“Well,” I said, complying and setting him down on the bed. “We will not be here much longer. As soon as Mr. Stoke is paid, you and I will be off to meet Lewis.”
Matters, of course, were not that simple. But I chose to remain focused on the tasks closest to hand. Claim the bounty, add it to the savings stuffed into my mattress, and board a ship. Meet up with Lewis and take on the new identity he had secured as his contribution to our alliance.
Then I would be free. I would still need to keep my collar high, but I would be far from Harrow’s dangers and the Harren Guild’s searching eyes. I would be free to pry the ring off my finger and go my own way, to live, at last, without looking over my shoulder.
The thought of the Guild and my ring made me glance at the dressing table as I unpinned my hat and cast it onto the unmade bed. There, a framed portrait of Lewis stood amid scattered cosmetics, brushes, and books. Handsome and mustachioed, his hair neatly parted and combed with his cap under one arm, he stared stoically out of the frame in sepia tones. A tactful application of paint concealed the pins on his high collar that marked him as a Guild-loaned mage, one of the tithe the Entwined gave to the Lusterless human government in an attempt to keep the peace. My landlady already had a low opinion of me—she hardly needed the ammunition of a supposed human engaged to an Entwined. But the reputability of having a fiancé at war had secured my rooms, modest and cluttered though they were.
I left the balcony door open to the cold as I discarded my outer clothes on an overburdened chair, pried off my corset, and sat on the narrow bed in my chemise and drawers. I curled my bare toes against the draft and quickly shook out my hair, finger-combing it into a plait while I watched my reflection in the mirror. Hieronymus curled up beside me.
Twilight began to seep across the worn wood and oriental carpets of the floor. It ran up the papered walls and my legs, skimmed the lace hem of my drawers, and passed up my arm to the shoulder. When it reached my neck, I leaned a little closer to the mirror, turning so that my throat stood out stark and pale in the gloaming.
There, under my skin, dusky threads began to entwine me. They moved like smoke, awakening from the nape of my neck and spreading out, out around my throat and shoulders.
They did not stop there. Unlike Harden’s silver threads, or those of the hanged woman, mine went further—they trickled out from my hairline, smoky trails winding across my temples.
But here, alone in the quiet of my room, there was no one to see but the mirror, a placid cat, and Lewis’s staring portrait.
***
I arrived at Mr. Stoke’s office just after noon with a paper-wrapped bundle of pastries, dark circles under my eyes, and a haze of anxious anticipation.
Mr. Stoke had yet to arrive and my footsteps echoed in the wood-panelled foyer. To either side were doors, one leading to my small office and the other to Mr. Stoke’s larger one. Both were dark, with shutters and curtains drawn.
A note was pinned to my door. I plucked it off on my way in and unfolded it as I bit into one of the pastries in a burst of cinnamon and sugar.
I froze. Where I expected to see Mr. Stoke’s bold, blocked handwriting, I instead found a flowing script.
Meet me at the Ciciley House, tomorrow, four o’clock.
Your adoring sister, Pretoria
I bolted into Mr. Stoke’s office and spun, taking in every familiar feature, searching for anything out of place. I saw disorganized bookshelves and a plain desk stacked with open letters and waiting documents. The worn old sofa of dark wood and pale green velvet, site of many afternoon naps. An aged grandfather clock, its steady ticking counterpoint to my rapid breaths.
The shelf, with the safe hidden behind it, appeared undisturbed. Relief washed over me along with a flush of curiosity.
Perhaps I should ensure the box was still there. Perhaps I should examine it, just to be sure. Nothing of value was safe in Pretoria’s vicinity, and if the box was gone, all my plans would collapse.
I had just set down my breakfast and begun to pull off my gloves when the main door clicked and Mr. Stoke’s voice broke the stillness.
“Ottilie? I tried to pick up a hansom at Glaster Square but it’s cordoned off. I haven’t a clue why—have you heard anything? Ottilie? Miss Fleet?”
I plastered a smile on my face and turned as he entered the office, half concealing the note behind my opposite forearm. “Good morning! I bought pastries.”
“And there are still some left?” Mr. Stoke pulled his hat from his head, quirking a brow at me. “A great sacrifice. Making amends?”
“Well, yes. I was late too, if I am honest.” I moved to open the windows and turn up the radiator beneath, forcing myself not to stare at the bookcase.
“Never mind. What of that letter?” Stoke asked as he settled in, shrugging off his coat and sitting down at his desk. He nodded to the paper in my hand—not well hidden, after all. “Anything I should know about?”
“No, no.” I cleared my throat. “My sister was here. Rather, she is coming to town, that is all. I will meet her tomorrow.”
Stoke pulled off his jacket. “Which one? I thought they both married and moved overseas.”
It was not entirely a lie. The Guild had assigned my sisters and I carefully chosen spouses, selected for the propagation of the most powerful Entwined offspring to add to their quiver. Only Madge had submitted to marrying hers and had, upon her wedding at twenty, thrown herself into her propagational duties. She had, last I heard, produced four Adept children in eight years. Considering Entwined rarely conceived more than twice in a lifetime, this was remarkable.
I, meanwhile, had turned my intended not into a husband, but an ally. Captain Lewis Illing and I, despite being thrust together by the Guild we despised, had forged a mutually beneficial alliance. Together, with our combined skills and contacts, we would escape the Guild and go our separate ways.
Pretoria’s actions towards her Guild match, meanwhile, were altogether more complex, and I would do the reader an injustice to unfold the entirely grisly tale at this juncture. However, let it be said that in the wake of her Separatist lover’s execution, her fiancé had vanished. She had then faked her own death and thrown herself into a life of crime overseas with a contingent of other Rogue mages.
