Honovi didn’t protest, but Blaine knew he wouldn’t. He was ajarland knew his duty.
They both did.
Seven
CARIS
Ninth Month arrived some days later, and with it, the Duchess Meleri Auclair.
Caris woke one morning to the sound of motor carriages rumbling down the short drive, a multitude of voices calling out, and footsteps in the hall outside her bedroom. Knuckling her eyes, Caris sat up, blinked a couple of times to clear her vision, then got out of bed.
She padded over to the window that overlooked the front of the estate, parting the curtains to peer down at the drive. It was barely dawn, but the gas lamps lining the drive illuminated the line of motor carriages easily enough. Caris’ attention caught on the redheaded woman who exited the silver motor carriage, Meleri dressed in her finest travel clothes.
A tall young man hurriedly exited the motor carriage from the other door—Lord Dureau, the duchess’ youngest child and only son. Caris reached for the latch on the window, winching it open to let in an early morning breeze and allowing her to get a better view of the motor carriages. She silently prayed that her parents would be next to leave one of the vehicles, but her searching gaze came up empty.
The duchess had left Amari without Caris’ parents in tow.
Perhaps it had been too much to hope the nightmare of separation would end. Caris let the curtain drop down again, leaving the window open. The simmering anger that had sparked in Amari had yet to leave her, and the roots of it twined their way to the woman who had just arrived.
Caris clenched and unclenched her hands a few times before shaking them out. Her emotions were like steam caught in the pipes of a machine, pressing in tight against her skin, waiting to explode. Or perhaps it was her magic, the incandescent heat of starfire buried deep inside her soul having finally found a release and refusing to remain locked up any longer.
Little sparks flickered at her fingertips, bright white in the dimness of the bedroom, and she absently snuffed them out. She hadn’t slept well since fleeing Amari, fear for her parents and Nathaniel keeping her awake during the night. Some of the blame could be placed on her magic. Most of it, she was sure, could be blamed on the duchess.
Squaring her shoulders, Caris slipped into the attached washroom to tend to her morning ablutions. Once clean, she dressed for the day in a pair of neatly tailored trousers and a slim fitted day jacket that Lore had arranged to be delivered after they’d first arrived.
Caris smoothed her hands down the front of the day jacket, eyeing the veil lying stretched across the dresser. The delicate thread magic woven into the gossamer-thin fabric gave it a faint shimmer, the metal clasp of it designed to look like a necklace. Caris left the veil where it lay and exited her bedroom as herself.
She was unsurprised to find Lore coming up the stairs, skirt hiked up to midcalf in her haste. The older woman huffed out a breath, strands of blonde hair drifting around her face. “There you are. Mother has arrived, and she has news for us that hasn’t yet made its way into the broadsheets.”
“Did she bring news about my parents?” Caris asked. “What about Nathaniel?”
Lore had spent her entire life keeping what she thought and what she knew off her face and out of her voice and eyes. She was a cipher to Caris’ gaze, giving nothing away. “We’re meeting upstairs in the library. Third floor, east wing, on the side that faces the garden. I’ll wake Blaine and Honovi.”
“I saw Dureau outside earlier. Did Brielle stay behind?”
“Yes, she’s staying in Amari with her family. Someone had to remain behind to keep their fingers on the pulse of politics. We can ill afford to be without a voice in parliament.” Caris was unsurprised by Lore’s answer. Lady Brielle Auclair, known as Whisper to the Clockwork Brigade, held her mother’s seat in the Ashion parliament.
Lore made a shooing gesture with her left hand, pointing at the stairs behind her leading up to the third floor. Then she swept down the hallway, intent on waking up Blaine and Honovi. Caris stuffed her anger down and climbed the stairs to the private family level above.
The walls on that floor were done up halfway in dark wainscotting, the rest of the space covered in pale ocher wallpaper. Caris walked on quiet feet over old but well-cared-for rugs that spanned the hallways of the east wing. She eventually found the library, tucked halfway down the main hall of the east wing.
Caris found Meleri and Dureau ensconced in a room twice the size of her bedroom, papers and broadsheets strewn between them on a low marble table. Caris paused in the doorway, barely seeing the bookcases filled with books and hand-cut clarion crystal figurines that sang with a high, sweet sound at the very edge of her hearing. Meleri’s voice was a discordant tone to the song that only Caris could hear.
Their low conversation broke off when Meleri caught sight of Caris in the doorway. Caris stepped into the library, never taking her eyes off the duchess. Meleri lookedtired, looked her age, in the soft glow of the gas lamps scattered around the room. Her short, pale red hair curled slightly against her skull from the encroaching heat. She wore no rouge or powder, though Caris thought nothing sold in any perfumery shop could hide the dark circles under Meleri’s eyes.
“Caris,” Meleri said in greeting, sounding relieved. “I’m so glad you made it here safely.”
Caris said nothing to that, gave no greeting of her own as she approached the scattered armchairs and chaise that made up the conversation circle the pair had claimed. An image caught her eye, and Caris finally looked away from Meleri. She looked at the broadsheet folded open on top of other papers and ledgers on the marble table, her own face staring up at her from the front page yet again.
“Have you news of my parents?” Caris asked. The silence that settled in the room was fraught. She looked away from the broadsheet, meeting Meleri’s gaze. “They didn’t arrive with you, so I’m assuming you left them in Amari.”
“Caris,” Dureau began.
Caris made a cutting motion with her hand. “I’m not interested in excuses. I want to know where my parents are. I’ve read nothing of them in the broadsheets, so surely they are safe. Surely you know where your cogs are, Meleri.”
“I am not a star god who hears every prayer of their children and knows where they are on the roads they walk,” Meleri said.
“That isn’t an answer.”
