Steel's Edge

TWELVE

WARM lips touched her mouth.

Charlotte opened her eyes. She had fallen asleep on the couch next to the fire pit. The marathon healing session had taken its toll. Fatigue blanketed her body. She had the absurd notion that it covered her like a blanket, draining her life force with each breath she took.

Richard was looking at her. She reached over and touched his new face, probing for any sign of infection. He was clean.

“Does it hurt?”

“No.”

Dekart was truly an artist with the knife. What they had accomplished together was nothing short of a miracle. Richard’s face matched Casside’s with uncanny precision, but where the other noble’s eyes were guarded, Richard’s intelligence shone through, giving the blueblood’s features a dangerous air. Casside himself looked morose and melancholy, his expression pessimistic. Illuminated by Richard’s intellect and will, that same face became fierce—not just handsome, but masculine and strong, the face of a warrior and a leader. It was a pity Casside had done so little with the gifts nature had given him.

“You must try to look less like yourself,” she told him, caressing Richard’s cheek with her fingertips. He was still hers, no matter whose face he wore.

He caught her fingers and kissed them. “When the time comes, I will. Do you feel up to walking?”

“Depends on how far.”

“To the back door. I have someone I would like you to meet.”

“I think I can do that.”

Charlotte pushed off the couch and followed him to the back, past the table filled with precisely organized stacks of paper and crystals. Days of peering over the documents had paid off. They knew the Five, as they had come to call the slaver bluebloods, better than they knew themselves, and they had formed the plan. Richard’s face was the first part of it. Her part involved befriending Lady Ermine. She would do it with pleasure, Charlotte reflected. She would become her best friend and confidante; all for that moment when their scheme came to its conclusion, and she could snuff her out like the flame of a foul candle.

“Once I become Casside, I can’t watch over you.” Richard paused at the back door and took an orange from the fruit dish on the kitchen counter.

“I’m hardly helpless,” she told him.

“Yes, but you can’t use your magic in public, or you’ll risk an arrest. And you don’t have a fighter’s reflexes.”

Charlotte didn’t argue with him. He was right. She could easily kill on a massive scale, but an average fighter would cut her down. Her reaction time wasn’t honed enough. Her trek through the island had demonstrated that.

“A bodyguard would be a welcome addition,” he said.

“I can’t be a part of blueblood society with a bodyguard,” she told him. “It isn’t customary and more importantly, the presence of a trained fighter among them would set the Five on edge, including Brennan.”

“Not this one.” Richard opened the door.

Sophie stood on the lawn. She wore loose blue pants and a white shirt. Her dark hair was pulled back from her face into a neat ponytail. A sword in a sheath hung from her hip.

“No,” Charlotte said.

Richard threw the orange at Sophie. The girl moved, too fast, her strike a blur. The four pieces of the fruit fell onto the grass. Sophie flicked the juice off her blade.

“No,” Charlotte repeated.

“Just as a precaution,” he said. “It’s typical for you to have a companion. Why not her?”

“Because we’re playing a dangerous game, and I don’t want her to get hurt.”

Sophie didn’t flinch. Her face remained placid, but hurt pulsed in her eyes. She was used to being rejected, Charlotte realized.

“Why don’t the two of you discuss this?” Richard said, and stepped into the house.

Oh great.

The child on the lawn looked at her with an almost canine expectation, like Sophie was some half-starved puppy and Charlotte held a steak in her hand. Charlotte stepped down onto the grass, fighting the slow burn of her aching muscles. “Shall we walk?”

RICHARD watched Charlotte and Sophie walk away into the forest. The dog with no name trotted after them.

The faint sound of steps came from behind him. He recognized that walk.

Kaldar came to stand next to him, his face thoughtful. “Very pretty, both of them. The two women you care about most.” There was a slight hint of disapproval in his tone.

“I suppose you came by to inform me I’m making yet another grave mistake.”

“No.” Kaldar grimaced. “Yes.”

Richard sighed and motioned to him with his hand.

“I checked on her,” he said. “Do you know who the first ten are?”

“The first ten blueblood families who arrived in Adrianglia.” The cream of the crop.

“They took Charlotte from her family when she was seven and brought her to Ganer College, where she met Lady Augustine al Ran, a direct descendant of the Ran family, who just happen to be one of the first ten. The Lady adopted her.”

“Mhm.”

“Richard, you’re not listening. She formally adopted her. Charlotte’s full name is Charlotte de Ney al-te Ran. If the king hosts a dinner, she can sit at the first table, right next to the royal family.”

Richard turned to him.

“They didn’t publicize the adoption, probably to give Charlotte a fair chance at a normal life. It isn’t even on her marriage license—she signed it as de Ney. I don’t think that moron she married ever knew. But it is in her Mirror file. Do you have any idea how many men would kill for a chance to marry into a first-ten family?”

He had a pretty good idea. “Your point?”

“Princesses don’t marry swineherds in the real world,” Kaldar said. “When people hear her name, they stand up. You’re an Edger, a swamp rat.”

“I remember,” Richard said. “But thank you for reminding me.”

Kaldar ground his teeth. “Let me remind you of something else: when Marissa left, you drank for two months straight, then tried to drown yourself.”

