Eliza arrived at the club the same year as Andra and I. She was in an abusive marriage in Venezia and was forced to leave everything and everyone she’d ever known behind to escape her husband’s violence. We all grew acclimated to our new lives together, and though she would never admit it, I’m her favorite. When she sees Andra and me making our way through the cooks and servers dashing about the cramped space, she immediately hands me a plate of bread, cheese, and fruit, like she had it waiting for me.
I sink into my usual spot at the table, between Bianca and Andra, across from Meri, Rosa, Helen, and Tes. The seven of us have been here so long, I don’t remember a time in my life when they weren’t a part of it. All Gifted, all abandoned by our families. All without anywhere to go or any way to make a living if it weren’t for the generosity of Harold MacVeigh.
Meri reaches a hand across the table, nabbing one of my strawberries and popping it into her mouth. “Did you hear the latest?”
I shake my head as I smear a stripe of soft cheese across the warm and crusty bread. Meri is an infernal gossip, and I know she will report the latest whether I want to hear it or not. A fellowGifted with the ability to cast beautifully realistic illusions, Meri charms everyone who visits her bed, and many who only wish they could.
“Supposedly the Uprising leaders are meeting tonight to accept the monarchs’ surrender.”
My hand freezes, the bread halfway to my mouth. This is not Meri’s typical gossip.
“The monarchs are going to surrender?” Rosa voices my question before I have the chance to. Her big brown eyes widen as she tosses her long black curls over her shoulder, wrapping her thick robe tighter around her lithe figure. Rosa hails from Talia and has never adjusted to the cooler weather of Stratford City.
Tes purses her lips. “That’s what everyone is saying.” Her blue eyes darken with worry, and I know she is thinking of her close childhood friend, the prince of her home province of Kalmar. As far as I know, the two haven’t seen each other much since Tes came to live at the club when she was seven, but they still exchange letters, and I know she still cares for him.
I reach across the table and pat her hand. “I think this is a good thing, Tes. If the Uprising wins, it means we get our rights back. Plus, it means an end to the fighting, which is better for everyone.”
“That’s probably what spurred the conversation of surrender—I heard the latest Uprising attack killed hundreds.” Meri shudders, the glitter on her dark brown shoulders shimmering with the movement. She’s still in her performance costume—a tight red corset covered in rhinestones—even though the rest of us have changed into more comfortable clothing, cotton dresses and robes, or in Tes’s case, pants and a tunic. “If the letters from home are any indication, if the fighting doesn’t stop soon, there might not be much of Talia left to fight over.”
“I, for one, am certainly ready for the violence to be done.”Bianca, a Gifted with healing powers, tucks a strand of her wild red curls behind her pale, freckled ear. Her voice is quiet.
“Me too,” Andra mutters, with something more than the usual concern lacing her voice.
I study my sister, wondering if she’s told me everything about what she’s Seen lately, making a mental note to question her about it later, when we’re alone. “Well, if the rumor is true, it can only mean good things for us, right?”
One of the major tenets of the Uprising has been to restore the rights of the Gifted. For more than two hundred years now, we have faced discrimination and lived with senseless laws limiting our rights. Laws that were justified to the citizens of Avon because we could be considered “a threat to public safety,” but laws that have truly done nothing but oppress us. And while not every province enforces the laws with the same fervor, being Gifted is still seen as being less than in every corner of Avon.
“Here’s hoping.” Helen, a Gifted who can read people’s memories, raises her goblet of red wine to the center of the table and the rest of us clink our cups against hers, the sound swallowed up by Eliza’s shouts as she prepares another course.
I make my excuses soon after finishing my evening snack, leaving Andra and the rest of the women behind as I make my way back up the stairs to Harold’s office.
I knock on the mahogany door and am granted entry a second later. Sliding into one of the leather armchairs in front of his heavy wood desk, I adjust my skirt so my skin doesn’t stick to the fabric and my legs are covered. The room is dim, lit only by the two sconces on the wall behind the desk and one flickering lantern resting precariously on a mountain of papers.
“How was your night?” Harold doesn’t meet my eyes as he asks the question, his attention focused on the stacks of paperwork infront of him. He’s shucked the top hat and bright red coat he dons as our master of ceremonies and rolled up the sleeves of his white button-down shirt, his bow tie hanging loose around his neck. No one really knows for sure how old Harold is. His golden-brown hair has tinges of gray at the temples, but it wasn’t until recently that I began to notice the lines etched on the pale skin of his forehead.
“Good. Charlie is still suffering from his grief, but I think I managed to alleviate at least some of it. Lady Amanda is still not doing well, but there were fewer tears when we finished this evening.”
Harold nods but doesn’t respond, his eyes flitting from paper to paper, his brow furrowed.
“Harold?” I repeat his name until he finally looks up from the stacks of sheets. “Is there something wrong?” Maybe the rumors about the end of the Uprising being in sight aren’t entirely true. No one but me knows of Harold’s involvement, his financial backing and the advisement he offers to the rebel group. If the Uprising is as close to victory as Meri thinks, I would expect him to look much less stressed.
For a second I think he might ignore my question, but then he heaves a resigned sigh and gestures to the mess of his desk. “La Puissance is in trouble, Cate.”
It’s an unexpected answer, one that makes the cheese and fruit and whisky in my belly sour. “What kind of trouble?”
“The money kind. What other kind is there?” He drops his pen and lets his head sink into his hands. “Ever since the Uprising began, things haven’t been the same around here.”
“What about the rumors that the Uprising is almost over, that the monarchs are getting ready to surrender?” I’m fishing for information, for confirmation that the nightmare of the past two years isalmost done, even if I know the effects of the rebellion will be felt for years to come.
Of course, I’ve noticed the general state of disrepair that seems to be spreading like a plague throughout the club. Broken fixtures, carpets that need to be replaced, gold filaments gone brassy and tarnished. I guess I attributed the poor conditions to the ongoing rebellion and assumed that now that the end is in sight, the club could return to its former state of opulent beauty.
Harold’s bushy eyebrows rise. “How did you know the monarchs are preparing to surrender?”
I smile sweetly, taking the question as confirmation. “You know I know everything.”
He sighs but doesn’t give me the satisfaction of admitting I’m right.
“The club will recover once everyone has the chance to settle back into daily life, Harold. I wouldn’t worry about it too much.”
