Page 7 of The False Vow

“You don’t have to bite at everything that moves, you know.”

My flush deepened. His thumb rubbed at the edge of my collarbone, the motion gentle. Reassuring. “I know,” I replied.

I broke away before he could speak again. “I don’t like this,” I muttered. “We shouldn’t have told Lucie the truth. What if she runs and tells the rest of Parliament what we’ve confided in her? The Weavers will be on us in a second.”

Eliot’s arm hung by his side. “Her daughter died for that truth.”

“We don’t know why Sybil died,” I corrected. “We know she perished in the tunnels, and that after her death, Bastian’s key was missing. That’s all.” I shook my head, putting my back to him. “We should have relied on my plan.”

As soon as I spoke the words, I felt the effect of them. Eliot’s attitude shifted, his temper plunging the way it always did whenever his ire was stoked. He fought like a cat, lowered onto his belly. “Your plan?” he echoed. “It is Noé’s plan, Lovett. And it is murder.”

I rolled my eyes, aware that he couldn’t see the gesture with my back turned. “Murder is a rather dramatic word for it.”

“Then how would you describe it?” I heard the pad of his footsteps as he drew closer, and I twisted over my shoulder to face him. Coinlight caught in his features, outlining their ridges, drowning all the rest. “Go on,” Eliot taunted, holding my gaze. “Tell me.”

I hesitated. In all honesty, despite the agreement I’d made with Noé at the end of the Vainglory—to work together to bring down his father—I sometimes felt that I didn’t understand my fiancé’s motives at all. He’d been in love with Eliot’s sister, Ophelia, and heartbroken when she died before he could crown her the victor of his marriage competition. I could comprehend Noé wanting revenge against his father for Bastian’s part in all that, but beyond it…

If I succeeded in exposing the true origins of the Weaver lines’ power, society as we knew it would rupture, and Noé’s kind—not mine—would be the ones to fall through the cracks. My fiancé was not like Eliot; he was not driven by grand philosophies or theories of justice. He worked only for himself. Which meant if he was assisting me in destroying the system his ancestors had built, there must be something in it for him.

I just couldn’t figure out what that something was.

Tension snapped between Eliot and me. I’d been silent for too long—I could feel his curiosity growing. “Noé wants revenge,” I started after a beat. “That is all he wants. If I aid him in usurping his father, he has promised to give me complete access to Bastian’s records once he is gone—whatever we need to prove that sorcerers’ powers are stolen, not born. Lucie’s point about evidence is a strong one. We will have a far easier time luring others to our cause if we can offer them more than just our word.”

I shifted to face him fully.

“You know my thoughts on this matter,” I continued. “Rather than arranging meetings with women like Lucie Dabos, we should be attempting to contact the rest of the silkwitches who competed in the Vainglory. Once they marry—which many of them are likely to do quite soon—their magic will be bound to their husbands. Our window is closing, Eliot.”

It was true. The identities of the ten maidens chosen for the Vainglory were meant to be kept anonymous, but following my betrothal to Noé, the parents of the eight surviving girls had wasted no time leaking their names to the press. Already, I’d seen engagement announcements for several of my competitors run in the papers, and the rest wouldn’t be far behind. After all, even with the newfound celebrity the Vainglory Maids—as the media had taken to calling us—had received, all of us were still facing the same ultimatum: to marry by our twenty-first birthday, or else be subjected to the cloisters.

Since my engagement, Bastian had made it clear that I was not permitted to leave Fortblanche without being accompanied by him or Noé. Eliot, who as a Weaver could go where he pleased, when he pleased, would have a far easier time meeting with the remaining girls—but he was shaking his head.

“You know that is a difficult task,” he said. “The society witches’ parents guard them like gold. Even the girls whom I was friendly with as children, I cannot get an appointment with unless I state my intentions to court them. And if I did, there would be a chaperone with us at all times, which would make intimate conversation challenging.”

“If you need to court one of them, then court one.” I said. “Surely it’s worth offending a few members of society to warn them before they marry and bind their gifts to their husbands for good? Perhaps Anais…”

Eliot scowled. “I don’t want them, Lovett,” he replied. “I want you. I have no desire to be out romancing others under false pretenses. It is…” He broke off, tugging at his curls. “I don’t know. Immoral.”

Was that all it was? “I’d give you permission.”

He scoffed. “Well, of course you would.”

Heat raced up the back of my neck. Eliot hadn’t so much as glanced at my engagement ring again, but I knew it was there that his ire was directed. Abruptly, I felt ashamed, as though I’d been caught in some indiscretion.

I swallowed. “Eliot—”

“Don’t.” With a jerk of his chin, Eliot cut me off. “You’ve made your choices, Lovett, and we both know you will not apologize for them.”

Quiet descended. When he looked up at me again, his expression was controlled—not calm, exactly, but tamed. For some reason, his composure only made my guilt deepen.

“I understand Lucie,” he said. “I have watched her spar against my father for years. She plays coy to press her advantage, but when it matters, she will side with us. I swear it.”

I remained silent. Fair though his points were, they did not settle my emotions—at least, not completely. Gathering myself, I spoke. “You hesitated. When she asked whether I stood by my allies.”

Eliot’s mouth tightened. “Can you really not imagine why?”

His voice was hushed, his words barely above a whisper. At them, the band around my finger grew hot. “I told you why I agreed to wed Noé.”

“You didn’t, actually.” Eliot’s indignation picked back up. He leveled his stare with mine, annoyance flashing in it. “Not until after the decision had been made. Just like you lied to me about your ability to open the moonless door.”