“For the last bloody time, I didn’t try to drown myself. I was drunk and out of wine, and I walked out onto the pier because I remembered I had left a bottle in the boat.” And then he’d slipped and discovered that swimming while drunk was a lot more complicated than it seemed. He’d made it to shore and passed out on the bank from exhaustion, where Kaldar had found him. For some reason, everyone in the family insisted it was a suicide attempt, and nothing he said could convince them otherwise.

“You’re the only brother I’ve got,” Kaldar said. “If you follow through with this plan of yours, she will enter society without you. I’m not faulting your plan—you can’t keep her locked up, and she would have to dip her toe into those waters sooner or later. The reality is, she’s unattached, beautiful, and has the kind of name that will turn every head. The moment she’s announced, they will start circling around her like sharks. These are people who have never in their lives had to worry about where their next meal was coming from. They can rattle off ten generations worth of ancestors at the drop of a hat. They’re a different breed. Someone young, handsome, with the right pedigree and the right amount of money might catch her eye.”

“You are really worried about me.”

A muscle jerked in Kaldar’s face. “When Marissa left, you were still young. A part of you knew you still had your whole life to live. You’re older now, and you’ve lost your head over her. You don’t fall for women often, but when you do, it’s all or nothing.”

“Since when did you become an expert on my love life?”

Kaldar waved his arm around. “It’s obvious. You watch her. You try to make her laugh. If she leaves you, it might break you, and I might not be here to hold your head above the water. I just want you to consider the possibility now, so it doesn’t shock you when it comes.”

“If I need help swimming, I’ll let you know.”

Kaldar opened his mouth as if to say something else and snapped it shut.

“Is there more?” Richard asked. “Out with it.”

“If you marry her, you would become a member of the al Ran family. Lady Augustine al Ran, the woman who adopted her, must grant her approval.” Kaldar pulled a small clear imager cube out of his pocket and handed it to him. “Watch this before you do anything else.”

He walked away.

“Kaldar!”

His brother turned and looked at him. Kaldar was genuinely worried for him. His brother wore his jokes and humor as armor. That he’d dropped it for his sake spoke volumes. When Declan had first approached him with his proposition to hunt down the slavers, Richard never considered what might happen to Kaldar if he failed. Seeing families torn apart had taught him to pay better attention to those who mattered most to him. His brother had a wife who loved him and the support of what remained of their family, but if something happened to him, Kaldar wouldn’t take it well. At the very least, he could give Kaldar the satisfaction of knowing he did everything he could to save Richard from himself.

“We’ll watch it together.”

Kaldar grimaced, turned on his heel, and joined him. They walked to the house side by side. Richard had considered the possibility that Charlotte might leave him, stolen away by the glamour of blueblood society. Her adoption into the first ten made it even more likely.

The cube was cold in his hand. He entered the house and approached the imager. It sat to the left of the couches, a tall, round table about a foot and a half in diameter, with ornate metalwork decorating its single leg. A brown-and-gold carapace of polished metal guarded the top of the table. He touched it, and it split down the middle, the two halves of the carapace sliding down the table’s sides, revealing a delicate surface inlaid with strange designs. A pale blue glow shimmered along the surface, bathing the designs in its gentle radiance. At the center, three metal prongs rose in the semblance of an inverted bird leg armed with wicked talons.

He looked at the cube. Something told him he really didn’t want to know what was on it. The Mirror was the realm’s magpie: it gathered bits of information, some precious, some useless, and dragged them to its archives, like a foolish bird dragged baubles that caught its eye to its nest. There was no telling what he would see.

The talons waited.

He would rather know. Richard dropped the cube into the claws. The prongs closed about it. A dim blue light ignited within the cube, and an image of Charlotte formed above it. She was sitting on a balcony, somewhere high above. She looked younger, softer somehow. Her hair was gathered into a roll like a crown on her head, and her dress, a pale green, spilled on the floor. She truly did look like a princess.

A man stood next to her. He was slender, his hair a light brown. He wore a light jacket, fitted with crisp precision to his frame, matching pants, soft boots. The clothes announced money and a good tailor.

“You look very nice, Elvei,” Charlotte said.

“Thank you. You look divine, as usual.”

Elvei. Her ex-husband. Richard peered at the man’s face, assessing him as one fighter would assess another. Unless the man was an incredibly gifted flasher, Richard was reasonably sure he could take him. He could find no resemblance between himself and Elvei. They looked nothing alike. Perhaps that was part of the attraction. A selfish part of him said it didn’t matter why she liked him, but still, he wanted her to be with him because of who he was, not because of how he compared to the man she’d chosen before.

Elvei sat in a chair near the bench. “I hope you don’t mind if I pry.”

“I can’t say that I will until you ask me the question.”

“Then I will just come out and ask it plainly. Why is it necessary for Lady Augustine al Ran to approve our union?”

Charlotte leaned back. “I’ve told you the story of how I came to be at the College. I was taken from my family when I was very young. Over the years, I’ve come to think of Lady Augustine as my mentor. Her opinion is very important to me. Why is this troubling to you?”

Elvei smiled. “It appears today is my day to be blunt. I commend you for your devotion to your mentor, but the extent of the Lady al Ran’s inquiries into my background has been exceptionally . . . comprehensive. She requested the files on the first seven generations of my ancestors.”

