“This does complicate things, Mother,” Lore said, moving to take a seat on one of the chairs in front of the desk. “Finding Caris has always been our top priority, but the rumors of that terrible death-defying machine are only growing louder. We need to ascertain the truth there, and our most trusted cogs we’d send to uncover the origins of the rumors would be the ones we’d have guard Caris.”
Blaine frowned. “What machine?”
Lore made a face, smoothing the skirt of her gown over her knees. “Haven’t you wondered about the excess of revenants in Ashion? The borders have never shrunk so badly as they have in the last year. Even the wardens can’t explain the uptick of the walking dead. Their spring report on the borders is concerning.”
“Wild beasts are one thing. Humans quite another. The dead are burned for a reason,” Dureau agreed.
“What would a machine have to do with revenants?” Blaine asked.
Meleri sighed and went to take her seat behind the desk again. “There are rumors of a machine that can turn the dead into revenants.”
“That’s impossible.”
Meleri smiled thinly, folding her hands together over the desktop. “And we never thought the coup and Inferno would happen, but here we are, stumbling through the ashes.”
Blaine vehemently shook his head. “A machine like that can’t exist.”
“I’ve learned it’s best not to think in absolutes when the Daijal court is involved. These are rumors, yes, but all rumors have a grain of truth in them somewhere.”
“We’ll find it,” Lore promised.
The surety in her voice would have been laughable, but their persistence had kept the Clockwork Brigade running and had located Blaine in E’ridia. It was best, he’d come to learn over the last year, to never underestimate the Auclairs.
Seven
CARIS
“Stop fidgeting,” Portia said quietly as she tucked a stray lock of hair behind Caris’ ear.
“I’m not fidgeting,” Caris muttered, shifting from foot to foot.
“Caris.”
“Mother.”
Portia arched an eyebrow in silent admonishment, and Caris ducked her head, scowling at the floor. She couldn’t see her feet because of the white gown she wore, the outfit uncomfortable, especially the corset. She’d wanted to wear a stylish suit with a floor-length cape, but her mother had nixed the idea weeks ago when they’d put in the order with the tailor.
Proper debutantes wore a gown, not trousers, her mother insisted.
“If I wore something like this to the laboratory or garage back home, I’d be laughed right out for safety reasons,” Caris said.
“Then it’s a good thing we aren’t going to either of those places. Now, chin up, shoulders back, and remember to watch your balance when you curtsy.” Portia leaned in close and brushed a kiss over Caris’ cheek. “I love you, my dear. Your father and I are both very proud of you.”
Caris tugged at the above-the-elbow white silk evening gloves edged in lace she wore, preferring the heavy-duty leather gloves she used when working on machinery. “I know, but I’m sobored.”
Portia sighed thickly. Caris recognized the impatience in the tone and tried not to scowl. Being presented to high society hadn’t been her idea, nor her father’s. But her mother had insisted, and so they were in Amari for the season, when Caris would much rather be back in Cosian.
“I’m missing the spring races for this,” Caris muttered under her breath, thinking longingly of her racing carriage gathering dust in their company’s garage.
“There’s always next year,” Portia replied.
“Not if I’m at school.”
As much as she missed racing, Caris wanted acceptance into the Aether School of Engineering more. She’d much rather put her energies toward furthering her education so she could one day take over the family business than search for a husband or wife like the rest of the girls being presented tonight.
Caris leaned forward out of the line to get a quick look at the other sixteen-year-old girls waiting impatiently for their turn to be presented. Down the hall, on the other side of the rosewood double doors, was the line of escorts, young men and at least three young women that Caris could see, all of whom were dressed in comfortable-looking suits, nary a corset in sight.
“Caris,” Portia warned.
