The Marchioness nodded slowly. “Elea.”
At last, we were getting somewhere. “You asked me before what I wanted. Your gallery is going to burn to the ground. You will allow it to do so. You will say only lovely things about the visit today from Amelia, Philippe, and me.” I made the smoke billow higher about the chamber. “And you will get me an invitation to the Montagne play and ball.”
The Marchioness frowned. “This is blackmail.”
“You haven’t heard my full terms yet. As a gesture of my gratitude, I’ll cast spells across your entire property against future Necromancers. They won’t be able to hurt you and yours.”
The Marchioness pursed her lips. “And?”
“What do you mean?” asked Amelia. “Isn’t that enough?”
“No,” said the Marchioness. “There’s always a catch.”
“True,” I said. “The spells will protect me against you as well. If you betray me to the Vicomte, I’ll know. I’ll find you, and it won’t be pleasant.”
The Marchioness rubbed her delicate fingers across her temples. She suddenly looked much older. “Believe me, I’d love to have some security against these awful mages. Even if you cast these wards, what good will it do? The Vicomte is sure to send another Fantome. Our family is too powerful to ignore.”
“I can’t stop them from arriving, but with the proper spells, they won’t be able to harm you, your servants, or your property. I’ll add in spells of forgetfulness so they never contact the Vicomte about the wards.”
“Interesting.” The Marchioness tapped her chin. “We’ve had a plague of fires this summer. It would be a believable way for Kamilla to die. And I would love a measure of protection from your kind. No offense.”
“None taken.”
The Marchioness lifted her chin. “I agree to your terms.”
A weight of worry dropped from my shoulders. “Excellent.”
“How soon can you ward our property?”
“I’ll come by tomorrow morning.” An acrid smell filled the air, and I knew exactly where it came from. “It would be best if we left now. I do believe your gallery is on fire.” I snapped my fingers, and the haze filling the room disappeared. “Be sure to act surprised when the servants arrive.”
Across the chamber, the door whipped open. “Marchioness! There’s a fire!”
The Marchioness did an admirable job of widening her eyes and gasping. “I’d better go.” She turned to me. “You can see yourselves out, I hope?”
I curtsied. “Don’t worry about us.”
As the Marchioness rushed from the room, Philippe rushed in. “Have you heard? There’s a fire!”
“We know all about it.” Amelia stepped up and wrapped her arm protectively through mine. “I’ll explain everything at home.” She beamed at me. “But Elea has it all under control, just as she always does.”
Philippe quirked his brows at me. “Is that how it works?”
I opened my mouth, ready to say that Philippe was right—my emotions got the better of me all the time. But seeing the trusting look in Amelia’s big blue eyes, I couldn’t say any of that. She needed to think I was always in control.
“I say it’s time for us to leave.”
As I stepped out the door, I realized that Amelia wasn’t the only one who should question my skills. I got through today by the skin of my teeth. What would tomorrow bring? Too many people were relying on me, and my control was clearly at a breaking point. A leaden feeling settled into my bones.
Perhaps it’s just a matter of time before I got us all killed.
Chapter Twelve
Late morning light sifted through the trees. Everything seemed cast in an emerald glow as I strode through the woods behind the Havilland estate. I’d been at it for hours, searching for the perfect places to set up my protection spells.
I paused beside one of the larger trees—a massive fir—and reached out with my mage senses. My last spell was now so far enough away. The magick was barely detectable. It was time to cast again.
Frustration tightened up my neck and shoulders. I’d wanted to be done by now. Unfortunately, the lands here were so vast, it was all taking longer than I’d like. I needed to return to Amelia’s and get ready for tonight’s ball.
A red mist appeared on the ground. Excitement twisted through my stomach.
Creation Caster magick.
The mist swirled upward, solidifying into the familiar outline of Rowan. I wanted to run over and embrace him. Instead, I stayed stock-still and calm looking.
Even so, I greedily soaked in the sight of him. Rowan stood tall and broad-shouldered in his fitted brown leathers. A pair of short swords was strapped to his back. All this was the classic garb for a Creation Caster, but the loose brown hair, piercing green eyes, and rugged features were all Rowan. His mouth tilted into a crooked smile. My body suddenly felt overheated even though I stood in the shade.
“Elea.”
“Rowan.”