“Do you have something to hide?” Charlotte asked.

“Of course not.”

“Then don’t trouble yourself.” She smiled and reached out to caress his face. The muscles in Richard’s arms tightened.

“You worry too much, Elvei.”

“Charlotte, you are of age and have been for quite some time. You don’t really need her permission to marry.”

“Elvei, I would never consider a long-term relationship, let alone marriage, with any man who hadn’t met with Lady Augustine’s approval. She’s like a mother to me, and her view is vital.”

“And if she disapproved of me?”

“I would break our engagement. I’m afraid that’s the price you have to pay for being with me.”

“Then I will gladly pay it.”

Charlotte smiled. The image melted.

“There you have it,” Kaldar said. “If you want a life with Charlotte, you’ll have to battle Lady Augustine, and that’s not a war you can win. When she asks about your background, what will you tell her?”

“That I’m a Mire rat.” Richard grinned. “That my father was a Mire rat, his father before him, and on and on, all the way to the beginning of our family when the ancient Legionnaires first settling the continent got trapped in the Mire and mixed with the natives.”

“Yeah, you should mention Vernard while you’re at it.” Kaldar shook his head.

“Yes, how could I forget. Dear Lady, my granduncle-in-law was an exile, one of my uncles was a changeling, and a few of my cousins aren’t even human. I have a tiny slice of land and very little money, and the only reason I’m allowed in Adrianglia at all is because my cousin Cerise married a changeling, who promised the Mirror ten years of service in exchange for asylum and citizenship for the Mar family. Did I miss anything?”

“You should have Charlotte there when you tell her that, or the noble lady might suffer an apoplexy. You’re not taking this seriously, are you?”

“That’s rich, coming form a man who never took anything seriously.”

“I take the safety of my wife and my family very seriously. What has gotten into you? Is any of this penetrating that thick skull of yours?”

“I’m not worried about the bluebloods stealing Charlotte away. She has seen them before, and she chose me instead. We also have bigger problems than Lady Augustine.” Richard crossed the room to the bookcase and pulled a heavy, embossed volume from the top of the shelf. He’d moved it there so Charlotte wouldn’t find it.

“Like what?”

“Charlotte can kill with her magic.”

Kaldar stared at him. “She’s a fallen healer. Richard, they’ll kill her if they find out.”

“That’s part of the problem.”

“What’s the other part?”

The book felt heavy, like a chunk of solid rock. Richard flipped through the pages, turning the thick paper sheets to a particular article, and offered the book to his brother. He had read it so many times, he had committed the words to memory. He kept hoping it would say something different. It didn’t.

The act of draining another’s magic to fuel oneself is colloquially known as life-force drain, a term which originated from the first-person accounts of the rare few who had experienced it. They describe this phenomenon as draining or stealing the target’s life. In reality, the user and the target form a magic feedback loop, and it is the target’s magic energy, not some mysterious life force, that is being drained. However, since a human body is unable to sustain life without this magic energy, when a target’s magic is depleted, the target dies, so the term isn’t as inaccurate as it may seem at first glance.

In the event of life-force drain, the user attracts the magic of the target, pulling it to himself and absorbing this energy. The user quickly becomes overwhelmed with the influx of incoming magic, and his body begins to radiate it out in whatever form feels most natural to the user. The user then invariably sends out more magic than he takes in, which in turn, causes him to absorb more magic in a greater volume, which he again must disperse. This essential cycle of absorbing and dispersing is ever expanding; the longer it continues, the harder it is to stop. Consider a snowball rolling down the hill: the longer it rolls, the bigger it grows. The longer the duration of the feedback loop, the greater the amount of magic that passes through the user, until eventually the user becomes a mindless conduit for the flow of magical energy.

There are known instances of interrupted feedback loops, where the user had begun the draw of energy but engaged in it for only a few brief moments. These users report feelings of euphoria and extreme pleasure associated with the absorption of magic. No doubt, this contributes to the difficulty of feedback-loop interruption. In plain terms: stealing magic produces pleasure and is self-rewarding, so much so that many users do not want to stop, and, after a few minutes, they find they cannot.

For the purposes of this study, eleven confirmed instances of interrupted feedback loop were examined, and in nine out of eleven cases, the users reattempted the feedback loop at a later date. All nine lost their humanity and had to be destroyed, as they presented an imminent threat to others. It is this author’s opinion that surviving one interrupted loop is possible; however, interrupting such a loop for a second time is beyond the limits of human will.

Kaldar looked up from the page. “What does that mean?”

“How much did George tell you?”

“I know that you were injured, ran into the Edge, she healed you, then the slavers came, killed the boys’ grandmother, set the house on fire, and threw you in the cage. Charlotte saved you.”

“When she found us, she initiated a feedback loop. It was her first time killing, and she didn’t think she had enough power. She can kill without it, but every time she does, her magic pushes her toward making it again.”

“And if she does?”

“She will pull magic to her from her enemies and send it out as a plague, then she will drain more magic and send that out, and on and on, until everyone around her is dead. She would become a plaguebringer. She would never stop.”

“So she would become an unstoppable crazed mass murder.”

“Yes.”

“Does she know?”

