CHAPTER 26
BRIONY’S GAZE TRAVELED UP the tall cliffs on which Biltmore Palace was built. She knew those cliffs intimately. She’d scaled them as a child, hiding from guards and scurrying to catch up with Rory and Sammy.
At night, it was beautiful, lit from within like fireflies caught in a jar.
Tonight was no different, even though the Eversun flag had been replaced with the Bomardi crest. She could imagine for a moment that she was with her father, arriving for a long week of hosting dignitaries and deciding important world matters.
Then Toven took her elbow and encouraged her forward, and the
memory-film over reality broke away.
Biltmore Palace was monstrous.
She stumbled up the path next to him, staring up at the burning light coming from inside; it flickered up the walls as if a fire were devouring the hillside. Turning back over her shoulder, she looked down to the port—or what was left of the port.
Mallow had decimated the docks a year ago in an effort to cut off Rory and Evermore from the countries across the sea. Only one ship had made it out before the Bomardi militia started burning all of them down, and the Bomardi fleet hunted it down before it could travel across the sea for help.
Phoebe and Finola’s father had been on that ship.
Now Mallow was rebuilding the docks, it seemed. Briony could see the flare of magic in the moonlight.
“Focus,” Toven whispered under the wind.
She turned back to the long walk up to the gates. She looked to the top of the portcullis and gasped. A gray wolf and a black bear prowled over the archway, staring down at the two of them. Inside the gate, two men in Bomardi-blue cloaks were chatting casually. When the wolf snapped its jaws, the man on the left glanced out the gates at them.
They were their familiars.
The wolf’s master stood up straight and said jovially, “Toven Hearst.
What did you bring for us tonight?”
“Ah, you couldn’t handle her, Roth,” Toven said smoothly, and the men laughed.
Toven reached down for the ink on her arm, covered his hand with it, and tugged her forward through the gates. Briony felt a burning under her skin. It was a magical barrier, just as at Hearst Hall.
One of the men whistled at her as she passed, and Briony tried to keep her balance in her heels. The path was made of silt and dirt, eventually hardening into stone on top of the hill.
They twisted up the path, and once they were out of earshot, Briony asked, “Am I locked in now?”
“Do not speak unless you are spoken to.” Toven’s voice was harsh and deep. “Not until we are upstairs.”
She glanced at him and found his expression impassive, but the skin above his right eye was twitching with tension.
The path opened into the gardens where she and Rory used to wait for her father to be done discussing matters with Sammy’s father, anxious to get down to the docks and play with the sailors’ children. A stone pathway wound through the grass, crossing over the water that trickled through the entire palace in tributaries.
There were a handful of people walking in the garden having private conversations, and Toven slowed once they were under a lamp. He turned to face her under the pretense of checking her over.
“Do not let your eyes linger too long on any one person. Do not try to interact with your friends.” His fingers came up to the strap on her shoulder, and she felt the whisper of his touch across her collarbones. His gaze was following his fingertips. “Be smart. Be obedient. It will be over soon.”
She had the distinct impression that he was saying the last bit to himself.
When he didn’t say anything else, she became aware of eyes on them. The people in the garden had turned to look, speaking quickly to one another.
Before she could wonder if he was waiting for her to respond, he turned them toward the entrance and slipped her hand into his elbow. As if they were courting. She glanced up at him, finding his gray eyes forward, the lamps lighting his hair in yellows and oranges.
As they approached, the music grew louder. She wondered what kind of horrors she would find inside. Would her friends be in chains? Would she find them beaten and bloody?
The doors opened, and a young woman in a scarlet dress smiled coyly at the two of them from in front of a heavy curtain.
“Master Hearst. Welcome.” Her voice was silky, and her eyes danced over Briony for a second too long. “Miss Rosewood. What a pleasure.”
Briony blinked at her. She had luscious brown hair and olive skin, but Briony’s gaze was concentrated on the collar around her neck that matched Briony’s, only in silver.
“Ilana,” Toven said in greeting. “Enchanting as ever.”
Ilana pulled two champagne glasses from a side table, and Briony was shocked when one was handed to her. She held it close to her chest.
“Tonight, we have General Tremelo in attendance,” Ilana said, handing Toven a piece of paper. Briony could just glimpse the sketch of a man and a few paragraphs. Toven glanced it over. “Have you been introduced?”
“Yes, my father has bartered with him before.” Toven handed the page back to her. “Anyone else?”
“Just the usual riffraff,” Ilana said playfully. Her eyes flicked to Briony faster than quicksilver. “Mistress Mallow does not plan to be by.”
“Thank you, Ilana,” Toven said. He ran a hand over his hair casually.
“Can I ask if Lag Reighven has made an appearance yet?”
