CHAPTER 24
WELL, WELL, WELL!” CANNING SAID with a slimy grin. “If it isn’t the Eversun princess.”
Briony watched in tense anticipation as Finn, Canning, and Liam entered the library, spreading out like a blockade across the only exit.
“Gentlemen,” Toven said coolly. “To what do we owe the pleasure.”
“It is your birthday, isn’t it?” Liam said, flipping through an open book on the research table.
“Last week, but I appreciate the care,” Toven said.
Briony met Finn’s eyes as he stood near Serena at the door. He looked nervous. And Briony immediately could tell that this wasn’t his idea.
“Shall I take the girl back to her quarters?” Serena asked.
“Yes,” Toven said, turning to look at Briony. “I was having her refile all the books based on how many times the word the appeared.” He grinned at her coldly.
“Oh, have her stay,” Canning said, throwing himself down on an armchair. “We haven’t gotten a chance to play.”
“You know I don’t share,” Toven said dryly. “Mother?” He nodded at her.
Serena moved toward them, ready to collect Briony.
“Have her stay,” Canning said firmly, staring Toven down.
Serena paused.
The room watched closely as Toven and Canning studied each other.
Aside from the state dinner when they all stepped in front of one another to dance with her, Briony had never seen how the rank in the line worked in casual social situations.
If this could even be called casual; it felt very charged.
Toven nodded. “She’ll stay, Mother.”
Serena hesitated before smiling. “Of course. You boys behave yourselves.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, Serena,” Canning said, twisting his head on the arm of the chair to watch Toven’s mother glide out of the room. Once the door was closed, he turned to Liam. “Has Serena Hearst always had that
rack?”
Toven tilted his head at him coldly.
Liam snickered.
“Whiskey, anyone?” Toven said. “From Father’s private collection.” The house obeyed, and a tray with glasses and a crystal decanter of whiskey arrived on the table next to Finn.
Finn began pouring. “So, Toven,” Finn said. “How are the ribs?”
“Ribs?” Liam asked. “I thought you shattered your shoulder.”
“I did,” Toven said, plucking a book from the shelf and handing it to her absently. Briony fumbled with it before deciding to reshelve it for him. “But then I went and played Dodge with Finn and he slammed into me.”
Finn shrugged sheepishly. “What can I say? I have a competitive streak.”
“Why don’t you bring the slut over here.”
The room paused and turned to Canning. He beckoned her with a finger.
Briony froze. She was in danger, but she didn’t know what Toven could do for her.
Toven shifted to the side slowly, allowing her to move forward. Briony stepped into the center of the room on shaking legs, feeling unwanted eyes dripping over her. She stopped in front of Canning. He was draped lazily over the arms, staring at her body.
“She doesn’t look like she has the pox to me.”
Briony blinked. The pox was an infection primarily occurring in
Evermore’s humid climate, resulting in pustules and boils if not properly attended.
Toven’s heavy footsteps came closer. “She’s almost healed. It made taking her almost revolting some days, but that pulse of Sacral Magic is too good to pass up.”
She recalled Finn’s quip about a sex dungeon. Toven had implied to these men that he was having sex with her.
A warm hand dropped on her hip, and Briony tried not to jump. Toven’s crisp scent fluttered around her.
“But you have taken her.” Liam lifted a brow at Toven from the catalog.
“Because there are rumors that you haven’t.”
“And who might be the root of these rumors, Liam?” Toven asked pointedly. “I might ask you the same question, but of course, you couldn’t snag yourself a woman. Just a male Eversun for a heartspring.”
Briony remembered the list. The Quills had ended up with Simon, a young man a few years older than her, and Katrina. Bile crept up her throat as she guessed that Katrina belonged to Liam’s father. Were many Eversuns being abused in the name of Sacral Magic?
“Not all of us like to drop sixty-five thousand on our whores,” Liam snipped.
“Yes, only those who like the best,” Toven said.
