“A tavern in the Velvet District.”
“Really, Liane?” In her best disapproving older sister tone.
“Really, Aristea,” Liane said, sticking out her tongue, using her right as a younger sister to tease her.
Aristea wouldn’t be here in her room this late without reason, and so sleep would have to wait a little while longer. Luzie, ever the gracious hostess, had served Aristea tea and cakes. Liane took a seat on the sofa across from Aristea, her legs crossed under her as she reached for one of the cakes.
“Aren’t you too old to be galivanting late at night?”
“First of all, I’m nearly twenty-six, practically a shriveled-up old maid, and second of all, I’m not galivanting. I caught the head of the Onyx Gang tonight.” Liane plopped a powdered cake into her mouth.
The buttery, flakey pastry melted against her tongue, and Liane sighed with pleasure. Now that she was home, her hunger caught up with her. She’d missed dinner...
Liane’s eyes widened. The Soccicio ambassador’s gala! With a groan, she slammed her palm against her forehead. How could she have forgotten? Mother must be furious she’d missed another function.
“Now you remember,” Aristea said before picking up her teacup and taking a delicate sip.
“How angry is she?”
“I managed to smooth things over by lying and saying you weren’t feeling well.”
She was fortunate Mother hadn’t sent the Vice Premier and a physician to tend to her. Any time the sun flushed her skin, Mother thought the fevers had returned.
“What do you want for your silence?” Liane asked.
“Remember when I asked you about dancing at the Masquerade?”
Liane groaned again. Even if she weren’t a terrible dancer, the Masquerade was the next day; she couldn’t learn the steps in time.
“Are you trying to ruin your performance? Because there are easier ways to do it.”
“I have no choice; Lady Carmen twisted her ankle today at practice, and we’ll be uneven.”
“Can’t have that.”
“If you prefer, I can tell Mother the truth, and I’m certain she’d have you make up for it by having you join her at all her luncheons and dinners. There’s lots of dignitaries and dukes visiting for the Sun Ceremony that she’d love for you to meet…”
“No. No. No. Let’s not be hasty now. I’d love to dance with you,” Liane said, waving away the very thought.
Mother had been trying to get her to wed for years, but she’d resisted until her vow to Elias was fulfilled. She wouldn’t marry, she never would, and she liked it that way.
3
Metal bars separating the prison cells provided no shelter from the chill breeze, which stole what little warmth Erich’s coat provided. Pulling it tighter around him, he tried to get comfortable on the cold, hard ground, but that was impossible. Not that he could sleep in this place, not surrounded by snoring drunks and filthy, petty criminals. His palms itched to take hold of his dagger, but they’d taken his one source of comfort, along with his other personal effects. All that remained was his mother’s ring, which they’d somehow overlooked when they searched him. Reaching into his pocket, he ran a thumb against it. A fine mess he’d gotten into. For six years, he’d run away from the man he’d been, thought he’d shed that persona entirely, but here in this stinking cell, all he had left was her last relic and the curse she’d laid upon him.
Removing his hand from his pocket, Erich sighed and leaned his head back against the bars. It shouldn’t have been surprising that the miracle worker was another fraud. Another charlatan and failure among many setbacks, and disappointments. It was more foolish of him to keep hoping. No one had ever healed corruption, and yet he kept looking. Perhaps it was for the best he’d missed his ship to Xi’an, rumor had it their alchemists could bottle lightning and transmute metals, and some whispered they sought to heal corruption as well.But knowing his luck, it would have been another dead end.
“Psst,” his cellmate whispered.
Erich ignored him by closing his eyes and pretending to sleep. He wasn’t in the mood for prison cell chit-chat.
“Hey, pretty boy.”He jabbed him in the shoulder.
If he wasn’t going to take a hint, perhaps he should make himself clearer.
“I’m flattered, but you’re not my type,” Erich replied, not bothering to open his eyes.
Straw scratched on the floor as he slid closer to Erich. Rolling his head to the side, Erich glared at the one-eared thug from the tavern who smiled back at him, revealing his blackened, rotted teeth.
