My lips parted and my thoughts froze. But,no, I would not be trapped. I could escape any gaze. I couldhide. I threw up a hammer in my mind to break the ice.
“Ah, even more interesting.” He sat back, the light turning his irises back to that startling green, almost too bright to be real as we rocked around another corner. He pulled the supple leather gloves through his fingers again. “I will use you well, Marietta Winters.”
“What—” My breath stuttered. “What did you do?”
“That you don’t know, but found a way around just piques my interest more. Do you understand what it means to make this vow? What about your older brother? Your society connections? You may be on the fringes, but your family clings tenaciously.”
I stiffened at the dig, and his knowledge. “Ferris can only influence what he sees.” Too far in the bottle to be a problem. “And my social connections matter little now.”
“Social connections, especially for the gilded, mean a great deal. The citywide net that protects family and sect secrets means personal gatherings are required for information to be exchanged. The gilded are dependent on their balls and invites. Do not think to lie to me so early in our negotiations.” His mouth was smiling, mocking; his eyes were narrowed and remote.
“With Kennen’s arrest and our dwindling estate magic, our social connections have already been severed. The servants will take care of the rest when they find me missing again. They’ll make up whatever pays best.” I looked away, wishing the shade was open so I could blindly stare at the passing scenery. “We didn’t receive a single invitation today or yesterday. And the day before we received only two—and that was because the news had come too late to destroy them.”
“No suitors waiting in the wings?”
“No,” I said tightly.
His gaze weighed my soul. “You could weather this storm, tainted though your family line would be. But working with me will ruin any future offers from the strata to which your family so desperately clings.”
“I know.” My voice was more vulnerable than I wished.
I longed for a stable home, one where I didn’t have to worry about my next meal or the ceiling enchantments caving in or how I could reach beyond a meager core. But that seemed an impossible dream. I wasn’t magically gifted. I didn’t live on a powerful square or estate. I had no dowry of crystals or grimoires. I had no beauty that could rival a fae. And defiance of my place had made my tongue sharp.
The gilded hoarded power: through dynasty, through knowledge, through their young. Until twenty-five—the age of magical majority—I was legally under my brother’s authority.
Now first in our dwindling family, Ferris had charge of my interests and offers for another year. Intolerant of the lower classes, he had steadfastly refused to let me marry into or become part of the merchant or business lines. And at this point, I doubted even a street enchanter would want to be saddled with someone so closely related to the Vein Ripper.
“You could distance yourself from your younger brother.”
I shut my eyes. “I could.” It had been obliquely stated by Ferris himself. I opened them again, in defiance. “But it would show poor character, would it not, were I to care more for my marital prospects than my brother’s life?”
He tilted his head. “We shall see.” The leather lazily passed through his fingers as he regarded me, eyes piercing and weighing. “So, what say you, Marietta Winters? Will you agree to my bargain?”
My heart hammered. “Three favors for your help in freeing my brother?”
“For three favors, I will help you free your brother, I so do vow.” He held out his hand. Hisbarehand. I put my trembling, gloved one in his.
He slowly turned my hand until my palm faced up. “Do you vow, Marietta?” He pinched the first fingertip of my glove, tugging it the barest inch free.
My lips parted, breath coming even faster.
“Do”—he did the same to the next digit, then the next, pulling agonizingly slow—“you”—pulling and pulling until the fabric was free of my fingers, exposing my bare flesh to his gaze and hands—“vow?”
His words wrapped me, kindling an aching heat.
“You can still refuse.” His finger traced my wrist.
We both knew I wouldn’t. I’d already been his the moment I walked through his door.
The vow hummed between us, ready to snap into place whether I spoke or not—there was a reason the weak or rich wore gloves. His finger on my bare wrist could bind me without a word—could force the vow through touch alone, his power overwhelming mine.
“Do you vow?”
That he was asking deliberately, waiting for my words rather than simply taking what magic and power would allow...
“I so do vow,” I whispered.
The magic of the oath was immediate. It gave will to the caster’s preference, and dark forms bloomed in a burning that sank beneath skin, into muscle—into something deeper that held the heart of my magic. I gasped, but his grip held firm. Unyielding.
