”
“You’d have to ask Ms. Wilson that, wouldn’t you?”
“I’ve tried to get an interview with Ms. Wilson all week. Your matron has denied it time and time again. I—”
Lila’s jaw locked. “That’s what this is about, isn’t it? You want an interview with Alex.”
Ms. Carpenter took a step back.
The auction house door opened. A short, chubby woman appeared at the top of the stairs, wearing a long silvercoat and a formfitting green dress. Her gaze lingered over the line of highborns, landing on Lila.
“Ah, there you are, Chief Randolph,” Chairwoman Masson called out, crooking her finger. Though only a dozen years Lila’s senior, the chairwoman had dyed her hair silver, coloring it in stages over the years to attain the much-desired look of wisdom, maturity, and experience. Today it hung in thick curls around her calm, serene face.