Finn hovered tumblers of whiskey over to them.
“Well, cheers to your birthday, Tove,” Canning said.
Toven lifted his glass, and the others followed. “To Mistress Mallow,”
Toven offered. “May she reign forevermore.”
“Forevermore,” they echoed, as if it was a common toast.
After finishing his entire glass and handing it back to Toven to fetch him another, Canning said, “So I suppose now that she’s well, you’ll be bringing her to the revels.” He nodded at Briony.
There was a tense silence for only a moment before Toven broke it.
“I plan to, yes. As long as I’m not called into service.” He walked the glass back over to the whiskey decanter, and Briony watched him meet Finn’s eyes.
“Of course, you could always let a friend borrow her,” Canning said, his tongue running across his teeth.
“Oh, haven’t you heard.” Liam spoke from a shelf that he’d wandered to.
“Toven Hearst doesn’t share her.”
Canning grinned. “Is that right.”
“That’s right,” Toven said. “I paid too much to let anyone else take a dip.”
And then, changing the subject, “Liam, can I help you find the book you’re looking for?”
Liam turned around and hid his blush behind his whiskey glass. He smacked his lips and said, “My father was hoping to borrow something.”
“Strange,” Toven said coolly. “I received no letter of interest.”
Liam smiled thinly. “He sent me to ask.”
“Then ask.”
Briony tried to focus on the conversation as Canning suddenly stood and stepped toward her.
“It concerns the portal boundary line. And the incident in Ashmont last week,” Liam was saying.
Briony’s ears perked up even as she kept her eyes on Canning, trying as subtly as she could to step back. The last time she’d heard of the portal boundary line, it had to do with Castle Javis, where people were trying to get out.
“We’re looking for texts on obscure wards, ones they’re less likely to—”
“Have you sampled my elixir with her yet,” Canning interrupted, as if the conversation bored him. “Jellica practically vibrates when she’s on it.”
He lifted a hand and brushed his knuckle down the side of her jaw, drifting lower, lower. She stood her ground, unsure what she could do, but trembling in fear and fury as Canning’s knuckles skimmed down her neck and over her clavicle, then caressed the side of her breast and under. Her throat was tight as she choked on bile.
“I can’t say that I’ve had a need,” Toven replied. His voice came from behind her, and then one hand was pressing Canning’s glass into his trailing fingers and the other was pushing a glass into Briony’s sternum. Her hands came up to grab it in surprise. “We’ve been having plenty fun as it is.”
Toven wrapped his arm around her stomach, pulling her inches backward from Canning.
Canning sipped from his glass, watching the two of them as Toven settled his fingers just beneath her breast, tugging her ever closer to him.
She’d never been so aware of how special her circumstances were until that moment. It wasn’t just that her friends were being drained of their magic —some of them being raped if Canning’s elixir was being used—and all living in the waters only knew what kinds of conditions. Were some also being flaunted or shared? Possibly expected to entertain many?
She looked down into the glass Toven had given her as Liam continued his description of the book he needed and Canning glowered. She lifted it to her lips, and it jumped out of her hand, hitting her chest and spilling whiskey down the front of her dress. She gasped as Canning swiftly stepped back
from the spray. She hadn’t dropped it.
Toven tutted.
“Do you have any idea how much this whiskey costs?” he snapped. “Go upstairs and clean up.”
Briony turned to look at him. It was him. He’d spilled it on her, to give her a chance to leave.
She looked to the ground and moved to the door.
“Come on, Toven,” Canning said playfully, stepping into her path. “We can clean her up, can’t we?” He leered, and then he swiped his finger over her clavicles, gathering drops of whiskey to bring to his mouth. “Get that dress off, though. So it doesn’t stain,” he said mockingly.
Liam laughed, and Briony saw Finn shift in the corner.
Toven stood very still while Briony’s heart pounded.
“I don’t share, Trow,” Toven said.