“She knows. She asked me to kill her if she succumbs to it. I tried to talk her out of fighting the slavers, but she refuses to walk away.”

Kaldar sank into the couch. His face was completely serious, something that almost never happened.

“Congratulations,” he said, his voice dry. “You finally managed to find a woman as tragically noble as yourself. I didn’t think one existed.”

“I’m not tragic.”

Kaldar held up his hand. “Spare me. Some children are born wearing a silk shirt; you were born wrapped in melancholy. When they slapped you to make you cry, you just sighed heavily and a single tear rolled from your eye.” He dragged his finger from the corner of his left eye to his cheek. “Your first words were probably ‘woe is me.’”

“My first words were ‘Kaldar, shut up!’ because you talked too much. Still do.”

“You have grimly acknowledged the sadness of your situation since you were a kid. You don’t even notice it anymore.”

Richard leaned forward. “Would it be better if I turned everything into a constant joke?”

“Well, someone has to make you laugh; otherwise, you’d collapse under the burden of being you. People can share in the joke. Nobody can share in your anguish.”

“I’ve been the butt of your jokes all my life, and let me tell you, it’s not quite as fun.”

They stared at each other. If Richard had a wet wig in his hands, he would’ve thrown it against the wall and kicked his brother in the chest. Sadly, they were too old to brawl.

“That’s why the face,” Kaldar said. “You did it for her, so you can be on the inside, working against the Five instead of her. Is she worth it?”

“Is Audrey worth it?” Richard asked.

“Leave my wife out of it.”

“You gave yourself up to the Hand for her. Was it worth it?”

“Yes. And I’d do it again.” Kaldar sighed. His shoulders slumped in defeat. “What do you need from me?”

“I’ll need your help,” Richard said.

“You have it. We’re family.”

Richard went to the wine cabinet, got a bottle of green wine and two glasses, and brought it over. He poured the wine. Kaldar swallowed some and smiled. “Tastes like home. Where did you find the berries? I thought they only grew in the Mire?”

“Aunt Pete grew them somehow in a greenhouse behind her home.” He let the wine roll down his throat. The delicious light taste refreshed him, whispering of swamp and home.

Brennan, Lady Augustine, blueblood society, all of it, he could handle. They were just people. But he had no idea how to protect Charlotte from herself. He couldn’t lose her. He tensed at the thought, his muscles locked, as if he were fighting for his life. Fear gripped him. He was so rarely afraid, and here he sat, terrified.

Suggesting that she sit this one out would only have the opposite effect. She would just fight harder.

He went over the plan in his head. They would lay a two-part trap for Brennan, and he would take care of the first half of the plan. With luck, Brennan would take his bait, and Charlotte’s involvement might not even be necessary. If he failed to entice Brennan, the plan didn’t call for her to use much of her power, only for the use of her name and position. She would be in minimal danger.

If they succeeded by some crazy stroke of luck, he would do everything in his power to make her happy.

“You really didn’t try to kill yourself?” Kaldar asked.

Damn it. “Killing yourself requires desperation. I wasn’t desperate. You know why I drank? I drank because I was angry. I swore to love her and defend her. I gave her a house, I provided for her, and I treated her well. Even if she didn’t love me, it should’ve been enough. Had she left me for a man, I would understand. I would be angry, but I wouldn’t want to keep her with me against her will if she chose another man. She left me because her life wasn’t nice enough. That’s how low I ranked, somewhere down below the ‘nice house’ and ‘no mud in the yard.’ I drank because I was pissed off and didn’t want to do something stupid.”

“Don’t hold back. Tell me how you really feel.”

“I deserved better than a fucking note!”

“Maybe she was afraid she couldn’t leave with you there,” Kaldar said.

“What the hell does that mean?” Richard spread his arms. “Are you implying I’d hurt her?”

“No, I’m implying that Marissa was never much for confrontations. Although I don’t know, you’re a scary bastard when you get going.” Kaldar winked at him.

Richard pointed at him.

“Oh gods, the finger of doom. Deliver me!”

He would not pummel his brother. It wouldn’t be right. Richard forced himself to sit down in the chair. “Are you quite finished?”

“Yes. Well, no, I could go on, but I’ll spare you.” Kaldar poured more wine. “It will work out. It always does.”

Richard raised his glass. “I’ll drink to that.”

SOPHIE pulled a cloth from the pocket of her tunic and carefully cleaned the blade. She and Charlotte strolled down the path into the woods, the wolf-dog trotting in front of them like some monster from a child’s fairy tale.

“Do you have to do this every time you take your sword out?” Charlotte asked.

“If I draw blood,” the girl answered quietly. “And the orange juice is acidic. It will corrode the blade.”

“Why not make a stainless-steel sword?”

“Stainless steel doesn’t bend. A sword must be flexible, or it will break.”

Much like people. “Did Richard talk you into becoming my bodyguard?”

“I asked him. He said that the opportunity exists, but the final decision is yours, and he had ‘neither the capability nor the inclination to compel you to do anything against your will.’ He’s very formal sometimes.”

He would say something like that, wouldn’t he? “The people we’re up against will not hesitate to kill you even though you’re a child.”

“I won’t hesitate either,” Sophie said with quiet determination. “And I’m faster and better skilled.”

