Titus’s skin crawled.
The Inquisitor was not conducting an Inquisition—the sheer size of the crowd presented an obstacle to a mind mage wishing to examine one particular mind in detail. But sitting next to her was still nerve-racking. Half a dozen of her minions had their eyes trained on him, making sure that he did not attempt anything that might impede their quest.
But all that he could have endured if Fairfax were somewhere in Siberia. Instead she must be on her way to him, escorted by Sutherland and Birmingham.
The day grew warmer; his shirt stuck to his back. Human nature being what it was, the line of people waiting to be presented to the court of Saxe-Limburg had grown exponentially, boys and Old Etonians making up connections to Titus, hoping to get closer to the once-in-a-generation beauty that was Lady Callista. The sisters and mothers—didn’t English women usually pay no mind to Continental princelings? Yet they stood patiently in the queue, their white parasols like so many pearls on a string.
Unfortunately, the length of the line would not matter when Fairfax arrived. She would be instantly swept to the front.
If his heart pounded any harder it was going to crack one of his ribs.
Was that Cooper back at the head of the line again? Had he not already been presented? This was fun for Cooper. The ostentation-loving dunce was having a ball.
Titus wanted to throttle him.
Or—perhaps he could make use of the idiot.
As Cooper bowed before Lady Callista again, Titus called out loudly, “What are you doing here, Nettle Oakbluff? And you too, Haywood. Does the Inquisitory give holidays to its detainees now?”
Then he sneered at Cooper. “Stop being such a useless twit, Cooper. You are taking someone else’s place. Scram. No, wait. Go find Birmingham and Sutherland. Why are they not back yet? They are insulting me with their incompetence.”
Sutherland could not stop talking of Lady Callista’s beauty. Birmingham was unimpressed with Sutherland’s effusiveness.
“I won’t deny she is beautiful, but she must be our mothers’ age and probably more.”
“So what?” Iolanthe said, giving Sutherland a nudge. “As long as she is not my mother.”
“Exactly.” Sutherland laughed. “Fairfax here is a man after my own heart. Although I do wish they hadn’t sat her next to that witch. That woman makes the soles of my feet cold.”
Iolanthe almost came to a standstill. That woman. “You mean the prince’s wet nurse?”
Birmingham and Sutherland snickered.
“A rock would give milk before she does,” said Birmingham.
“My balls would have permanently shriveled if I’d had to drink from her teats,” declared Sutherland.
Iolanthe approximated the sound of chuckling. The Inquisitor. When had she recovered? And what was she doing at such a public forum, receiving the prince’s friends, no less? Could she take a sledgehammer to his mind when there were thousands of people swirling around?
Cooper barreled into sight. “Ah, there you are. I’ve been tasked to find you.”
“Did Frampton send you too?” Birmingham sounded none too pleased at this implied snub against his competence.
“No, the prince himself sent me,” said Cooper proudly.
Iolanthe’s alarm instantly tripled. The prince never did anything without a reason. He must be well aware that Sutherland and Birmingham had already been dispatched. Why Cooper in addition?
“Quite the day for you, Cooper,” she said. “You’ve always liked him being princely.”
“Words cannot describe how grand he has been. The man was born to lord over others.”
Birmingham snorted.
“Did anyone else come from the court of Saxe-Limburg besides his great-uncle, the beautiful lady, and the hair-raising lady?” Iolanthe asked.
“Yes, hordes of lackeys.” Cooper thought about it. Iolanthe could almost hear the gears of his brain rattling. “Maybe not all of them are servants. The prince addressed two of them by name and said something like, ‘When did the transitory let out its detainees?’ You reckon some of them could be political prisoners?”
“You idiot.” Birmingham had had enough of Cooper’s prattling. “Who would bring political prisoners to a school function? And what in the world is a transitory, anyway?”
“I’m just telling you what he said.”
Iolanthe could not hear anything else over the roar in her head. This was the prince’s message: Master Haywood and Mrs. Oakbluff had been brought to Eton to identify her. And the moment her disguise was stripped, she would be taken away.
Run! bellowed her voice of self-preservation. Vault somewhere. Anywhere. Get away.
But what would happen to him if she ran? Should his closest chum disappear from the face of the earth just as witnesses arrived to identify Iolanthe Seabourne, even Prince Alectus might be able to put two and two together. It would be back to the Inquisitory with him. And this time, there would be no one to intervene when the Inquisitor began cutting through his mind.