Cleo threw her breadcrumbs to the ducks. She was alone, and for the first time in years, she wasn't content with the situation.
Sebastian hadn't returned. He hadn't contacted her. She was beginning to think his threat to stay away from her until the wedding, scheduled for later this afternoon, was a real one.
There was also no indication the Prime had received her letter. She didn't know what else to do. She couldn't just sit here and play damsel-in-distress for the rest of her life.
"Do you know," she told her ducks, "I am beginning to grow very tired of people who think they know what is best for me."
The ducks did what ducks do best, and clamored for more crumbs. There were no allies here. Cleo gave them what they wanted, the greedy beasts, then turned toward the folly.
She couldn't help but feel haunted by what had happened there, though she stubbornly refused to touch her lips. It hadn't even been much of a kiss, after all, for she'd given it a lot of thought since it had happened, and had come to the conclusion that his kisses were all well and good, but a little more enthusiasm would have been appreciated. The next time he kissed her, Sebastian had better give it a damn good shot, or else she was not going to marry him.
Cleo sighed. That was a farce. She was going to marry him, no matter what. Firstly, she wanted out from under her father's overprotective wing, and secondly, she had to do something to help Sebastian remove this collar and escape his mother. Murdering his mother was not going to help Sebastian's troubled mind.
Cleo took one step up into the folly, then froze at the rustle of fabric. She wasn't alone. He'd come back. Hope soared through her chest, and just as she was about to call out his name, she caught a hint of perfume.
It was a woman, one who liked spicier scents, which led her to think the woman was older. Most debutantes wore floral perfumes, something that hinted at innocence.
"Hello? I know there's someone there."
Silk shifted. It had a particularly sleek rustle, which meant her visitor was most likely upper class, possibly nobility or a rich merchant's wife. "Apologies," the voice was smoky and richly toned. "I did not mean to startle you."
Well, that was twice in as many days.
Cleo couldn't sense any harm coming her way. Indeed, the day had been rather prediction-free, but she certainly wasn't going to take risks.
"I am here on official Order business," the woman said. "I was sent by the Prime, with orders that you are to keep quiet, even from your father." And for the first time the other woman faltered. "I-I have an official document requesting your help, but I wasn't aware that you wouldn't be able to see it."
A directive from the Prime. Cleo's pulse leapt. "Can you give it to me?"
The letter was pressed into her hand. The woman tried to help direct her toward the seat, and Cleo let her, just to add to the impression that she was helpless. People underestimated blind girls, and she was quite content to allow that.
Psychometry was not a particular talent of hers, but she had learned how to do it somewhat crudely. The document had been written by a man. She sensed that he was full of thoughts when he wrote it and that a great deal of trouble rode on his shoulders, but nothing else.
Could she trust this woman, this directive? Cleo opened herself up to the inner world and received a brief flash of Vision; a golden spark rising to defeat a roiling cloud of darkness, only this time, it was joined by another.
Well, that settled it.
"Who are you?" Cleo asked. "Be aware that I will be able to sense the truth in your words."
The woman hesitated.
"I don't have to help you," Cleo reminded her. "Indeed, perhaps I need assurances that I can trust you."
"My name is Eleanor Ross, and if your father knew I was here, he would have me killed. He denied my earlier request of visiting you. I had to sneak over the wall."
That troubled her, for Cleo had thought her father a great many things, but not a murderer. Yet the woman was speaking the truth—as she believed it. "I won't tell him. You mentioned the Prime. What does he want?"
"He received a warning that there was a young sorcerer collared and bound to another's will. His name is Sebastian Montcalm."
"What are his intentions toward the young man?"
"He wants to help him," Eleanor replied. "No sorcerer should have his will enslaved."
Cleo tilted her head, as if listening. "That's not the entire truth. Though it is part of it, I think."
"I have a small talent for psychometry. I used it to divine where the letter had come from and received some disturbing suggestions of a plot against the Prime."
"I see. May I ask you something?"
