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His eye tracked over the paper, then he handed it to her. “Not quite.”
An invitation to a dinner and a ball, to celebrate the coming eclipse. The ball was a large event, but the formal dinner afterward was only open to a select few, and she and Gabe counted among the chosen.
The date on the paper stared back at her. Midsummer. She hadn’t realized her birthday was so close.
A solar eclipse on her birthday, and a ball to celebrate.
A tremble in Lore’s fingers made the paper quiver, just a bit. Surely it had to be a coincidence. Anton had said they would plan a Consecration for her, but a ball was not a Consecration—
“Lore?”
Gabe looked up at her from where he still sat on the floor, face twisted in concern. There was stubble on his jaw—she’d felt it last night, rough against her hair. “Are you all right?”
She forced a smile. Waved the invitation limply in the air. “It’s on my birthday. My twenty-fourth.”
His brow climbed up his forehead.
“It doesn’t say anything about a Consecration, though. Hopefully I can avoid an embarrassing ceremony. I assume there’s no getting out of the dinner?”
“Not if August purposefully invited us.” With a groan, Gabe stood, stretching out his back. Lore looked away. “It’d be obvious if we didn’t attend.”
Lore nodded again, lip between her teeth. She went to go place the invitation on the table with the others—next to the remains of last night’s dinner; she’d have to find someone to take care of that before it got too disgusting—and another envelope stared up at her, one inscribed with just Lore, not her false surname.
Alie’s invitation to tea. At the croquet game, she’d said it was standing, that she and some friends got together every Sixth Day. “What day is it?”
“Seventh,” Gabe answered, headed to the door of his unused bedroom to find clothes.
So she’d just missed the tea. She should probably try to make it to the next one. It’d seem strange if she didn’t go at least once, and she might find out something valuable.
Even if she didn’t, it’d be nice to pretend to have friends for a couple of hours.
Lore changed quickly, once again opting for whatever dress was easiest to get on by herself. This one was a deep gold, with a flowy skirt made of layered chiffon that swished around her legs. The sleeves were chiffon, too, long and gathered at the wrists. Part of her wanted to dig further in the closet and find the winter gowns she was sure were waiting. She was still chilled.
The thought came that she could ask Gabe to hold her again, but she shook her head, physically pushing it away.
When she emerged from her room, Gabe was dressed, morosely rolling his voluminous sleeves to the elbows in an attempt to make them more manageable. He gave her a wry look. “I suppose you’re wanting to go straight to the Church library?”
She gestured grandly. “Lead the way, Mort.”
After a moment of consideration, Lore placed the dinner tray Bastian had brought her beneath the Bleeding God’s Heart candelabra across the hall. He’d said he’d send around a maid—hopefully they wouldn’t mind picking this up, too.
Lore scowled down at her dirty dishes. She’d successfully avoided thinking about the Sun Prince for at least an hour while she and Gabe got ready, but now she’d have to reset her internal counter. It felt strange to think about Bastian when she could still recall the press of Gabe’s chest against her back.
None of them had time for silly romance games—were this any other situation, she’d just sleep with them both and have done with it, so they could concentrate on the important things like finding a stash of dead bodies, figuring out why August and Anton had hidden them, and learning what made them dead in the first place.
But one was the Sun Prince, and one was a celibate monk, and thus the circumstances were a bit more complicated.
One had chased Mortem away from her with nothing but the touch of his hand, and thus the circumstances were extremely more complicated.
When Gabe arced a pointed glance from her to the dishes, Lore shrugged. “Bastian said he’d make sure a maid came up here sometime soon. He was less than impressed with your housekeeping.”
Gabe rolled his eye, then reached up and itched at his patch. He’d removed the bandage on the tip of his finger, and Lore was relieved to see that the damage wasn’t all that bad—part of the appendage was simply gone, as if someone had amputated it right below the nailbed. Dark stitches still showed in the skin, but it looked like it was healing cleanly.
He followed her gaze, but didn’t comment. Apparently, they weren’t going to talk about his wound or how he’d gotten it. That suited Lore fine.
They took the back staircase without needing a discussion first, both of them wanting to avoid running into anyone who might ask what they were doing. Especially Bastian.
Despite the connection she felt—despite that he cared—Lore didn’t want Bastian to know about her suspicions regarding Spiritum. Something about the knowledge felt volatile, as if it could tip a perfectly balanced scale.