Briony felt her throat close.
“No, Master Reighven isn’t on my list.” She smiled and reached for the curtain.
The sound slammed into Briony like running into a wall.
Beyond the curtain in the large entry hall were at least one hundred people. Their conversation, their laughter, the sound of their glasses clinking together—all of it burst through the curtain at once.
Briony’s eyes were drawn in every direction as Toven led her inside. The entry hall was packed with people whom she’d once welcomed in a receiving line, next to her father and Rory. To the right, she spied Caspar Quill talking animatedly with a group, champagne sloshing as he gesticulated. Katrina was draped on his arm, wearing a tight dress, a gold collar, and a vacant stare.
Briony stepped toward her without thinking, but Toven steered her away.
She spied a woman she’d been to school with sipping from a glass and laughing heartily at everything her escort said. Briony did a double- take when she saw dark hair and sun-kissed skin. Phoebe was less than ten feet from her for the first time since the Trow dungeon. Briony’s eyes dug into her, begging her to look over, but Phoebe was smiling up at Aron Carvin, a short, red-faced man who was second in line for the Seat. Phoebe’s gold collar sparkled in the candlelight, and her nails were bright red on her glass of
champagne.
“Don’t linger,” Toven hissed.
Briony snapped her gaze forward just as two young men stepped into their path, one thin with golden-brown skin and the other heavyset and pink- cheeked. Lorne Vult and Collin Twindle, who had been a part of Toven’s gang in school. Collin’s mother was seventh in line, and Lorne’s aunt was somewhere behind Finn Raquin’s father, but Lorne had been dogged in his attempts to barter his way to a better position as a successor.
“Toven,” Lorne said. “Cutting it close, aren’t you? You’re almost late.”
“Almost, but not.” Toven shook both of their hands.
Briony tore her eyes from them as they looked her over. Lorne Vult had been a close friend of Canning Trow’s and had a reputation for making girls uncomfortable in the halls. Collin had been shy when he was younger but had
become crass and status-obsessed over the school years. He’d been one of the first boys to join his father in hunting down the Eversun children on the day the Bomardi school was attacked—the day her father was murdered.
Collin’s amber eyes dripped over her exposed skin. “So you’ve brought her,” he said.
“I have.” Toven sipped from his champagne. “Her pox finally cleared.”
“Will you be sharing her?” Lorne asked, voice lilting.
Briony’s eyes snapped to him, and he smiled at her.
“Unfortunately, no, gentlemen. If you wanted a golden heartspring, you should have bought one yourself.”
“Not a heartspring I’d be using her for,” Collin said, and Lorne laughed.
Briony glared at the larger man.
Toven checked his timepiece. “It’s almost that time, gentlemen. Gather your heartsprings, and I’ll see you in the suite.”
Before either of them could say another word, Toven was guiding her to the left and away. Her mind stuck on the word “suite,” and she wondered what was ahead of her.
Toven steered them in a wide circle around the room, and every time they neared a door, she thought he would take her through it. He shook hands but didn’t stop. When they finally came back to where they’d started, Briony realized he was showing her off—making sure as many eyes were on her as possible.
Briony looked for people she knew, finding familiar faces from the Trow dungeon. She tried to keep track of the Bomardi elite she was recognizing, but there were too many. Katrina had disappeared, but she found the back of Phoebe’s head twice. Either her cousin was making it a point not to look at her, or she was truly clueless to Briony’s presence.
When Toven finally directed her toward the staircase that led to the second floor, she thought they’d be done with the whispers that followed them as they moved through the room.
At the base of the stairs, Hap Gains stood smoking a cigar and talking with the man from the sketch Ilana had showed them. Briony steeled herself
to be in Gains’s presence again, and she felt the smallest of pauses in Toven’s gait before he ushered her forward.
“Hap, good to see you,” Toven said, reaching for Gains’s hand. “And General Tremelo, what an honor it is to host you tonight.”
The general took Toven’s hand with a grin. “Orion’s boy. Your father owes me a game of cards!” His accent was crisp and tight.
Her mind twisted through what this could mean. Bomard was entertaining a general from across the sea? Was Mallow’s reach spreading?
“Please accept my father’s apologies that he couldn’t be here to escort you himself,” Toven said, with glance at Gains. Gains narrowed his eyes at him.
“I know how he appreciates Daward’s business.”
Daward was one of eight magical countries in the east. They also practiced heart magic, but it had been centuries since they had abused heartspring bonds in the same ways that Bomard currently was. Briony had no idea what kind of “business” Orion Hearst had with Daward and its general, but she could assume it would not be something her own father would have condoned.
“Please send my regards to your father.” General Tremelo had a kind smile, but as he turned it on Briony, she braced herself for another lecherous gaze. “And who is this?”
