I sped back to the Havilland mansion. Some of the servants give me odd stares as I walked along the rolling green. Nothing surprising there. They probably didn’t expect to see me alive again. As a result, I took care to hold my head high and walk with purpose. Although the stares continued, no one actually stopped me.
Soon, I pulled open the heavy wooden door to the reception room. The Marchioness and Amelia were sitting on a pair of high-backed chairs in the far corner. They stopped speaking when I entered.
The Marchioness glanced over my shoulder. “Where’s Kamilla?”
I closed the door behind me and scanned the room. No one here besides the Marchioness, Amelia, and me. Perfect.
In other words, there was no reason to hide the truth. “She’s dead.”
The Marchioness arched her brows. The look on her face ranked somewhere between fear and delight. “You killed her?”
“Essentially.” I had called on Rowan to do the job, but I didn’t think that nuance bore explaining right now.
Amelia slumped into her chair. “Fleur, no.”
I sat down beside the Marchioness. “Don’t pretend to mourn her.”
The Marchioness patted her golden wig. “I won’t.” Her voice seethed with rage. “I’ve been a prisoner in my own home since the Vicomte sent that witch here. Do you think I enjoy sending strangers to their deaths? My beloved gallery now hides too many bodies under the floorboards. I wish it was gone.”
You may get your wish. “I have a friend waiting in the gallery. Once I leave, it will burn down in a controlled fire. Keep your servants away.”
The Marchioness set her hand at her throat. “A fire? How awful. We’ll have to rebuild. The Marquis won’t be pleased.” For a woman who’d just found out that a disaster was about to strike her property, she didn’t seem too upset.
Amelia leaned forward. “You must understand. Fleur is doing this to protect you as well.”
The Marchioness patted Amelia’s hand. “I do, Amelia. Believe me. Otherwise, I’d be screaming bloody murder right now.”
And you’d be placed under a spell before you opened your mouth. I decided not to share that part, however. Still, the Marchioness seemed to want to say more. “But?”
“It’s not like a Necromancer to be anything but a thorn in my side. I can’t help wondering.” The Marchioness leaned in closer to me. “What do you want?”
No question there. “An ally.”
“We both need one,” added Amelia.
“I need an invitation to the celebrations for Theodora, both the play tonight and tomorrow’s ball.”
The Marchioness waved her hand. “You’ll never get one of those. The Montagne family is ever so selective.” She focused on Amelia. “Your half-sister is another matter. That I can do.”
I lowered my voice to a menacing note. “You’ll get invitations for Amelia, Philippe, and me.”
“Or what?”
“Do I need to tell the story of the gallery again?”
“And why should I believe you about Kamilla?” The Marchioness folded her arms over her chest. “I should send a servant to inspect the gallery.”
I stifled the urge to chuckle. “I really wouldn’t do that. They won’t come back alive. My friend who’s waiting there is a powerful mage. He has very explicit orders to kill any outsiders who set foot inside the gallery.”
Which was a tiny lie. Rowan didn’t have such orders, but I also knew the man well enough. He’d see anyone checking in on the gallery as a threat. And when it came to me, Rowan was very protective. The thought sent a wave of warm feelings through my chest.
Rowan saved me.
The Marchioness paused, considering. A long minute ticked by before she spoke again. “I don’t believe you,” she said simply. “Kamilla was a Grand Mistress Necromancer.”
“So am I.”
The Marchioness smiled. “Please. None still live who can best a Fantome. This is all some kind of ruse.” She turned to Amelia. “Child, you must bring your bastardess sister back more often. She’s ever so entertaining.”
Anger heated my bloodstream. Entertaining? My powers were many things. A source of entertainment wasn’t one of them. And after seeing the gallery, I knew Ada and the other Necromancers weren’t here. There was no time to waste with these silly games.
Clearly, if the conversation was to move forward, the Marchioness needed more convincing.
I was happy to oblige.
Slowly rising to my feet, I lifted my arm and pulled in Necromancer energy. The bones in my left hand soon glowed blue. “My name is Elea. I’m the Grand Mistress Necromancer who sent the Tsar into exile.” I released my power, sending a cloud of blue smoke across the chamber floor. For extra effect, I added small silver lightning bolts into the depths. “Kamilla is dead. I need you help. What is your answer?”
“I heard the stories, yet I never thought—” All the blood drained from the Marchioness’s face. “The Vicomte said that he was the one who sent the Tsar into exile. He used one of his machines.”
“That’s a lie,” said Amelia. “Elea did it.”