Adrien plants his elbows on his thighs and links his hands together before rehashing what I learned at the library with Cadence. I sip my wine in silence, allowing him to feel important as he drones on about the Black Death, the mishandling of magic, and the Council’s decision to have thediwallersbreak apart the source of all magic to punish the undeserving and undisciplined masses.
“What they did sounds simple: four leaves and a Bloodstone key. But because records are sparse, it took the last generation a lot of trial and error to grasp the actual complexities of assembling the Quatrefoil.”
Gaëlle swirls her wine, then drinks it in one swallow. “And deaths. It caused so many deaths.”
Cadence’s expression ripples with shock. “Deaths? It wasn’t just Maman?”
“Non, chérie.” Rainier gives her a pained smile. “It’s not just the ring that kills. In my generation, four people lost their lives.”
“Out of how many?” I figure it’s all about averages.
“Eight.”
“Halfthe group died?” I laugh. “Pretty shitty odds.”
“And I lost the use of my legs.” Rainier’s voice is razor-sharp.
Cadence drops her glass, which spills over the rug like blood, splattering her jeans and the cream couch on its way down. “You said it was a car accident!”
The liquid beads over the leather, striping it purple.
Gaëlle extricates herself from the sofa cushion. “I’ll go grab some salt. It’ll soak up the stain.”
I don’t think Cadence or Rainier care about the stain at the moment.
As Gaëlle leaves, Rainier takes his daughter’s hands and cocoons them between his. “MaCadence, I was trying to protect you—”
“By lying?” Her eyes shimmer with disappointment. “What else have you lied to me about, Papa?”
“Chérie. . .”
Cadence pulls her hands free, then swipes the glass from the rug and plops it on the coffee table so hard I’m surprised neither cracks. Hands shaking, she takes the bottle from the center of the table and starts pouring but misses her glass more than once.
Adrien, ever the fucking gentleman, scoots off the couch and gently peels her fingers off the large, dark-green bottle, before accomplishing the job she was botching. With a wink, he grabs a tissue from his vest pocket and cleans up the base and stem.
“I forgot to tell you, Rainier, but the clock started ticking,” Adrien says as he returns to his seat. “Could that be one of our pieces?”
“No. The clock’s like an hourglass. It’ll mark the number of moon phases you have left.”
“What about the star dial?” Mercier asks.
“The hand on that one didn’t move last time. I suspect it’ll start working once the Quatrefoil is assembled.”
“What is this about the clock?” Gaëlle blusters back in, armed with a wet dishcloth and a canister ofsel de Guérande—of course this is the only type of salt these people would own.
Rainier fills her in as she blots Cadence’s jeans, then energetically scrubs the sofa before sprinkling the salt flakes over the rug.
“Thank you,” Cadence murmurs, her skin the same shade as her thick turtleneck. She’s in shock, and if her white knuckles are any indication, she’s also pretty ticked off. She should be. Lies are hard to stomach, even if they’re dispensed to protect.
“So, let me get this straight, De Morel. I’m not the only one who risks dying if we go after these pieces?”
He nods. “The pieces can only be earned through challenges.”
“Then I’m going at this alone. Just give me the instruction booklet, and I’m good. No one else needs to be involved.”
Adrien scoffs. “This isn’t a game, Roland. There is no instruction booklet. Besides, the rest of us have no choice in participating.”
“Really,Mercier?” I bite down hard on his family name. Dick thinks he can call me Roland. “Why?”