“We can look but not touch,” Canning said innocently. “Can’t we, lads?”
“Absolutely, Toven,” said Liam. “Unless you’d like to wait for Friday.
When there’s more of us.”
Toven’s unamused mask slipped into place, and then he looked down at her. “Off.”
Briony gaped in disbelief; was she truly being forced to undress in front of
Canning Trow and Liam Quill? Not to mention Toven and Finn. Hesitantly, eyes silently begging for intervention, she reached up for the sleeve at her right shoulder and pushed it down. Then the left. Her skin didn’t feel her own, and her stomach turned over. Toven held her eyes while the fabric slipped down her arms, her breasts, her stomach. She pushed it off her hips, and then she was in only her bra and underwear.
She thought of Reighven watching her shower and closed her eyes to the mortification, the shame. At least it wasn’t that.
One of the young men whistled.
“I always knew she had those tits,” Canning said, sucking his teeth.
She felt eyes on every inch of her skin, and another set of eyes hard on her face.
Toven reached forward and curved his palm around the back of her head, threading his fingers through her hair and holding her firm. He pulled her forward slowly, and she was forced to step closer.
He held her eyes as he whispered, “Don’t ever spill a glass I give you again.”
She wondered how much he regretted trying the “whiskey spill” trick
now.
“Do you understand?” he said softly.
“Yes.”
“Yes, what.”
“Yes, Master Toven.”
In his other hand, he held a whiskey glass. “Open your mouth.”
Briony could do nothing else but obey. She parted her lips, and Toven tugged her head back by the hair.
He poured the whiskey into her mouth, letting it splash over her lips and trail down her chin, dripping down her chest.
She squeezed her eyes closed, trying not to cough against the burn of it.
She heard the whiskey glass shatter as it was tossed away, and then his hand was low on her hip, his fingers curving around to press against her backside as he coaxed her against him.
She grabbed for his shoulders as he tugged her head further back,
exposing her chest and throat to him.
She could only see the upside-down ceiling, but she nearly jumped out of her skin at the electric burn of Toven’s hot mouth on her chest. His tongue glided from the top of her bra up to the pulse in her neck. He was licking up the whiskey. A squeak popped from her throat, and her back ached at the position even as fire pooled under her skin.
She could feel his teeth at her throat, and then he was peppering sucking kisses over her breasts, licking up any drops still left. Her chest heaved for air, and just before he pulled her up to stand tall, she felt his fingers release her backside before swiftly coming back to slap a cheek.
She grunted, and his tongue slipped over her throat as he raised her, up her chin, stopping before her mouth.
When she was upright, she couldn’t meet his eyes.
“Go,” he said, throatily. “Take your dress and wash it out.”
Briony nodded, her heart thundering. She gathered her dress and ran to the door, not daring to look at any of the men in the room.
* * *
Briony turned the water to scalding for her bath. Her skin was electrified in every place Toven’s mouth and tongue had been, and she was mortified that in any other situation, she would relish the memory of it. But now she wanted the water to burn the memory off her.
To be so reminded that she was property in the same breath as feeling Toven Hearst’s mouth on her skin was...a mess. And she cringed with the knowledge that this was surely just scratching the surface of what others were going through.
Once she’d scrubbed every single inch of her body, twice, she was better able to focus her mind, and after reheating the water, one thing came back to her.
Liam needed a text on boundary lines. Specifically his father did. And Liam had mentioned Ashmont too, an abandoned village in the west on the other side of Bomard’s dead tree forest. What could they be doing in the west? Was it another attempt at leaving Moreland?
Not for the first time did she wonder how the countries across the sea felt about Mallow’s seizure of Evermore.
When Briony thought she had burned off the feeling of Toven’s tongue and Canning’s knuckles, she wrapped herself in her dressing gown and stood by the window.
There was a quiet knock on her door. And even though she knew exactly who it was, she told him to come in, even in just her robe with wildly drying hair.
