Illusions of Fate (17 page)

“It would appear Lord Downpike is intent on getting your attention,” Lord Rupert says conversationally.

“I had noticed.” Finn’s tone is polite and unconcerned.

“Have you given any more thought to what he is proposing?”

“I cannot say that I have. What was wrong two years ago is still wrong today, and you will find my position unchanged.”

“Yes, but the good of the country . . .”

“Is the good of the country, and I will always do my part to protect it. Why should we stretch further than needed? We have been independent and strong for decades now. The Continent holds nothing we cannot do for ourselves. I find myself perfectly satisfied with the amount of power we currently hold. Aggression would lead to war, which would benefit no one, least of all our own citizens. Oh, look! They’re about to begin.”

Finn still has not moved his hand from where it rests on mine. My stomach does not know how to feel about this development. Fortunately, I’m soon distracted as the lights dim and the music begins.

The symphony is like nothing I have ever seen. Six women and seven men in glittering black sit with their instruments, but when the first note—a long, deep pull across a cello—sounds, it is accompanied by a wavering flash of deep blue light. A violin joins, its light dancing up to join the cello’s, on and on up to the drunkenly flickering pink hue of the flute. As the song progresses, the lights shift in and out and around each other, a dance as complex as the marriage of notes from so many instruments. A man on the end has a drum beneath his legs, which emits bursts of brilliant white when hit with his foot pedal, and cymbals that crash together and send all the colors popping like Queen’s Day fireworks.

Finn leans in close to my ear. “Do you like it?”

“How is it done?”

“They’re all royals; Albion does not have a monopoly on magic blood. Though we have far more magical blood, it’s also more generally diluted. This concert happens once a year as a sort of demonstration to remind us that other countries are working with the same advantages we are.”

“The Hallins.” I remember the name from my history text. It’s the family that all the Iverian continental countries pull their royalty from.

“Very good. There are only two royal lineages: our ancient Crombergs, and the Hallin line.”

“So that’s why some of the smaller continental countries will buy royal family members to be their monarchs. I thought it was simply for show, an issue of pride.” A few years back some of the more influential families on Melei began talking of pooling our resources to buy a royal family for the island. The notion was quickly dismissed by the magistrates—and deemed treasonous to prevent it from coming up again.

I wonder now if the people behind the idea knew about magic. How would Melei have been different if we had been working with the same advantages as Albion?

Finn continues. “It is all a matter of balance. We have magic, so do they. Though many wars have been fought in the past, the last century has seen an uneasy peace. The two lines do not share secrets or knowledge, and the scales remain relatively even. Crombergs have strength of numbers, but Hallin magic is far more powerful.”

“So Albion and the Iverian continental countries can ward each other off. But what of the rest of the world?”

“It is a problem,” Finn answers, then leans back, effectively ending the conversation. I try to lose myself in the swirling lights and stirring melodies again, but I keep coming back to that:
it is a problem
. For whom?

The music is over far too soon. Real lights, the electric ones that anyone can see and appreciate, come back on. Sir Rupert’s wife startles awake with a tiny snort, and I marvel that this is so mundane in her world.

We walk down a grand, red-carpeted staircase to the main floor where the chairs have already been cleared and servers are making the rounds with trays covered in drinks. Finn takes one for me, but I haven’t the stomach for it. It reminds me too much of the gala and what happened afterward.

Several of the visiting royals go out of their way to wish Finn well. There is an odd sort of tension there, like they are not sure how friendly to be with him. One woman kisses his cheeks and murmurs something about his mother, but the room is so loud with conversation that I don’t catch most of it. Many of the Albens around us watch Finn’s interactions with narrowed eyes.

Other than Finn, the visiting royals seem content to talk to no one. The atmosphere between them and the Alben gentry is tense, buzzing with the same undercurrent as the lights above us.

Then Lord Downpike enters the room with a woman on his arm.

Eleanor.

She’s wearing blue, her hair pulled back to expose the creamy expanse of her neckline, her lips painted dramatic red. She meets my eyes and though her smile does not move, her eyes are screaming with terror.

Twenty-one

“FINN.” I SQUEEZE HIS ARM SO TIGHTLY MY FINGERS
cramp.

He follows my gaze to where Lord Downpike is smiling at us, Eleanor at his side.

“Spirits take him,” Finn curses. “He won’t harm her—even he wouldn’t dare go so openly against Lord Rupert. He’s trying to make a point.”

“And what point is that?”

“That he still has options when it comes to hurting us.” He sees the look of fear and dread on my face, then pats my hand. “Never mind. I have it under control. Wait here.”

He leaves me standing in the middle of the floor, surrounded by glittering strangers. I have never felt so helpless and alone.

