“My choice of a new overrobe for the gala,” said Alectus, jolly now that his task had been discharged by his mistress. “I cannot make up my mind, and Lady Callista claims to be far too busy.”
“Thousands of details need to be seen to before the gala,” said Lady Callista, in her you-silly-man-but-of-course-I-love-you-madly tone.
“Close your eyes and make a random selection,” Titus said, forcing himself not to sound too impatient.
“Indeed, indeed,” Alectus agreed, “as good a method as any.”
“I wish you both a good day,” said Titus, his jaw hurting with the strain of remaining civil.
Alectus bowed. Lady Callista curtsied. They stepped on the pedestals and disappeared to the reception room below.
Titus let out a breath. He glanced at his watch: still ten minutes to make the train.
But Lady Callista reappeared, looking suitably apologetic. “I beg your pardon, sire, I seem to have left my fan behind. Ah, there it is.”
What did she want now?
“Do you know what curious news I just heard, sire?” she asked. “That by the bolt of lightning you saw, a great elemental mage has revealed herself—a girl of about your age.”
Of course she would ask him about the girl—what good minion of the Inquisitor’s would not? He acted bored. “Should I care?”
“She could be very important, this girl.”
“To whom?”
“Atlantis does not expend its wherewithal on needless concerns. If the Inquisitor is after the girl, she must be valuable in some way.”
“And why are you telling me this, my lady?”
Lady Callista approached him and placed a hand on his arm. This close she smelled of the subtle yet potent fragrance of narcissus. “Does it not concern you, sire, that the Inquisitor is halfway to finding this possibly very significant young woman?”
Very few of his subjects touched him without express permission. Lady Callista dared take the liberty because she had once been Princess Ariadne’s dearest friend. Her touch was warm and maternal, her person present and interested in a way that his perpetually preoccupied mother had never been.
Titus yanked away. “Madam, if you seek someone to stand up to the Inquisitor, you are looking at quite the wrong man. I am the heir of a princely house well past its hour of glory. That is burden enough. I am not going to spearhead some quixotic cause for which I have neither the desire nor the talent.”
Lady Callista laughed softly. “Don’t be silly, sire. I’m looking for nothing of the sort. My goodness, why should I want anything to destabilize the current situation, which favors me so?”
She walked backward until she was on the pedestal and curtsied again. “However, should you ever decide to spearhead a quixotic cause, sire, you must let me know. Stability does grow tedious after a while.”
CHAPTER 4
A CURIOUS VEHICLE OCCUPIED THE highest garret of the castle: a black-lacquered private rail coach. Inside, the walls of the coach were covered in sky-blue silk. A pair of padded chairs were upholstered in cream brocade. A porcelain tea service, with steam curling from the spout of the teapot, sat on a side table.
Canary cage in hand, Titus entered the rail coach, the link to his other life. He could almost smell the coal burning at the heart of the yet-distant steam engine, feel the rumble of the wheels on the tracks.
Dalbert brought his luggage, then closed the door of the coach. “Something to drink for the journey, sire?”
“Thank you, but hardly necessary.”
Dalbert glanced at his watch. “Brace yourself, sire.”
He pulled a large lever. The coach shook. The next moment it was no longer in placid storage in the castle’s uppermost reach, but a thousand miles away on English soil, part of a train that had departed from Mansion House station, London, three quarters of an hour before.
“Slough in five minutes, sire.”
“Thank you, Dalbert.”
Titus rose from his seat to stand before the window. Outside it drizzled—another wet English spring. The land was green and foggy, the train’s motions rhythmic, almost hypnotic.
How strange that when he had first arrived in this nonmage realm, he had hated everything about it—the sooty, offensive smells, the flavorless food, the inexplicable customs. Yet now, after nearly four years at his nonmage school, this world had become a refuge, a place to escape, as far as escape was possible, from the oppression of Atlantis.
And the oppression of his destiny.
Two shrill steam blasts announced the train’s arrival in Slough. Dalbert pulled down the window shades and handed Titus his satchel.
“May Fortune walk with you, sire.”
“May Fortune heed your wish,” replied Titus.
Dalbert bowed. Titus inclined his head—and vaulted.
None of the opening spells Iolanthe knew worked. She did not have power over wood. Water was useless here, as was fire. She could keep herself safe from fire, but were she to set the trunk aflame, either from inside or outside, she’d still succumb to smoke inhalation.