AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“She wants her face back,” I say.
“Pity, but the boys can fix her.”
“How would they do that?” I ask. I try to keep my voice steady, hoping he doesn’t hear the tremble in it that betrays my true feelings. If there is a way to reverse alterations, I could save my mother and help Amie remember. But maybe it’s easier to change a face than to undo the kind of damage the Guild inflicts.
But Kincaid is still glowing from his great theatrical accomplishment and doesn’t seem to notice. “‘All the world’s a stage,’ Adelice,” he says. “‘And all the men and women merely players. They have their exits and their entrances; and one man in his time plays many parts.’”
“I’m not interested in being pseudo-intellectual,” I say. “Can they fix her?”
Kincaid glowers, but his tone stays even as he answers. “They’ll have her original measurements on file. It’s a shame, considering how lovely she is as Veronica, but I did promise them they could be altered back. If she wants to continue in my employment, she’ll get used to a bit of alteration for the good of the performance.”
I force a small smile, but bile rises in my throat. I can’t imagine being so far indebted to Kincaid.
As we watch, the stage crew emerges from the shadows, leading the injured actors away. I bite my lip to keep the accusations from tumbling out. When I turn back to Kincaid, anger blurs my vision, bringing his strands into harsh relief, as Deniel’s had been when he attacked me. Kincaid’s central time strand glimmers. It’s not like the golden strand I witnessed being pulled from the young Tailor. It’s tarnished with age, although there’s a thin, bright fiber braided through the central portion. I blink, trying to dismiss the sight, unsure of what I’m seeing.
“Sir,” Jax says, appearing beside us, “we’ve assessed the injuries and cleared most of the cast for release.”
“Very well,” Kincaid says. “There’s an issue with the voltage drop near the pavilion. No one can get it to dim properly.”
“Probably the variable resistor. I’ll take a look at it and check the estate’s grid for any faulty circuits,” Jax says. He seems giddy at the possibility.
“Please do it quickly. We mustn’t keep the party guests waiting,” Kincaid says in a low voice.
“Are all the Sunrunners also Tailors?” I ask after Jax leaves.
“A very small portion of them are Tailors. Sunrunning takes up plenty of my workforce,” he answers, “but Jax is one of the few that’s gifted at both. He and your father.”
I can’t think of anything to say to that. I know so little about Dante.
“Do you have more questions?” Kincaid asks. “About the performance? I do hope you enjoyed it. We needed some revelry to erase that … unpleasant experience.”
He thinks I’m back here to see him, I realize. It doesn’t even occur to him that what he’s done has only increased my anxiety about the Tailors and men working on his estate. I have lots of questions, but Kincaid won’t answer them.
“No,” I say, weighing my response. It takes every ounce of energy I have to say what I say next. “I wanted to compliment you on your performance.”
Kincaid beams and claps me on the shoulder. “We’ll have more shows now that there is such a large audience.”
“What about intel? Looking for the Whorl?” I ask. It’s a question that’s been on my mind since yesterday. Deniel came too close to getting to me, which means the Guild knows I’m here. “Shouldn’t we be coming up with a plan to stop Cormac?”
It’s a stupid move bringing this up now, but I can’t push it out of my mind any longer.
“My men are looking,” he assures me. “When we have news on the Whorl, you will be informed and then we can move forward. No reason not to enjoy ourselves in the meantime though.”
“And once we find it?” I ask.
“It’s the key we’ll need to rid this world of Cormac.”
“And to rid Arras of him, too?” I prompt.
Kincaid waves me off. “Of course, sometimes I forget.”
F
orget about what? I wonder. That Arras exists or that he vowed to separate the worlds? I can’t bear to ask him.
Kincaid shepherds me toward the dressing room, prattling on about the various plays he’ll put on for my delight, but as he does, I glimpse a soldier lolling forward lifelessly. I hope he’s only unconscious.
* * *
