“Love?” she says in the same serious tone.
“When did you know I wasmeat the ball?”
The duke gives me such an adoring look that I know her answer before I hear her say, “I know your voice, love. I know the feel of you in my arms. I know the taste of you. By any name, under any mask, I know you, Gabrielle Fleuriste. When I asked you to dance, I knew who you were. I let you have your ruse, but ...” She pauses and smiles in a fond way.
This time when she reaches out to push my scarf away from my lips and nose, I do not resist. I cannot. She has stolen my will, my heart, my words. And still she continues to seduce me with her words.
“I willalwaysknow you, Gabrielle,” Isabeau vows. “Your voice, your shape, your taste. The way your brow crinkles right here”—she traces a line in the center of my forehead—“when you are staring into one of your microscopes at some leaf or insect you gathered or reading something with which you don’t agree.”
I swallow hard against the urge to step closer.
“The way you suck in your cheeks when you are holding back words ...” Isabeau runs the same finger over the line of my cheek. She pauses and then traces it over my lips as a sigh escapes me. “The way you sigh just like that when you can’t decide whether to kiss or correct me.”
“Isa—”
“Yes?” Isabeau taps my lips gently. “Shall I tell you which I prefer?”
“I already know.” I step out of reach. It’s either that or I am going to follow her inside and kiss her until we are senseless. “Find me at the Chatham Ball tomorrow, please.”
“And when I find you? Will you stop pretending there is no future between us?” Isabeau’s voice sounds less confident in the moment, and that weakens any lingering resolve I have. She deserves the whole truth.If she still wants me, if knowing the truth of my duty doesn’t end her interest, I cannot keep refusing her.
“Perhaps.” My voice sounds too rough when I admit, “I have things I must tell you, and I fear it will change everything.”
“It won’t. Nothing can—”
“Hush.” I pivot before I can confess why I have been refusing the possibility of us. Over my shoulder I say, “At the least you may have a kiss. Or several. That much, I can offer you. Once I can tell you why, we will see if you still want a future with me.”
“I will,” she insists.
I meet her eyes. “I hope so, Isa. I truly do, but please know that I already forgive you if you change your mind.”
Chapter 16
“I saw thegentryon the strand (at Lower Rosses Point) about forty years ago. It was afternoon. I first saw one of them like an officer pointing at me what seemed a sword; and when I got on the Greenlands I saw a great company ofgentry, like soldiers, in red, laughing and shouting.”
—The Fairy-Faith in Celtic Countriesby W.Y. Evans-Wentz [1911]
Once Isabeau has gone, I pull my scarf around the lower half of my face and over my head—hiding my hair—and resume patrolling. As I stalk through the park, I think about the creature that attacked me. Did it leave a clue? I was shaken by the way it spoke, but now I am haunted that I failed the memory of the already dead men when I did not scour the earth for evidence.
I know only that this is an unknown faery, not how to kill it or where to find it.
AndI know that it travels so quickly that it was able to come here to Regina Centrum and attack me within a few short hours of dealing my father a death blow. Knowing what it has done still gives me no idea where to find it or how it travels so quickly.
My attention falls to the river.
Did it travel from here to Brimmond by way of rushing water?
I follow the walking path through the park, intending to check there again. Only a few minutes pass before I see the two women from theWächterfinishing a patrol in the same place I am headed.
“Fleuriste,” the shorter woman says.
“Anders. Lowell. Can I help you?” Even with my face hidden, I scan the area for anyone who might overhear us. All I see are manicured paths, carefully kept shrubs and flower beds, and expanses of grass upon which young families can picnic safely. On the far side, the river burbles with flashes of reflected sunlight.
And monsters. I cannot see them just now, but all of Alveus knows they lurk in wait.
Under the surface of every river are monsters. Even if they aren’t the ones I seek, I cannot forget that they lie in wait. I look at the two women. Anders is pretty in the way that says that she likely has dates awaiting her at every chance. Lowell is more sedate, and I suspect that she is quietly judging everything she sees. It’s a skill that will serve her well if she hopes to survive as a soldier.
“Where would you like us quartered when we arrive?” Anders asks, pulling my mind to practical and immediate questions. She explains, “We depart soon; our contingent of soldiers is assembled. Where are we to bunk down? In Fleuriste? Nearer the Maudite estate?”
