Flora’s gaze darted past me to where Emeric had been standing quietly, nursing his own glass of wine with his gloved artificial hand. Did her nose wrinkle just slightly? “Yes, well… He’s a very industrious young man, isn’t he?”
“Industrious” was an odd word to use—was she trying to subtly undermine him by implying that he was only looking to use me for my name, as if the rest of them weren’t thinking the exact same thing? I guessed even though they’d admitted him into their social circle for this occasion, they hadn’t quite come around to thinking he belonged here.
The impulse struck me to say something archly biting that would put her in her place and show I was perfectly happy with my choice in companions, but that wouldn’t fit the image I was trying to cultivate. As Flora turned to call for everyone to join her in the dining room, I caught Emeric’s eye and offered him the slightest of grimaces when I was sure no one was looking our way.
He gave a minute shrug and then slipped his other hand around my elbow to formally escort me to the dining room, as if we were more than just recent acquaintances but an actual couple. Warmth teased over my skin with him standing so close. Did he think giving the impression he’d taken to me as more than just an ally would help me earn the others’ trust faster, or was he simply offering his support the best way he could without giving any of the game away?
Either way, brooding or not, I couldn’t say I wasn’t glad to have him there.
The Achelings seated us next to each other with me by Flora’s right hand at her end of the banquet table. Staff bustled around pouring more wine and lifting the lids off of porcelain serving dishes. I found myself with a bowl of chowder that gave off a mouthwateringly creamy scent, several fingerling sandwiches, and a side dish of grapes and cut cheese. Think what I might about my hosts, they were at least feeding me well.
Harriet Mismeren ended up sitting across from Emeric. She gave him a chilly glance and then aimed a grin that looked equally cold at me. “This is better dining than I’d bet you were getting back at the university with those sanctimonious mutineers lording their new position over everyone.”
I stiffened, which could be blamed on the overtness of her hostility rather than my rejection of it, thank God. I had to play along that I was against the new barons too.
“I’m sure the new pentacle feels they have better things to consider than what meals we’re able to scrape together at Blood U,” I said, letting a sliver of rancor enter my voice. She didn’t have to know I was feeling that rancor toward her rather than Rory and the others.
“Harriet,” Flora chided with a pinching of her mouth, and patted my hand like she had my arm in the day room. “They brought a lot of young people under their sway. They are their parents’ children in one way or another, after all. I can’t imagine—if my son—”
She cast a mournful gaze down the table to where Carmine was sitting by his father at the head. That was the way they all thought of it, didn’t they? That the former barons had been betrayed by their heirs rather than the other way around. That none of the scions’ opinions had mattered—none of our opinions about what kind of world we wanted to live in had mattered.
I caught myself before my fingers could tighten around my soup spoon. These people were just like the former barons, just like my parents, caught up in their delusions of domination and grandeur.
Did they ever think about what kind of chaos we’d be living in now if we’d actually gone to war against the Naries? Magic or not, there were a hell of a lot more of them than us. Now that I’d actually talked to a few, I had trouble believing the nonmagical population would have simply lain down and accepted our rule like the mice the reapers seemed to imagine they were.
But then, when had any of them ever bothered to get to know a “feeb” beyond figuring out how best to terrify them for magical fuel?
“I’m sure my parents feel the same way,” I forced myself to say. That bit was true, anyway. “That’s why it’s so important to me to make it up to them.”
“No one will want to be on the traitors’ side when they get what’s coming to them,” Ernest muttered from beside his wife, so low I wasn’t sure he’d even meant for me to hear it.
Oh, he thought that, did he? I sipped my soup with spotless manners and grinned at the faces around the table, but behind my polished mask, more anger than I’d expected to feel was coming to a boil.
Rory had assured me that it was fine if all I found out were a few bits of information that would help the blacksuits piece the rest of the conspirators’ plan together. I didn’t think I was going to be satisfied with that little. I should be able to do better. I knew people like this—I knew how they thought. I’d been on the verge of becoming one.
And now I needed to squash their dreams of vengeance before these pricks got anywhere near the people who’d done so much more to protect me than I’d done for them so far.
When I was finished here, no one on the side I actually stood for would be able to doubt my loyalty ever again.
Chapter Seven
The room I’d been told Noah would be stationed in was two floors up and at the opposite end of the hotel from mine. After a quick casting to make sure I didn’t have any unexpected magic attached to me, I headed up to make my first report.
With each step along the ochre carpet toward him, my heart thumped a little harder, as if this was as much of a trial as the luncheon yesterday. I just had to keep it cool, and everything would be fine. Make it clear that we were keeping this connection solely professional, play down my initial freak-out after we’d slept together so he wouldn’t stay hung up on my reaction—and avoid thinking too much about how good his hands and his mouth had felt on my body.
Easy peasy. Right.
As I stopped outside his door, I squared my shoulders and then knocked, brisk and firm.
I’d sent a brief text this morning to let Noah know I’d be coming by, so he was expecting me. He opened the door in a matter of seconds, a pleased gleam in those bright brown eyes and most of his hair smoothed back into its usual short ponytail. My fingers itched to tease over the strands that fell free alongside his handsome face. I gave them a mental slap.
“Come in, come in,” he said, stepping back so I had plenty of space. I still passed close enough that my skin tingled in awareness of him.
The hotel room was a twin for mine: a queen-sized bed with a moss-green cover taking up most of the space, an oak dresser with TV across from it, a matching table with chairs for two by the small window. Portland didn’t offer much extravagance—we’d gone with the poshest hotel on offer to fit my supposed upper-echelon tastes, and it hadn’t been any strain on my finances.
One feature that definitely didn’t match the room: the plump raccoon perched on the window ledge, nibbling at some delicacy it clutched in its nimble hands. As I came in, it turned at the torso to study me with its beady eyes, not missing a beat with its snack.
“Don’t mind Kato,” Noah said. “He’s got no manners when it comes to food.” He raised his eyebrows at the animal, which had just stuffed the last tidbit into its mouth. “Are you coming or going?”