“You’re still a child.”

Sophie took a step. Her hand blurred again: strike, strike, strike—was it three? Four?—and she sheathed her sword.

The woods stood silent. Nothing moved.

Sophie sighed, reached out, and pushed a four-inch-wide sapling with her finger. The tree slid aside, breaking into four pieces as it fell.

“It’s not as dramatic when it doesn’t fall by itself,” Sophie said. “I’m faster than Richard. It takes him a third of a second longer to stretch his flash onto the blade. Do you know what that means?”

“No.” Somehow she knew the answer wouldn’t be good.

“It means I can kill him,” Sophie said.

Dawn Mother. She chose her words carefully. “Do you want to kill Richard?”

Sophie shook her head. “When Spider fused my mother, William killed her. He is my brother-in-law, and it was a mercy killing. My father died with her. He’s alive, technically. He eats and breathes and talks. But he is . . . absent. He tries to take care of the family because it’s his duty, but if the rest of us disappeared tomorrow, he would walk off the nearest cliff.” Sophie turned to her. “It’s not fair. I didn’t die. I’m still here, but he doesn’t care.”

She’d said it so flatly, her aspect so neutral. She was barely fifteen years old and already she was masking her pain. Charlotte fought an urge to reach out and hug her. It probably wouldn’t be welcomed.

“He must care. A parent doesn’t just abandon a child.”

“My father did. He loved my mother so much, and now she is gone, and the world stopped for him. He stopped training me. He stopped talking to me after dinner. He stopped talking to everyone unless it’s absolutely necessary, so I suppose I shouldn’t expect special treatment just because I’m his daughter.”

So much damage. A low pain squeezed Charlotte’s chest. It felt like her heart had turned over.

“Richard is the only father I have now. He takes care of me. But I’m faster, and he would hesitate to cut me down. He loves me very much. So I know I can kill him.”

“That’s a cold thing to say.”

Sophie glanced at her, surprised. “You think so?”

“Yes.”

“It’s just a fact.” She shrugged. “I can’t help it.”

Anything Charlotte said to that would sound like a criticism. The coldness was likely a barrier Sophie had built, and the fact that it was there meant fragility. Charlotte stayed silent. Perhaps later, if they had a chance to forge more trust, she could return to it.

“You’re planning to expose Brennan at the Grand Thane’s wedding,” Sophie said.

“How do you know this?” Did Richard actually tell her?

Sophie raised her head. Light filtering through the trees dappled her face. “Hawk.”

Charlotte looked up as well. A bird of prey soared above the treetops, circling around them.

“It’s dead,” Sophie said. “George is guiding it. He is very powerful.”

The realization washed over Charlotte in a cold gush of embarrassment. “Is George spying on Richard and me?”

“Always,” Sophie said. “All those perfect manners are a sham. He spies on everyone and everything. Declan hasn’t been able to conduct a single business meeting in the past year without George’s knowing all the details. He does let go when you make love. He is a prude.”

“‘Prude’ is a coarse word. He has a sense of tact,” Charlotte corrected before she caught herself.

“A sense of tact,” Sophie repeated, tasting the words. “Thank you. The other one is somewhere around here, too.”

“The other one?”

Sophie surveyed the woods. “I can smell you, Jack!”

“No, you can’t,” a distant voice answered.

The dog barked and shot through the bushes to the side.

“I told you.” Sophie smiled. “Spider will attend the wedding of Grand Thane. He’s a peer of the Dukedom of Louisiana. His rank demands it.”

“You can’t kill Spider,” Charlotte told her.

“I just want to see him. He took my mother and my father away from me.” Sophie’s dark eyes looked bottomless. “I want to see his face. I want to brand it in my head.” She tapped her skull. “So I’ll never forget it. Because we will meet again, and when we do, I want to be absolutely certain that I kill the right man.”

She was frightening.

“Please let me do this, Lady de Ney. Please.” Her words were a fierce, savage whisper. Sophie dropped on one knee. “You have lost someone. You know how it feels. I’m running in circles, like a mouse on a wheel. I just want a way to get off. Please.”

Charlotte’s memory conjured the nightmare of her house burning. She had felt so helpless standing there, on that lawn, watching Éléonore’s remains smolder as the ash rained on Tulip’s hair. She chose to do something about it because she possessed the means to do it. When Spider tore this child’s parents from her, she must’ve felt helpless, too. She banished Sophie, gave up the person she was, and became Lark, who cut trees into pieces faster than the eye could follow.

She and Richard, they were exactly alike. Ice over fire, a cool exterior hiding uncontrollable passion and emotion beneath. If Charlotte shut Sophie out now, she would be inflicting another wound. The very fury that fueled the child’s transformation might tear her apart.

Charlotte sighed. “How proficient are you in etiquette?”

Sophie stood up. “I took lessons.”

“Same instructor as Rose?”

“How did you know?”

Charlotte reached over and brushed a twig off Sophie’s tunic. “The gown you wore when I saw you the first time. It’s a decade too old for you. We have a lot of work to do, my dear. If you really want to come with me, you must be flawless.”

