Augusta glanced back and forth between the two of them. “I have to say, it’s good to see the two of you getting along again.”
“Agreed,” said Zada.
“Agreed.” Did Daphne sound more hoarse than usual? It might have been a trick of the acoustics. Sound bounced oddly in such a high-ceilinged, tiled room.
Augusta left around eleven, taking the hyper-carriage Daphne called for her. The horse’s headlights cut through the darkness as Augusta climbed in.
“Oh,” she said, turning to Zada as the carriage started to pull away, “I almost forgot to say. Congratulations to you and Buford!”
It was the first time all evening that his name had come up. Zada froze, but then Daphne thumped her gently on theback and she managed to reply, “Thank you. Get home safe!”
They watched the hyper-carriage retreat past the gate, its rear lights fading to red pinpricks in the night.
A wave of exhaustion hit Zada as she and Daphne stepped back inside. “I might take a shower tonight, if you don’t need the bathroom,” Zada said, yawning. It occurred to her that the Fallow estate likely contained more bathrooms than Zada had fingers and toes.
“Go ahead,” said Daphne. “Second floor, third door on your left. You can stay in the guest room across. Oh, and don’t use the stuff in the green jar. It’ll exfoliate more of your skin than you care to lose.”
The second floor bathroom boasted a real bathtub, with clawed feet and polished silver spigots. Like everything in the Fallow mansion, it was absurd and elaborate in its luxury.
Zada washed quickly, careful not to waste too much water, even though she suspected the Fallows had a much higher allotment than the average citizen. When she was done, she wrapped herself in one of the provided towels and scrutinized her face in the mirror.
She had entered a secret plot to undermine her own marriage, and spoken Carine’s name out loud on purpose, but she still looked the same. Unremarkable gray-green eyes blinked back at her, and her eyebrows needed plucking.
Her hair was a dripping blond-brown nest of tangles plastered against her skull. In her hurry to pack, she’d brought all of her essentials except for a brush.
There had to be one she could borrow in this ridiculouslyopulent bathroom. She slid open a few gold-handled drawers below the sink, searching for anything to tame the wet thicket on her head.
The drawers were neatly organized, clearly intended for guests to use. As she searched, scanning the tidy rows of folded hand towels and glass vials of expensive-looking skincare products, her gaze caught on a flash of something metallic in the very back of one drawer. When she reached past the vials and held it up to the light, she saw that it was a pink bracelet, decorated with diamond-studded curlicues.
The overall effect was extravagant but sweet, almost demure. It didn’t look like something Daphne would own. That was because, she realized, it wasn’t Daphne’s. It was Flora’s.
She’d seen this bracelet countless times before on Flora’s wrist. She remembered the day of Flora’s eighteenth birthday when a tidy little package arrived from Flora’s parents, how joyful she’d looked when she lifted the bracelet from its silken box and slipped it on, activating the shining force field for the first time.
Of course, Flora didn’t need to wear one anymore now that she’d met—and married—her Heartsong match. But she was the romantic sort, the kind of person who would hold on to their Gracelet for old times’ sake and perhaps even pass it on to their child if it was still functioning.
What was it doing here?
Perhaps Flora had forgotten it at one of her secret meetings with Daphne about leaving New Ionia with Aiden. Zada placed it on the counter. She’d try to remember to tell Daphne about it later. Flora would want it back.
Once Zada found a brush, she untangled her hair, dried off,and dressed. Her room was across the hall, just like Daphne had said, and the rest of her bags were already there. She padded past her bed, toes sinking into the plush carpet, and came to a stop in front of her triple cello case.
By force of habit, she flicked open the latch to check on her instrument. She gingerly lifted her triple cello from the padded depths and braced it against the floor.
Playing in the middle of the night would be shockingly rude. But she was the only person on her floor and the Fallow mansion was massive. Surely, no one would be able to hear her, she reasoned—and she needed this, badly.
Zada played aimlessly for a few minutes, before falling into an unfamiliar melody. As she sank into the music, her mind wandered. She wondered how things were going at home. Her mind flashed back to the moment she’d set off her Heartsong, the melody swelling around her. And then she thought about that damned couple of seconds when she and Daphne were pressed together against the wall of the control room. She thought about Daphne squeezing her hand against a wave of rose scent, Daphne laughing at something Augusta had said.
Zada circled back to the main melody again and again, but the music refused to resolve, alternating between major and minor—like Zada’s own state of mind. That was what she would call the piece, she thought, as she placed the triple cello back into its case and slid between the cool sheets of her vast bed.Confusion.
Chapter NineIn Which an Affair Is Revealed
Zada awoke at dawn. She lay in bed for half an hour, staring at the lofty ceilings and the very real-looking medieval tapestries on the walls, trying to convince herself she would not get lost the moment she left the room to seek some sort of food in Daphne’s echoing labyrinth of a family home.
Finally, at 7:55 a.m., she threw on a dress, and discovered a message on her lenses from Daphne that included a small schematic of the floor plan, featuring hand-drawn arrows pointing crookedly to the breakfast nook. With the map to guide her, Zada only got lost a few times before stepping into a room the Fallows probably considered cozy. It was still massive, and the stone walls were lined with gleaming copper pots that had certainly never been used.
Daphne was already seated at the kitchen table, which was humbler than the dining room table last night but still overwhelmingly grand. Her eyes were half closed as she fumbled with the small glowing green SmartGem on her ring, which beamed screen after screen across the polished mahogany, ready for Daphne to flick through. A mug of tea sat next to an untouched plate of fried eggs. Without looking, Daphne groped for her mug by feel and took a sip. About half of herhair stuck straight up, and beneath her dressing gown, she wore an oversize black T-shirt. In faded script, it readclandestine meetings in the catacombs!This was likely the name of some grotto rock band from a lifetime ago. The neck of the shirt sagged, baring a good portion of Daphne’s collarbone.
Zada jerked her gaze away from the smooth expanse of skin, hovering in the doorway for a long minute.
