“If she did something to him, I want to know.”
“I don’t have any concrete proof, of course, or I would have done something officially. But you and I, we’re men of the world. We both understand that sometimes official isn’t the best way to go about doing things.” Merlin poured more Scotch into Grey’s glass. “But, as you remember, the party was at House Prospero. And the mirror, well, I’ve heard it was one of your mother’s. I don’t know why she would have allowed something of hers to be used in a challenge like that. Unless.”
“Unless she had done something to it,” Grey said, his face growing hard. “If she had sabotaged it because she wanted my father dead.” It made—in the haze of his memory and the unhealing wound of his anger at Miranda—a kind of perfect sense.
Merlin rested his hand, briefly, on Grey’s shoulder, the same shoulder that bore the scars from that misfired spell. “I’m only sorry I can’t tell you more. That I can’t be the one to help you reopen your disinheritance or somehow get back what is rightfully yours. But with so much at stake, I couldn’t stay silent—I know what it is to have family betray you.”
“I’m glad you told me,” Grey said, tossing back the last of his drink. “I’m his son. I should know. And you’re right—sometimes official isn’t the best way to go about doing things. It’s too rigid—too easy.”
“You would think,” Merlin mused, more to his glass than to Grey, “that someone who had interfered in a previous Turning would guard against that sort of thing, but sometimes I think success blinds people. They become complacent. Too sure of themselves. It leaves them open to mistakes. Or to surprises. Challenges are so fraught—you never can be sure of what will happen at one.”
“It’s a Turning,” Grey said. “Mistakes do happen.”
Merlin’s eyes sharpened like a hawk’s. “They certainly do. Though if there is anything I can do, officially, don’t hesitate to ask. You’re so close to Ian’s age—I feel like if I could help you, well, it would almost be like helping him. Plus, I have a vested interest in making sure that the kind of people who make it through the Turning—either to establish Houses, or as heirs of Houses that already exist—really do represent the best of the Unseen World. Magic should be for those who deserve it.
“Will I see you at Prospero’s next challenge?”
“You know,” Grey said, “I had already intended to be there, to show my support for Laurent. But now I think it’s even more important that I go. Though won’t that be difficult for you, with Ian representing House Prospero?”
“The thing about a duel is, you never know what might happen in the course of it,” Miles said. “And if something does go wrong—we’re certainly having enough issues with magic that such a thing might be possible—you never know what might happen or who might be affected.”
“That,” Grey said, “is a very good point. Thank you again for meeting with me.”
“Certainly,” Miles said. “I found it very instructive.”
? ? ?
Grey didn’t bother with small talk. He’d picked the first girl alone at the bar, dropped a spell into her drink, and had her outside within five minutes.
There wasn’t time, not now. He needed more magic. The Beauchamps-Prospero duel was in two days, and he had plans for that evening.
The girl stumbled as he shoved her around the corner, into an alley. Once she fell, he hauled her through the rotting garbage and slush behind a dumpster. The stench was unbearable, but it meant they’d be less likely to be disturbed.
She didn’t struggle, didn’t fight. Just lay there, eyes blown wide with shock as he ripped the bones from her hands. He suspected he’d been too heavy-handed with the spell, not that it mattered one way or the other. It’s not like he wanted her to wake up when he was finished.
The last bone came loose with a pop and a spattering of blood. He tucked it in his pocket with the rest, then said the words that would steal her breath. She’d go quietly, and he’d be gone.
He had magic to plan. He had a House to take back.
? ? ?
“Getting the challenge was bad enough,” Ian said, pacing through Verenice’s library. “But Sydney won’t talk to me at all. At all. I’ve texted and called and emailed and nothing. Not one response. And this isn’t a question of who has the best spell. This is a mortal challenge. One of us dies at the end. I have no idea how to handle this.”
“I’m not quite sure why you’re asking me for advice,” Verenice said. “It seems to me that you have two options—you duel, and you duel to win, because I am sure Sydney will, or you forfeit.”
He continued pacing, a pendulum swinging wildly across the room. “That can’t be all there is. I feel like there’s something else going on. Like, there’s part of the challenge that’s a secret. Which I would really like to know about, since I’m one of the people maybe dying over it.”
“And even if there were, how would that change what you are required to do?” Verenice asked. “You signed a contract with House Prospero. You agreed to stand as their champion, knowing that the Turning always ends with the invocation of mortality, knowing that if you got that far, you would risk your life—you would kill—on its behalf. You may not like the fact that you’re matched against Sydney, but this can’t have come as a complete surprise to you.”
“Intellectually, of course I understood this was possible.” He slumped into a chair and dropped his head into his hands. “But this isn’t what’s supposed to happen.”
“?‘Supposed to?’?” Verenice set her teacup down. “The last time I checked, you were an adult with some degree of awareness as to how the world works. Unless you’ve also become an oracle, I don’t think ‘supposed to’ enters into it.
“Now, if you mean you’re frustrated by having only a bad choice, well, I can understand that. But the fact is, you do have one. If you want to be sure that both of you walk away, forfeit the challenge and deal with Miranda later. I assume you’ve shared your frustration with her and she’s not moved by the fact that you’re occasionally sleeping with your opponent?”
Ian winced. “I didn’t phrase it like that, but yes. All she said was that she had spoken to Sydney and the duel would be held as scheduled.
“I mean, what the hell? And why will she talk to Miranda and not me?”
“And have you told Sydney all your secrets? Does she know, for example, about your aunt?” Verenice asked.