SOPHIE drank from a tiny cup, holding it with effortless grace. Charlotte sat across from her. In the three days she had spent with her, Sophie had soaked up information like a sponge. She was a natural mimic in the best possible sense of the word—she imitated not only the action but the air, the atmosphere Charlotte projected, and the change in her demeanor was immediate.

The door swung open, and Jack strode into the cabin. Moving in complete silence, he approached the table and dropped a crystal in the middle of it.

“This is everything.”

“Thank you,” Charlotte told him.

He surveyed Sophie sitting in a simple pale peach gown and crouched by her, his eyes big in his handsome face. George had the elegance, there was no question. But Jack was wildfire. There was something about the child, about the way he held himself, the raw potential for unpredictability, perhaps, or the air of danger he emitted, that would give Jack an allure all of his own in a few years.

“I have an idea,” he said.

Sophie tilted her head, looking at him with her dark velvet eyes.

“Ditch the dress and come hunting with me.”

“You’re such a child,” she told him.

“You’re turning into an old lady.”

Sophie smiled and stabbed a dagger into the table. She moved so fast, she was a blur, but somehow Jack had moved his hand, and the dagger pierced wood instead of flesh.

Charlotte sipped from her cup. “One more, and both of you will be down with dysentery for a week.”

Jack moved backward and sprawled in a chair, exasperated.

Charlotte slid the crystal into the thin metal claw of an imager. A light filtered through the crystal, forming the image of a young girl in a vivid blue gown.

“Next.”

Another young blueblood flower, another blue satin.

“Next.”

More young girls. Cornflower blue. Royal blue. Sky-blue.

“Boring people doing boring things wearing boring clothes,” Jack said.

“Blue is in season.” Charlotte surveyed Sophie. “What shade of bright blue looks good on you?”

“I don’t know, my lady,” Sophie answered.

“None,” Jack said.

Sophie arched her eyebrows at him. “When I want your opinion, I will cut it out of you.”

“In this case, he’s right. You would be surprised, but men do usually have an excellent eye when it comes to female clothes. Look at your wrist. You too, Jack.”

Both of them turned their right arms, displaying their wrist. She did the same. “See how the veins in my wrist and Jack’s look really blue? We have a cool undertone to our skin. Veins in your wrist have a slight green tint because of the warm undertones of your beautiful golden bronze skin. Cool colors such as blue, purple, or turquoise won’t look good on you.”

“I could wear white,” Sophie offered. “Lady Renda says white is always in season.”

“White is for cowards,” Charlotte said. “And Lady Renda is a dinosaur.”

Sophie choked on her tea. Jack chortled.

“When people say white, they often mean a really icy white, which has cool undertones. Pure black isn’t a good idea either. Jack, because of his cooler skin tone, would look very well in black; you wouldn’t. Richard’s skin tone is similar to yours. He wears black, and although he’s a very handsome man, it doesn’t resonate with his skin; it just makes him look menacing. True white is a neutral color—everyone looks well in it, but there is no daring in it, no sense of style. Wear it, and you might just as well announce that you’re playing it safe. We don’t play it safe. We make a statement.” Charlotte passed her hand over the crystal to reactivate it. “Color wheel, stage twelve.”

A complex color wheel ignited in the air above the reader. In the center, twelve bright colors formed the inner core: first, the primary shades of red, orange, yellow, green, blue, and violet. Between them were six transitional shades. Past the center, the color wheel split, with each of the twelve inner colors fracturing into four shades. Just outside the center, the color shades turned dark, nearly black. Hair-thin lines sectioned off the wheel into individual colors, each new tone a shade lighter than the previous one, until at the outer rim of the wheel, the colors became nearly white.

“This is your secret weapon. Remember that first blue gown?” Charlotte nodded at the wheel. “Find the color segment.”

Sophie stared at it for a second. “Number twenty-six.”

“Very good. It’s a saturated derivate of cobalt blue.” Charlotte touched the gears. The color wheel slid higher, and the row of pictures she had viewed ignited below it.

“They are all within the same segment,” Sophie said. “The color varies slightly, but they are playing it safe.”

“Exactly. These are the unmarried young women who are supposed to be on the cusp of fashion, which is why they are all wearing what they consider to be the cutting-edge trend. The older the woman, the more vivid the color, but none of them are deviating from the blues—they’re like goats in a herd all following the leading goat. Women who are either attached or are not looking to impress their awareness of fashion onto others will wear whatever color they please. This is the daughter of Duchess Ramone.” Charlotte pointed at the next-to-last picture of a tall, slender young girl. “I’ve met her before. See, she’s wearing green.”

“Shocking!” Jack called out from his chair.

“She is young and ‘in the market,’ so to speak, but she has enough status and daring to do whatever she wants. She also knows that vivid blue isn’t her color either. Still, if you look at the dress closely, there are notes of blue in it. The idea is not to spit in the eye of the current trend but subtly twist it to make it your own.”

“This is ridiculous,” Jack said.

“Fashion is utterly ridiculous,” Charlotte told him. “And ninety-nine percent of the fashion is who is wearing it. Some no name wears an ugly hat, and people say it’s an ugly hat. If Duchess Ramone wears an ugly hat, people say, ‘What an interesting new trend.’”

“So it’s about money?” Sophie asked.