The door opened quietly, and Briony continued to stare out the window.
When he didn’t say anything, she finally turned to face him.
Toven stood in the doorway, not daring to enter. He leaned against the frame, affecting casualness, but his fingers were twisting his Bomardi ring.
She didn’t know what to say. So she skipped it.
“Why did I have the pox?” she said tiredly.
Toven pressed his lips together in a fine line. “There is a party every weekend. You’ve had pox for four weeks, too ill to attend. And now you are no longer ill. Clearly.”
“What kind of party?” Her voice cracked. “Is it anything like that,” she said, indicating what had happened downstairs.
He looked past her shoulder, out the window. “It’s a chance for Bomard to mingle and gloat over their victories. Nothing like that happens in public, but behind locked doors...in many ways, it’s worse.”
Trying to keep her breath steady under the weight of her ribs, she realized something. “Are there other Eversuns there? The heartsprings?”
When he nodded, her heart skipped a beat, her mind running wild with the opportunities— “Cordelia Hardstark is no longer in attendance,” he said, clearly reading her. A heavy silence. “She doesn’t tend to play nice with others.”
She stared up at him, feeling a familiar irritation surge through her. “And will I be expected to ‘play nice’?”
His eyes flashed at her, and he said, “You’re too smart not to.”
He was right. She’d been looking for a way out of Hearst Hall. And now that it was here, in front of her, she wouldn’t spoil it.
“So we’ll go this Friday,” he said.
She turned back to the window. She felt him start to leave and said, “It was a good try. The whiskey.” He paused, and she didn’t look at him. “It’s a shame Canning thinks he owns the line.” Her mind twisted, and it felt like when she and Rory used to stay up all night, trying to plan for every eventuality on the battlefield. “You’ll have to get one over on him somehow.” Her voice was cold. “No one should order a Hearst around like that.”
Toven didn’t say anything in response. And a few moments later, the door clicked closed.
* * *
Friday evening arrived, and with it a new dress in her wardrobe. Briony stared at the green silk swinging innocently on the hanger—the finest fabric she’d been offered yet. It was draped like an Eversun dress, with thin straps and a drop back, but the silk would cling. She traced the long hem; it would trail past her ankles. A pair of black heels sat at the base of the wardrobe.
There was no bra appropriate to wear with it; that was, of course, the point of it.
She was to be shown off. What had Toven said? A chance for Bomard to gloat over their victories? Was she one such victory?
At a quarter past ten, he knocked on her door. He glanced over her once, his eyes not resting anywhere too long, and stepped inside to begin a portal.
He was in relaxed Bomardi clothes—trousers and waistcoat, with the sleeves of his black shirt loose.
The portal yawned in the center of her room, and he reached his hand out for her tattoo.
Briony paused, wanting to ask a million questions before stepping into the
unknown. “Will Mallow be there?”
“No. My father is with her elsewhere.”
Briony now had two million questions.
She stepped forward, feeling the silk move against her skin like water.
Her back was completely bare, and she wanted to ask if she’d worn the dress
right, but he still hadn’t really looked at it. As much as she had been violated the other day, hadn’t he been as well? Forced to do something he didn’t want to?
“Will something similar happen tonight?” she asked, not elaborating.
They both knew what she meant.
His eyes were cold and dead as he looked at her. “No. You will stay close to me, and we will let everyone see you so that we don’t have to return for
several weeks. That’s all.”
She swallowed, shivering.
“There will be minor contact,” he said, clarifying her question. “Between us. No one else.” His eyes were on the portal, and she wondered how much minor contact either of them could stand.
She was about to ask him which estate the party was at when he reached for her again, grabbed her arm, and tugged them both through the portal.
She wished she’d asked. She wished she’d prepared.
The wind whipped her dress and her hair, and she heard the crash of the ocean.
They were at Biltmore Palace. There were at her family home.
