“You are a Blackwood.” His voice was calmer than hers, which made it all the more terrifying. “You must marry whom I choose, and bear sorcerer children. That is your function, Eliza.”
Her function was to be a brood mare for any man with the right pedigree? I had to control myself from walking in there and smacking him myself.
“You said I had a choice!”
“I do not have to explain my decisions to you!” Blackwood shouted, and I flinched. “Foxglove can provide you with safety even Sorrow-Fell cannot match. I know you’re still too young to see the good of this decision.”
Too young? Eliza was only a year younger than he.
“Try to understand. You are all that I care about,” he said, his voice gentling.
“You don’t want me to be happy because you can’t be,” Eliza sneered. “Do you believe for a second Whitechurch would ever allow it?” Allow what? There was a moment of dead silence.
“You will do your duty.” His voice was ice. “Or there’ll be no more parties.”
It sounded as though she was crying.
“You think I’m some stupid doll.” She burst out of the room to find me there, obviously eavesdropping. Her face was blotchy, her eyes glistening.
I didn’t know what to say.
“You talk to him,” she sobbed.
I tried to comfort her, but she ran down the stairs in a flurry of skirts. Blackwood nodded for me to come in. When I entered, he closed the door and, turning, went behind his father’s desk. Rather, his desk now.
Charles Blackwood had been a scholar, among other things. The bookcases along the walls strained with the weight of so many books. Yellowing maps papered the walls; a golden astrolabe sat inside a bell jar. Several thick books had been taken down and piled haphazardly on the table, a decanter of red wine placed beside them.
A pulsating glow drew my eye. Strangewayes’s optiaethis had been placed alongside a volume of Newton. The sight of it chilled me. In truth, Blackwood’s return to his father’s old study was troubling in itself.
Now was not the time to ask questions, however. Blackwood poured a glass of the wine, drank deeply, then poured another glass. Eliza’s words had shaken him, though he tried to hide it.
“No,” he said, as if replying to someone. “I won’t let this night be ruined.” He poured another glass for himself and one for me, then slammed the decanter back down. “We need to celebrate properly.” He handed me the wine, which I reluctantly took.
“There’ll be other times to celebrate,” I said. “We should talk about Eliza.”
“Stop, Henrietta.” I knew he was serious when he used my first name. “Not now.”
My temper flared. “This won’t be the only battle we’ll ever win.”
“This is our first victory with those weapons. Thanks to you.” He clinked glasses with me. Leaning against the edge of the desk, he fixed his eyes on my face. “You disobeyed the Imperator and found Strangewayes’s house, all against my wishes. You sought out Mickelmas, and now look at us.” His lips were red from the wine; his smile looked bloody. “Do you have any idea what you’ve given me?”
The way he said it sounded…odd.
“Today I cut the monster and watched him bleed. You gave me that.” There were a million unspoken words in his eyes. Carefully, he said, “My father was the Blackwood who nearly destroyed this country. Thanks to you, I’m going to be the Blackwood who saved it.”
“Thanks to all of us,” I said. His focus frightened me again.
There was something about that answer he didn’t appear to like. He put his glass down and swept out the door without another word. The Blackwoods were the most dramatic people I’d ever known, and I’d known many.
I returned downstairs, hoping to find him, but Blackwood had vanished. Dee, Maria, and Wolff were gathered around the pianoforte, playing jokey tunes. Eliza huddled by the window with Magnus, talking in low voices. He was nodding emphatically, his brow furrowed in thought. Eliza dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief.
“Eliza, are you all right?” I asked as I came up to them. Magnus said nothing, but Eliza nodded.
“I will be,” she said.
—
LATER THAT NIGHT, AFTER I’D GOT ready for bed, there was a tap on my window. Mickelmas waved cheerily at me from the ledge, his coat blowing in the wind. I let him inside.
“I take it the day went well.” He kept his voice down, since servants might still be in the hall at this hour. Something sloshed in his hand.
“Not more gin.” I made a pained face.
“Don’t you want hair on your chest?” He held it up to the light, where it glinted red. “A very fine Bordeaux. Come. Celebrations are in order.”
Good lord, how much drinking could I do in a day?
He flung his coat around me, and a whirling instant later we stood on the roof, staring down at the street below. I pulled my wrap tighter about my body, shivering in the near-autumn air.
“Here, this’ll warm you.” Mickelmas thrust the bottle into my hand. Oh, what the hell. I took a swig, wincing. “Here we are, drinking responsibly on a rooftop after a hard day of fighting monsters. It feels like old times,” he said.
“Funny. I said something similar earlier.” I smiled as Mickelmas looked out over the city. “Blackwood thanked me, but really our victory’s due to you.”
“One day, the Imperator will agree.” He stroked at his beard. “He’ll welcome your army with gratitude.”
My army. Heavens. The wine lit a fire in my stomach, making me bold enough to ask a question. “Do you think my father would be proud of me?” It was idiotic, really, to crave the approval of a man who’d never wanted to meet me. I frowned at my feet, which were already turning blue. “Did—did he know about me?”
“He did,” Mickelmas said. He paused, then said, “He wanted to be a father.”
That made it worse somehow. “Why did he leave?”
“Hard to say. Don’t hog the bottle.” He snatched the wine back. “I don’t know what your father would think of what you’ve become, but he’d be proud of the person you are,” Mickelmas said. Odd distinction.
“Thank you for being an excellent replacement,” I said softly.
He shook his head. “I’m not much of a father figure. But you’re a fine apprentice,” he murmured. And then he drank.
—
MY HEAD WAS SPINNING WHEN I got into bed and blew out my candle. The air about me felt chilled as I bundled under the blankets. When I closed my eyes, the darkness sloshed about. Perhaps I’d had too much to drink today.
Mouth fuzzy, I struggled to wake one last time—I felt I’d forgot something—and then slipped into sleep.
Dense gray fog swirled about my ankles, but I didn’t feel the chill of it. I tried to get my bearings. Where in God’s name was I? The astral plane? But how—
Fenswick’s sachet of herbs. I was supposed to put it under my pillow, to keep from coming here. Cursing my stupidity, I tried to force myself awake by pinching my cheeks. Panic thundered through my veins. I had to wake up. I had to, because if I didn’t, he could find me.
And then, by my ear, I heard a voice whisper, “Miss Howel. What an unexpected delight.”
R’hlem gazed down at me.
Wake up. Wake up. I stumbled away from him, my vision lopsided. How had I been this stupid?
But R’hlem did not attack. In fact, there was astonishment written upon his skinned face. Evidently, he could hardly believe my stupidity any more than I could. He was dressed in a well-tailored dark blue suit and white linen shirt. At least, the shirt would have been white if it weren’t soaked in gore. He wrung out his bloody sleeves, a casual gesture.
R’hlem bowed low, bending deeply at the waist. Under any other circumstance, he might have resembled a gentleman asking me to dance.
“I’m surprised you’d return, after all these months of shielding yourself.” There was interest in his gaze. He thought I’d done this deliberately. Telling him I’d got drunk and fallen asleep would make me sound even more pathetic than I already was, so I kept silent. As he advanced, I lit myself on fire in warning. “Ah. Yes, your power.”
He smiled wider than before.