“No. It’s about poise. You must be supremely confident in what you’re wearing and comfortable in your own skin. Being a blueblood isn’t just knowing the rules. It’s knowing the precisely correct thing to do in every situation, then doing it with unshakable entitlement.”

Sophie frowned, puzzled.

Charlotte smiled at her. “It’s not very difficult. Have no fear, we’ll practice. But back to the color wheel. Forget white and black. We must show off your skin, your neck, and that face. This is where the impact should be.” Charlotte picked up a drawing pad. “Segment 28, row 17.”

A beautiful warm gray, reminiscent at once of the pearly inside of an oyster shell and the soft glow of polished aluminum, ignited above the imager.

Sophie leaned forward, her eyes wide. “It’s the color of my sword.”

Charlotte smiled and began to sketch. They would have to add some pale blue accents to nod at the trend, but nothing major.

“But where will we get the dress?” Sophie asked.

“Dresses. We each need a set of at least six outfits, all tied together with similar design elements. We’ll take a page out of Richard’s playbook, contact the best dressmaker we can find, and throw an obscene amount of money at her.” Charlotte continued to sketch. The dressmaker would likely balk—the silhouette that emerged on the paper was slightly uncommon for a young girl, but it suited Sophie perfectly. “If she digs her heels in, we’ll find another. I’m not without means, and when it comes to dresses, money makes a most convincing argument.”

“You don’t need to spend money on me,” Sophie said. “My sister is married to William Sandine. I can get bucketloads of money.”

“I don’t have to—I want to.” Charlotte grinned and turned to Jack. “Would you like to help?”

The expression on his face underwent a lightning change, from surprise, to fear, to a bored, distant expression. “I suppose,” he said, and yawned. “If I’m bored.”

“That’s his nonchalant expression,” Sophie said. “He puts it on when he doesn’t know how to respond.”

“Are you on good terms with the Duchess of the Southern Provinces?” Charlotte asked. Declan’s mother was precisely the kind of heavy hitter who would make a decisive difference in their entrance to society.

“I’m adored,” Jack said.

Sophie snorted.

Jack glanced at her, indignant. “That’s what she always says.” He slipped into a perfect imitation of a highborn blueblood accent. “‘Oh, Jack. I adore you, you silly boy.’”

Charlotte lost it and laughed. “Do you think your adorableness can arrange for the two of us to have tea with Her Grace?”

“Piece of cake,” Jack said.

RICHARD opened his eyes. Charlotte had come up the stairs and paused, studying him lying in bed. Darkness had fallen, and the gentle lights of the lanterns played on her face. She was beautiful. Looking at her opened a gaping hole inside him born from the knowledge he soon would have to let go.

They hadn’t made love since the operation on his face. He wanted her so badly, it burned, more than a want, a need akin to an addiction. He was addicted to Charlotte, to her scent, her taste, the soft touch of her skin against his. To watching her gasp in surprise when he brought her to a climax. He needed her the way he needed air, and anticipation of their separation set his teeth on edge.

In this moment, he regretted everything: every word he had said to her seemed wrong, every gesture coarse and stupid. She deserved . . . someone better than him, but he was deeply selfish and would do everything in his power to keep her.

“Where is Sophie?”

“She left,” Charlotte said. “Supposedly to say good-bye to her sister. Unfortunately, Jack had let it slip that Cerise and William are already out on assignment. She’s giving us privacy. I suspect all of the undead mice, squirrels, and birds watching your Lair are gone, too.”

He slipped into formal blueblood affectation. “Dear gods, are they expecting us to have intimate relations?”

“It appears so. Do the children know something I don’t?” she asked.

She’d changed the subject. “Kaldar sent a message through George,” Richard said. “Brennan left for the Southern Coast. Supposedly he’s visiting a sick friend.”

“He went to tour the island,” she said.

“Yes.”

“And now with him out of the way, you want to make the switch and become Casside?”

“If you’re ready to begin our scheme.” And once they began, they couldn’t be seen together. No hint of their alliance could exist.

“I’m ready,” she told him. “Choosing a dressmaker presented a dilemma, but I found one who is talented, poor, and hungry to make her mark. The dress orders are in, and I’ve piled money on her with promises of more. The first two gowns will be ready in record time. Jack is arranging a tea with Declan’s mother. I plan to come clean and ask for her assistance. My introduction will be much smoother if she lays the groundwork. I think I could convince her to help us. With or without Her Grace’s backing, I should make an appearance at the capital within two days at the celebration of Spring’s End.”

“Will Sophie be ready?”

“Yes and no.” Charlotte shook her head. “The basics are there, and she is very smart. Being a maiden of escort isn’t exactly complex. I did it when I was her age—you walk three steps behind your sponsor and don’t talk unless spoken to. While she doesn’t know everything yet, she’ll do fine.”

The anxiety ate at him. “Sounds like you have things in hand.”

“Yes.”

“Should we go through the plan again?” They had gone over it a dozen times, but the moment he left, events would spiral out of his control.

“You will travel to the capital and replace Casside. You’re planning on kidnapping him on the way to his weekly card game, which he will attend. The attack on the island likely made Brennan furious, and the four bluebloods under him will strive to maintain the status quo out of sheer self-preservation. You will kidnap Casside, remove his retainers from the house, and your family will detain them until we’re done.” She invited him to continue.

