“Oh, last week I think.” Color rose in Amelia’s cheeks. That only happened when my friend was lying. There was no question about it. Some time had passed since there had been wedding rumors for Amelia. So, what had changed recently? An idea appeared. Genesis Rex had been having diplomatic negotiations with the Vicomte. Perhaps the Caster King was behind all this. Marrying into the Vicomte’s family would be a traditional way to protect the Casters. Not that it would work, in my opinion. The Vicomte was too much of a lying bastard.
“I’ve told you what I know.” The Marchioness focused her attention on me. “Your turn.”
I opened my mouth to speak, but Amelia replied first. “My sister and I wish to visit your galleries. Alone.”
The Marchioness rubbed her temples and grew silent. My legs began to get wobbly beneath me.
We’re so close. Ada, Veronique, and the others could be seconds away.
At last, the Marchioness addressed us once more. “That’s a strange request. I rarely let anyone see the galleries alone. Still, I’ll allow it this time.”
Amelia’s face brightened. “Thank you.”
“Your half sister may go alone.” The Marchioness patted Amelia’s forearm. “You must stay and keep me company. We have so much to catch up on. Isn’t that right?”
Amelia fidgeted in her chair. “Oh, yes.”
The Marchioness rose and stepped up to my side. Resting her hand gently on my shoulder, she led me toward the door. Once we were far enough away from Amelia, she leaned in to whisper in my ear. “My Fantome is already waiting to accompany you to the gallery. It’s her favorite place to take strangers. You see, she’s cast wards to block all magick there.”
“What?” The word tumbled from my lips before I could stop it. Magick-blocking wards were very complex and almost impossible to cast through. My chances of winning a battle in the gallery were slim.
“Of course” —the Marchioness shrugged— “if you’re who you say you are, then you’ve nothing to fear, now do you? And if you’re a lying Necromancer, then Kamilla will kill you on the spot.” Her voice lowered with menace. “I have enough of your scum in my house as it is. I don’t need more mages causing trouble. Do we understand each other?”
“We do.”
She gestured to the door. “Then, the exit is that way.”
I glanced over my shoulder. From across the room, Amelia was watching us. Her blue eyes were wide with worry. I gave her what I hoped was a carefree smile. My friend had placed herself in enough danger as it was. I didn’t want her risking a trip to the gallery with a Fantome too.
Worry churned inside me as I walked toward the exit. Every step seemed to echo through the room, reminding me of the drumroll before an execution. Alone with a Grand Mistress Necromancer and unable to cast spells?
Gods-damn it. I’m heading right into a trap.
Chapter Ten
Kamilla waited for me in the outer hallway. Usually, Necromancers were careful to hide their emotions. There was no missing the hungry flare in Kamilla’s brown eyes. In fact, she reminded me of my old cat Lucy. That same look appeared when there was a wriggling mouse trapped under her claws. My spine stiffened.
I am no one’s prey.
My hand itched to cast an attack spell right now. After all, my Sisters could be hidden somewhere nearby. A scheme formed in my mind.
Kill Kamilla.
Invade the gallery.
Investigate.
With any luck, free Ada and the others.
I forced in a deep breath. Mother Superior would say that was my impulsive zuchtlos-side talking. Allowing my emotions to do my thinking for me wasn’t an option today. A plan was already in motion, and it was to tour the gallery with Kamilla. If I found any sign of Ada or the others, then I’d consider matters from there.
I still have until tomorrow night.
Leaning on my Necromancer training, I slowly approached Kamilla, my face a mask of calm. “The Marchioness says you’re to give me a tour of the gallery.”
“Try to keep up.” Kamilla took off through the mansion’s warren of golden passageways. I stayed close behind her. All the rooms looked the same—yellow walls, wooden furniture, and grisly hunting tapestries. From time to time, we’d pass a servant in golden livery. They always paused, shot me a pitying look, and hurried on.
Clearly, I wasn’t the first to get a gallery tour from Kamilla. The guard’s words about strangers made perfect sense now.
Soon Kamilla and I exited the mansion through a side door. A hillock opened up before us, all the grass gleaming emerald-bright in the afternoon sunshine. Kamilla pointed toward the horizon. A long and rectangular building stood atop a nearby hill. The gallery. Every inch seemed plated gold, so it hurt to stare at the place in direct sunlight.
I supposed that was the point.
Kamilla followed a thin footpath over the grass, leading me to one of the gallery’s side doors. She pulled it open slowly. “After you, Fleur.”
“Thank you.”
I stepped inside. The galleries were a series of small rooms made of gleaming wood. Tall windows cast long beams of light across the floor. It wasn’t much of a gallery, to be honest. Only a few pictures of the Havilland forebears covered the walls. Mostly, these depicted elder nobles who were withered and slumped.
This gallery was the pride of the Havilland family. It was supposed to be overflowing with portraits. Why had they cleaned out most of the paintings? The answer appeared in a flash.