Page 55 of The False Vow

Laying my free hand on his chest, I forced him to look at me. “Tell me.”

His eyes flared. “Tamerlane!”

“The door will not unlock so long as I command it.” I gave my rebuttal readily. In an odd way, the awareness that we’d been shoved into another trial had calmed me—I felt as though I’d been sat down at a game board, all its pieces laid in front of me to play. “No one will reach us in here,” I assured him. “You evidently dragged us to that pub in an effort to avoid this event. Now tell me exactly what we are up against or I swear, I will leave you here and continue on by myself.”

Noé’s jaw was tight. I held my breath until, a moment later, he gave in. “It is another old Balmoorish wedding tradition,” he answered. “It’s hardly practiced anymore—most city-folk, at least, consider the game rather outdated.” Sighing, he leaned back against the closet shelves. “The race is a contest of sorts. The rules themselves are simple: Essentially, a bride- and groom-to-be must beat their respective bridal parties to a designated location while protecting a token. A crown, in this case.” He nodded to the one I carried. “If any of their fellows manage to steal it off them before they reach the race’s end point, they succeed in ‘winning’ the opposite partner for a night. A bridesmaid would secure an evening with the groom, for instance, or a groomsman, time alone with the bride.”

He smirked weakly when I made a face.

“It’s less sordid than it sounds—at least, usually,” Noé justified. “In most cases, the whole thing is treated as a kind of joke, but…”

Both of our gazes clouded. I knew he, like I, was thinking of Delphine, sprawled across the threshold far behind us. The knife she’d had with her, now discarded on the stone.

I swallowed, finishing Noé’s sentence. “Your father has taken a more literal approach.”

He grimaced. “If Delphine’s behavior is anything to judge by, yes,” he confirmed. “Her Wit allows her to inhabit a raven’s form—but only once per day. She must have been waiting there for us for hours.”

The thought was too disturbing to dwell on. Instead, I rolled my shoulders back and met his gaze. “All right, then,” I said. “Keep up.”

Opening the door, I thrust us back into the hallway. The corridor was abandoned—no bridesmaids waiting outside the closet to nab my crown off me—though the fact in itself did nothing to settle my nerves. Biting down on my bottom lip, I placed the ivy circlet on my head and—once Noé had done the same—slipped my palm back into his, coaxing us onward.

We walked in silence. When we reached another break in the corridor, Noé took charge, attempting to lead me to the left.

He looked down in irritation when I resisted him. “The shortest route to the terrace is this way,” he whispered.

“Precisely.” I jerked him in the opposite direction, matching his low volume. “That way is the most direct path; therefore it is also the direction in which my bridesmaids are most likely waiting. We will go around the estate, this way.”

He didn’t budge. “The other girls will expect you to play tricks,” he said. His rationalizing was annoying me—I yanked at him harder. “They are not so simpleminded as to cluster along one route. You are their target. If they have any sense at all—which I know for a fact they do—they will be attempting to think like you.” He shook me off as I gave him a particularly hard pull. “Dammit, Tamerlane. We were getting along so well during the drive.”

The reminder of the drive—our encounter with my brother—made me stiffen. “Impossible,” I said. “You and I cannot get along any more than a mouse may befriend a cat.”

He huffed. “No?”

I met his glare with one of my own. “Absolutely not.”

His jaw ticked. Hanging by his side, his hand stiffened just as from the far end of the hallway came the sound of pattering feet.

We both turned in unison. Behind us, rounding the same corner we’d turned only a couple minutes prior, was Delphine Barbier. She paused when she caught sight of us, swaying woozily, one hand pressed against the wall for balance.

In the other was her knife.

Noé looked back at me. “Good argument. Shall we continue it later?”

I swallowed, for once not bothering to protest. “Agreed.”

We took off running—to the right, I registered with a brief flicker of satisfaction. Being the taller of us, Noé was faster, his strides wider than my own. I hastened to keep up until, with a surge of dread, I felt one of my boots catch on the hem of my skirt.

My balance was knocked out from under me. At once, I began to fall, the floor racing up to meet me. I closed my eyes, picturing Delphine advancing to our backs—

And yelped as I found myself suddenly lifted away from the ground. When my lashes fluttered open again, it was to the sensation of my head pressed against Noé’s chest. He’d picked me up, one arm supporting my back, the other hooked beneath my knees.

I stared up at him, gripping my ivy circlet. “What are you—”

He interrupted, panting. “Not now, Cecilia!”

I stopped talking. On either side of us, doors whipped by, the corridor extending in a straight line in front of us. Desperate, I summoned my Wit, feeling behind the entrances as we passed them.

Dead end. Dead end. The rooms adjoining this hallway were mostly studies and sitting areas—neat little boxes. We could get in easily enough, but unless we returned the way we’d come, we couldn’t get out. Another study. Another Sisters-damned—