“In two days, you will make an appearance at the Spring’s End Ball,” Richard said. “You will make an impression on Angelia Ermine. You will befriend her. It’s likely that she is sleeping with Brennan.”

“You said that before,” Charlotte said. “What makes you so sure?”

“Do you remember that speech Brennan had written while in Academy about leadership as the true purpose of the monarchy?”

She nodded. They had read it to each other out loud.

“He wants the throne. He thinks he’s destined to rule, but he will never acquire the crown,” Richard said. “He’s too far removed from the line of succession. It’s killing him inside. The slaver ring is his kingdom, and Casside, Angelia, Rene, and Maedoc are his thanes. He would demand absolute loyalty from them. Angelia is young, unattached, and attractive. He would want the satisfaction of owning her completely.”

“Angelia is scum. I’ll have to strain not to kill her.” Charlotte shook her head. “While I’m working on her, you will stage an attempt on Brennan’s life, making him think that Maedoc is trying to kill him.”

It was a difficult plan, one that demanded that both of them surrender their best weapons. He would have to use his sword without the benefit of the flash technique, but she wouldn’t be able to use her magic either. That fact filled him with relief. Still, killing Brennan would have been so much easier with it.

Suddenly Charlotte stepped toward him and embraced him. Her lips touched his. He kissed her deeply and tasted desperation. “Are you afraid?”

“I’m terrified,” she said.

He held her to him. “I wish I knew what to say,” he murmured. “I wish I had the right words.”

“Tell me what will happen if we win,” she asked.

“If we win, I will find you,” he told her. “And if it’s in my power, we will never be apart again. If you will have me.”

“And if I won’t?”

He raised his eyebrows. “I’ll probably beg. Or do one of those stupid dramatic things men do to win women over. If we still lived in the time of knights, I’d just unhorse anyone who stood in my way.”

“I’ll hold you to it,” she whispered, and kissed him back.

HER Grace, Lady Jane Olivia Camarine, Duchess of the Southern Provinces, was flawless, Charlotte reflected. She looked to be in her late forties although likely older since her son, the Earl of Camarine, was past thirty. Her tunic and trousers, a gorgeous emerald green and cream, were tailored with a deceptive simplicity that masked her thickening waist while playing up the duchess’s curves. Her hair, artfully layered on her head in twin plaits, elongated her round face. She wore a single piece of jewelry, a wedding ring crafted from spider-silk-thin tendrils of gold. It was both extremely expensive and superbly tasteful. She stood on the terrace, next to a picnic table, bathed in morning light.

“Look at the way she stands,” Charlotte murmured, as she and Sophie followed Jack to the table. “Chin tilted upward to make the neck appear thinner; light on the left, so it will play up the draping lines on her tunic. Long vertical lines, like those, make you appear thinner. You must always be aware of the light and know your best angles.”

“Your Grace,” Jack said. “May I present Charlotte de Ney and Lark.”

“Sophie Mar,” Charlotte murmured under her breath.

“And Sophie Mar,” he intoned.

Charlotte curtsied. Next to her, Sophie sank down gracefully.

“What a pleasure to meet you both.” The duchess smiled warmly. “Children, do you actually want to be here?”

“No,” Jack and Sophie chorused.

The duchess grinned. “Broderick fixed the fountain in the pool.” She pointed with her thumb over her shoulder in a distinctly unblueblood gesture. “Flee while you can!”

The two teenagers took off down the wide white stairs toward the pool gleaming in the middle of the lawn. At the last step, as if by some signal, they broke into a run, flying across the grass. Jack spilled out of his clothes. Sophie grasped the hem of her gown. Dear Dawn Mother, please let there be something under it. The gown flew off, revealing a small bikini. The two teenagers leaped in unison and vanished into the water.

“They planned this, didn’t they?”

“I’d imagine so,” Her Grace said. “Shall we?”

They sat at a table.

“I remember you. You were only fifteen at the time, but I recall you escorting Augustine al Ran.”

“I’m flattered,” Charlotte said.

“So is it Charlotte de Ney?”

There was no point in hiding. “Charlotte de Ney al-te Ran, Your Grace.”

“I thought so. Jack mentioned that you’ve been living in the Edge for the past three years. Have you been to see your mother since your return?”

“No, Your Grace.”

“The boys have given me a summary of your plan. Is it true? A Brennan is dealing in slaves?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

The duchess looked at the two teenagers splashing in the pool. “I knew his parents. They were nice people. Capable, morally upright, conscious of their responsibilities. I wonder if they know. I doubt it. As a parent, you always worry and wonder if you went wrong somewhere, if something you said or did caused your child to stray from the path.”

“With all due respect, he did more than stray,” Charlotte said. “You wouldn’t believe the horrors I’ve seen.”

A shadow passed over the duchess’s face. “Perhaps I would. I will help you, my dear. We have a duty to bring him down.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.”

An outraged howl came from the pool, followed by Sophie’s laugh.

The duchess sighed. “Sophie doesn’t trust many people. I’ve tried to forge a bond, but she very politely keeps me at arm’s length. If Sophie chose, she could live with her sister, but she selected not to do it. She holds herself apart, but she seems to respond to you. It’s a precious connection. Please safeguard it.”