“Briony Rosewood,” Toven said with a hint of arrogance. His arm wrapped around her waist loosely, his hand landing over her hip. “My heartspring.”
Tremelo’s eyes blinked twice, very quickly.
“Ah. Jacquel’s daughter.”
What did that tone mean? Had he been friendly with her father? Was he perhaps upset to see King Jacquel’s offspring being treated like property by Bomard? Briony couldn’t decipher it.
“Young Hearst has been rather ungenerous with her,” Gains said, his smirk returning as he sucked on his cigar. “This is Miss Rosewood’s first visit to Biltmore.”
Briony bit down on her tongue, resisting the urge to correct him.
“Far from her first visit,” Tremelo said lightly. “This was her father’s
house not too long ago, was it not?”
His words seemed to steal the air from the room. Gains puffed on his cigar, and Toven’s lips lifted in a tight smile. Briony stared at the general, trying to figure out his intention in bringing up the real facts of the matter.
“Very true,” Gains said, covering. “I only meant that Toven has avoided bringing her to our weekly parties.”
Toven’s fingers tightened on her hip. “Well, after what happened with Cohle’s heartspring last month, I wasn’t in a hurry to bring her.”
Toven looked to Gains as the man’s eyes hardened.
Anxiety sparked in Briony’s blood. Something had happened to Cordelia?
“But surely with a golden heartspring, there would be no danger in showing her off a bit,” Gains said.
“Ah, yes. I’ve heard much about golden heartsprings,” Tremelo said genially, “and yet I still have no idea what it is that makes them so special.”
Briony wanted to know, too.
Gains tapped the ashes off his cigar. “The Rosewood blood, said to be golden, creates a more powerful heartspring bond. Both golden heartsprings measured considerably high in magical ability on our scale.” He nodded at Aron Carvin and Phoebe across the room and then grinned at Toven. “Which is why we’re all so anxious to see Aron and Toven in the arena together.”
Briony’s head was spinning with all the new information. An arena?
Toven’s expression remained placid. “I prefer to save my magic for whatever Mistress Mallow requests of me.”
Tremelo laughed. “Good soldier. My, I bet you’re up to your ears in power. It’s good to see Miss Rosewood looking no worse for wear because of it.”
There was something in the way Tremelo spoke—in the way Gains paused, in the way Toven’s fingers tightened on her hip—that made Briony wonder what was behind his words.
Daward didn’t practice mind magic, so she didn’t find any resistance when she extended her index finger in a penetrating gesture and grasped the thread between her eyes. Tremelo’s mind was a maze of strategy and tactics,
but at the forefront she saw herself as Tremelo saw her: healthy and unharmed.
Briony slithered out of his thoughts and wondered what Tremelo’s true motiviation was here tonight. Who was he to report back to? And why did she think it was important to him that the daughter of Mallow’s enemy was safe, though captive.
If Bomard was extending its influence, was Daward worried about their own futures?
“Quite a bit of power,” Toven said, agreeing. “I’ll leave you two to your evening.”
He shook both men’s hands and steered her around them.
“No need to keep the woman wound so tightly, Toven,” Gains said to their backs.
Bile curdled in Briony’s stomach. That was one innuendo she didn’t need unraveled.
She’d learned too many things in too short a time: Something had happened to Cordelia, there was an arena of some sort, and General Tremelo of Daward was not fully on board with Veronika Mallow’s Bomard.
Toven led her to the stairs that ran with the sacred waters. Railings splashed with flumes of trickling streams. She wanted to ask him what was going to happen in the “suite,” but before she could open her mouth, they’d arrived at the landing and were faced with a young guard in Bomardi blue.
“Toven.” He nodded at them. “Everyone’s inside.”
“Wonderful,” Toven said, raising his hand to present his black ring for inspection. “I love to make an entrance.”
The guard unlocked the door behind him that led to her father’s old open- air dining room.
When the door opened, raucous laughter beat against her eardrums, and Briony found a table set for eight. Seven young men were seated, drinking and smoking, and seven young women in collars lined the walls, eyes cast down.
The conversation came to an abrupt halt, and Briony finally focused her eyes on the men at the table as every gaze turned on their arrival.
Finn Raquin, Liam Quill, Lorne and Collin, two others she didn’t recognize.
And Canning Trow, standing from the head of the table. His smirk was wide and his eyes were hungry as he lifted his glass.
“Miss Rosewood. It’s our honor to host you tonight.”
In a disturbing show of chivalry, the other six men came to their feet, and Briony was abruptly reminded that she had no idea what the rules were in this new world.
Canning Trow grinned at her, his eyes sliding down her body.
“Gentlemen, the golden heartspring is here.”
