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“Do I need to learn some sort of secret handshake, or does everyone have a sketch of me at their gatehouses?”
“Your face has been etched into the skulls of every oracle and every future oracle over the last few months. Every purplecoat in the Allied Lands has a sketch of you and will let you inside their compound. You need only ask.”
“Why?”
“Because we’re all waiting. You will save us, Lila Randolph. We just don’t know when or why, and we only know a few pieces of the how behind it. We will do everything we can to help you and to keep you safe until that moment comes.”
“And you won’t tell me anything about it.”
Kenna would not meet her eyes.
Lila wondered if she knew any of the details.
Becoming prime seemed so trivial now, especially when the oracles and the gods kept shoving her toward another role she didn’t want, an even larger one, one with a great deal more responsibility and consequences. Strangely, both the oracles and her matron spoke the same words and used the same arguments.
Lila was quite tired of them.
Kenna glimpsed Lila’s stiffened form, too canny not to recognize she’d gone wrong somewhere in her plea. “I only meant it as a comfort.”
“I don’t need comforting.”
“Maybe we’re the ones who need comforting. I need my family to be safe, Lila. I need the rest of our people to be safe, too. Olivier rocked our sense of security. We need you to make us feel safe again.”
“I don’t want to be anyone’s savior. I have enough problems of my own.”
“Don’t we all?” Kenna smiled gently. “Come to the cabin after your dinner party. We all could do with a bit of celebrating. We have cookies.”
“Chocolate chip?” Lila asked hopefully.
“Promise to come by, and I’ll promise to bake some. Maybe I’ll even bake some double chocolate chip.”
“Okay, but only for double chocolate chip.”
“For the cookies.” Kenna nodded.
Chapter 31
Henri Lemaire opened the door to his suite in Falcon Home, his white coat and breeches abandoned in favor of jeans and a thin, faded burgundy sweater. He appeared smaller and shrunken without so much white fabric covering him, or perhaps he’d just lost weight since Lila had last seen him so casually dressed. His eyes had changed over the week, from clear and worried to heavy and dark. So had his face, for a shadow encroached upon his jaw and cheeks.
Lila’s mother peeked around the corner, lurking, her silvercoat and crimson sheath so crisp that she must not have sat down the entire day. Her catlike eyes tracked her lover as if she had already pounced several times and would pounce quite a few more. They skimmed over her daughter too, widening at the prospect of a new toy to bat around.
“Hello, Lila girl,” her father said tiredly. His eyes fell upon a white box tucked under her arm, tied with golden ribbon. She nearly dropped it as he embraced her in a bear hug. Luckily, he gripped her far above her still-healing wound. “I’m glad you could come.”
“Me too. How are things?”
“Better now that I’ve seen you.” He patted her on the cheek.
Lila followed him into the parlor. Her mother watched them approach from her perch in the corner.
“I’ve just been trying to convince Bea to purchase Mr. Shaw when he comes up on the auction block.”
“I’ll never buy that man’s mark. I may not know the full extent of what he’s done, but I know your handiwork when I see it, Henri.”
“Father’s handiwork?” Lila sat on the parlor couch with a grunt and settled her father’s present on a table at her side.
“Don’t play dumb with me. I should have known your father was behind it all, playing you like a puppet. He’s always been able to curl people around his finger and watch them dance. The trick is he never lets people see the strings. Never forget that, Lila. It’s his talent.”
“Bea—”
