Page 56 of The False Vow

“There!” I pointed at a door to our direct left. Based on the impression my Wit had given me, it was yet another drawing room, but to the back of it I’d sensed a second entrance. A hidden door, leading into the tunnels. An escape route.

To his credit, Noé obeyed me without question. Still clutching me against him, he swung to the side, throwing open the door I’d specified and rushing us through. Shutting it after him, he slumped against its wooden face.

His eyes met mine. Partially bent over as he was, our faces were mere inches from one another’s, his ivy crown casting a shadow over my features. Suddenly, I became aware of his pulse beating against my skin—hurried and urgent. I’d barely felt it before.

Noé’s throat bobbed. “Your clumsiness will be the death of us both.”

I blinked. Before I could form a response, an unfamiliar voice issued from the dimness.

“Hello there,” it said.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Noé set me down.

Seated in the drawing room were two people, a man and a woman. It was the former who’d spoken—a stout, barrel-chested fellow in a dark suit, with pale skin and a shell of oiled brunette hair slicked back at his temples. At first glance I put him well into his forties, until I looked again and saw that in reality, he was quite young—likely no more than a decade older than me. His features had a maturity about them which made him appear more aged than he truly was, like the stiff, handsome refinement of a glass of whiskey.

Sitting across from him, her teacup pulled up to her chest as though scandalized, was his partner. Her, I knew.

“Miss Tremblay.” I wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or unnerved by Anais’s presence in the drawing chamber. To be certain, she was far less likely to kill me than the silkwitch whom Noé and I had just outrun, but as one of my bridesmaids, she was still technically a competitor in the Maiden’s Race. In this matter, was she on my side or against me? “I…didn’t realize you were visiting.”

Anais set down her drink. Compared to the rest of the house, the murk in the drawing room was thinner, allowing me a glimpse of her features. Still, the difference was minimal; the windows along the back wall had their drapes drawn, just like their siblings throughout the estate, and the gas lighting was turned down low. “Mr. Alaire banished us here at the start of the game,” she replied stonily. “Seeing as Adélard refuses to play.” Her gaze swept over me, narrowed in the relative darkness. “He told us you were running late. Good to know you’re still alive, then.”

“It is a child’s game.” Opposite her, Anais’s companion spoke up—and had she given Adélard as his name? My heart gave a squeeze, my awareness of the ongoing race briefly dissipating. I was standing in a room with Adélard Drake. Anais’s fiancé, master of Balmoore’s cloisters.

Of course. Now that I knew what to search for, the resemblance between the Cloister Master and his nephew, the boy I’d met during the Vainglory, was apparent. That hair, the same shade as Dorian Drake’s—the strong brows and sharp chin, just like the former judge’s own. Even Adélard’s eyes were blue like Dorian’s, though the elder Drake’s were rounder, with a watery sheen to them that reminded me of a rabbit’s.

“Noé.” Adélard seemed to notice my fiancé for the first time, his inquisitive gaze drifting to where Noé was still lingering by the door. “Which implies that you are Miss Cecilia Lovett.”

His interest swung back toward me. I had the impression of a collector stopping to peer at a curious object on a shelf.

He wet his lips. “I have heard so very much about you.”

We all jerked as a burst of banging issued from the other side of the door. Delphine. Wincing, I bowed my head. “Excuse me,” I said to Adélard; then, turning to my fiancé, “I’ve asked the door not to admit her. She won’t be able to follow us inside.”

Noé nodded. I’d begun to face forward again when a horrible cracking noise pulled my attention back to the entrance. Where Noé’s shoulders had been pressed against the door only minutes prior, a sharp, pointed object now pierced the wood grain: the tip of Delphine’s knife.

Anais made a small, startled sound. I waited until Delphine had yanked her weapon free again before I spoke.

“I apologize for the commotion, sir,” I said to Adélard. “As you can see, my bridesmaids are rather…competitive.”

Unlike his betrothed, the Cloister Master didn’t seem to have been disturbed by the appearance of the knife. His stare was fixed on the drawing room entrance, his head tilted slightly to the side.

At my address, he glanced back at me. “It is to be expected,” he responded neutrally. “Your Wit has to do with doors, does it not?”

His change in subject briefly threw me. I looked over at Noé, who was watching the Cloister Master with a careful expression, before answering him. “It does, sir.”

Adélard hummed. “How intriguing. A rather mundane talent, one might think, and yet…it can be that the plainest tool is the one a person most frequently finds themselves reaching for. Like a hammer, for instance.” He clucked his tongue, drinking me in. “My nephew, I believe, found you to be rather formidable during Bastian’s tournament. A pity that I cannot add you to my little menagerie.”

My stomach clenched at his reference to the cloisters. Aside from the basic fact that silkwitches who were admitted to the institution never left it again, very little was known about what occurred beyond its arched gates. I recalled Noé’s remark when I’d asked him whether Bastian was buying product from Adélard not long ago: Father has always said cloister product is substandard…The enchantment in them is there, but weak—more chaff than wheat, as if someone has shaved off all the best bits and left only the scraps behind.

What kind of dark realm did the man in front of me reign over, that the magesilk formed from his witches was so diluted?

But there was another mention Adélard had made which interested me. An opportunity I couldn’t afford not to take.

I smiled. “High praise indeed,” I said. “The younger Mr. Drake is a difficult man to impress.” Widening my eyes, I drew in a breath. “Our meeting today is serendipitous, sir. It has been my dearest wish that your nephew attend my upcoming wedding, so I may thank him for the role he played in bringing my fiancé and me together, yet thus far I have been unable to reach him. Do you know where he is currently staying? An address I may write him, perhaps?”

Anais was studying me scrupulously. I ignored her, focusing on Adélard, who wrinkled his nose. “Dorian is busy,” he said with a wave of his hand. “Bastian has requested that I represent our family at your nuptials in his place. Of course, I told him it would be a pleasure to aid his son as a groomsman.”