“You look like Selene Verita’s daughter.”
That one found bone.
I looked down at the skirt before either of them could see the tears that sprang to my eyes.
“I was so little when she died,” I said.
Neither of them moved.
“I remember her hands. One dress. Her voice when she was tired enough to tell me about the brooch.” I touched the silver wren. “Everyone here knows a version of her I never had.”
Cosima’s voice softened.
“Not everyone.”
“Enough of them.”
Rev came to stand beside me, shoulder almost touching mine.
“Then make one they don’t own.”
I looked at her.
“What?”
“A version of her. Of you. You in her dress, with her bird, refusing to let them decide what either of you are.”
I swallowed.
“That was almost wise.”
“Never call me that again.”
Cosima went to the window.
“Do not breathe too easy yet.”
Something in her voice made Rev move.
I crossed the room carefully, still learning the weight of the skirt.
Below, the front drive curved toward the gate. A motorcar had stopped there, black and polished, with the Ashford crest worked in silver on the door.
Lord Magnus Ashford stepped down first.
I had never seen him in person.
I knew him anyway.
He had Caspian’s height, Caspian’s bones, sharpened into something even colder. His black coat was impeccably cut. His gloves were dark leather. He glanced at the front steps, and every man waiting there seemed to remember his posture.
Two attendants moved behind him. Caswell stood near the steps with Linden. Quill waited at the foot of the drive with his hands folded behind his back.
Then Caspian came out through the main doors.
My breath caught before I could stop it.
He had changed since morning.
