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“Are you sure you’re okay?” Reid asks when we reach the staircase on the main floor.
I give him the most encouraging nod I can muster. “We should go talk to Anya.”
His hands squeeze into fists at his sides, like he’s holding back from touching me. “I can—you don’t have to come with me.”
“After two estate heads were just taken out? I’m not letting you out of my sight. It’s my job.”
His nostrils flare, and it looks like there are a million things he wants to say, but in the end, he nods wordlessly and turns for the stairs. I stay close behind him as we navigate the tightly packed halls. The sharp tang of panic hangs in the air as people hurry back and forth, the estate’s staff trying to direct people, but they’re outnumbered ten times over.
“Have you seen Princess Anya?” Reid asks over and over, but each time, people shake their heads, and when we reach her room, it’s empty.
“She spends a lot of time in the library and the gym,” I offer weakly, though I can’t imagine her heading to either place after an event like this.
We check both, but still no sign of her. The more we search and the more people we ask, the heavier the dread in my stomach becomes.
Where the hell is she?
The halls have mostly cleared out by the time we make it to the east wing, and Reid’s steps slow, his head cocked to the side like he’s listening for something.
“This way,” he murmurs, heading for a set of stairs.
I follow, my ears picking up two heartbeats alongside the hollow thuds of our footsteps as we reach the hardwood floor at the bottom. As soon as we turn the corner, rows upon rows of wine bottles encased in wood swim into view, warm lights shining down from the ceiling.
A man in the Vasiliev version of the Marionettes uniform—the cut of the sleeves sharper, the stitching red instead of black—stands beside the door, his back straight and arms crossed tightly over his chest.
“Is she…?” Reid starts, and the man gives him a silent nod. After a quick glance at me over his shoulder, Reid heads toward the sound of clicking high heels on the far side of the cellar.
“You must be Anya’s Marionette,” I say as I step beside him to wait.
“Feddei.” He offers me his hand to shake.
“Valerie.”
I can feel his power when our palms meet, like its essence is reaching for me. Judging by the soft upturn of his lips, he wanted me to feel it, like an offering so I’d know I could trust him.
“What are you doing down here?” asks Reid, his voice low.
The clicking high heels resume, followed by a light clank of glass as someone removes a bottle from the wall.
“You heard the alarms,” comes Anya’s voice. “They’re probably going to lock us all down for a bit. Thought I’d grab a few of these first.”
Feddei’s lips twitch, though he doesn’t quite smile. But the fondness in his eyes is impossible to miss. “Anya told me you were researching the shadow realm,” he says quietly.
“…there’s something we need to talk about…” says Reid.
“I—yeah, I have been.”
Feddei bobs his head once, and I can’t detect anything other than mild curiosity in his expression. “I don’t know much about it, but I read this memoir years ago from a witch who claimed he met his shadow self. Most people thought he was crazy. The book is seen more as a joke than anything, especially with how contradictory his supposed findings were from other research on the shadow realm.”
“…Auclair thinks it may be best if we secure our estates’ alliance sooner rather than later…” continues Reid, but his voice fades more and more to the background as Feddei’s words sink in.
Met his shadow self.
Contradictory to research on the shadow realm.
“Do you remember the name of the memoir?” I ask.
Feddei frowns and shakes his head after a moment. “But I can look it up.”