I loathe feeling helpless.

I watch Finn stride toward Lord Downpike and Eleanor, Lord Downpike’s smile growing bigger and bigger, too big to fit his face, so sharp I wonder that it does not cut his cheeks.

“Are you quite well, Miss Olea?”

I turn to see Lord Rupert’s wife looking at me with concern. She’s on Ernest’s arm, who is watching Lord Downpike and Finn with narrowed eyes.

“I am . . . I am fine, yes, thank you.”

She follows our eyes and notes Finn and Lord Downpike having what appears to be a pleasant conversation, but one punctuated by a strange number of hand gestures. Lord Downpike flicks his fingers, Finn taps his cane, Lord Downpike makes a swirling motion as though illustrating a point, Finn slashes his cane through the air.

“Ah, men,” Lord Rupert’s wife sighs. “From the nursery to the Noble House, they never can stop fighting.” She pats my shoulder with stiffly detached sympathy. “They’ll sort it out. We needn’t worry ourselves over these sorts of things.” She yawns behind a gloved hand, covered in rings. “Hmm. Gallen pastries. Excuse me.”

She walks past with a whiff of stingingly floral perfume, and I watch her go, aghast. Could she not see the fear in Eleanor’s eyes? Does she care so little for the welfare of her own niece? Worst of all, is she really so accustomed to being pushed to the sidelines she no longer sees any evil in it?

“Aren’t you going to go help?” I ask Ernest. I turn to him and am surprised to see him watching me with a look of accusation. “What?”

“I advised you to leave Eleanor alone.”

“She’s my friend.”

“You attract trouble. I think you court it. And now you’ve brought her into it all.”

I can feel heat rising in my cheeks as my heart beats even faster, with fear or anger or some unhealthy mix of the two. “I did no such thing. Lord Downpike did this. And you stand here doing
nothing
while your sister is being threatened.”

“What would you have me do? Set myself against one of the most powerful men in our country?”

“If it is the right thing to do, then yes!”

“It may be the right thing to do. I would make a glorious stand, denounce him as a cruel and barbarous villain. We could bask in my righteousness. And any hopes I have at attaining a seat in the Noble House would be forever dashed. I would lose my future.”

“This isn’t about you!”

“Exactly! It isn’t about me. And so I will stand by and watch my sister in pain because of your
friendship
. And I will choose to do nothing, knowing that if I play the game right then someday in the near future I will be in a position of actual power, where I can effect real change. Because this isn’t about me, Jessamin. It’s about my country, and all the people I can help if I don’t throw everything away now. I asked you to put my sister’s welfare first because I cannot. I have to work toward being able to help all of Albion. Otherwise, the only voices that matter are the warmongers like Downpike.”

His words strike painfully. I thought he didn’t want me around Eleanor because I am Melenese, not because he was worried for her safety. “None of this is my fault. I’m not even part of this wretched country! I didn’t choose any of this!”

Ernest looks pointedly at my dress. “Didn’t you?” With a small bow he turns and walks stiffly away.

Trembling with the force of conflicting emotions, I nearly spill my drink. Setting it on the tray of a passing server, I am both relieved and more anxious than ever when Finn rejoins me, Eleanor leaning heavily on his arm. Lord Downpike is nowhere to be seen.

“Are you all right?” I ask.

Her eyelids droop and her face is pale, pinched in pain. “I do not have your strength for resisting spells thrown at me. I’m so sorry, Jessamin, he snatched me as soon as the music was over and . . . I can’t remember anything else. I’m so very sorry.” Tears pool in her eyes, and I rush forward to take her hands in mine.

“Never mind any of that. All I care about is that you’re safe.”
No thanks to me.
Ernest’s words fling themselves around my head, making me question everything I’ve done that has brought me here. I didn’t choose this, but I stubbornly refused to walk away when I became part of a game I didn’t understand.

Eleanor’s expression has none of its usual spark. “Think of the gossip—two lords fighting over me at the concert. I am so fortunate.”

Finn takes her hand from me and tucks it in his arm so she can lean on him. “I’ll call my carriage for you. I think it best if you spend the next few days at your uncle’s home.”

She nods, and I give her the best smile I can manage.

“Do not move,” Finn says to me, his voice stern, and then he walks her out of the grand room.

Eleanor is fine,
I reassure myself. But she was put in harm’s way because of me. I had no thought for others’ welfare when I defied Lord Downpike with that silly attempt for power with his book. I should have known—was warned—that this was all much bigger than me. Much bigger than any book, no matter how much magical knowledge it deprived him of. But I thought myself too clever for it all.

There are more ways to hurt me than I had realized. I think of Jacky Boy and Ma’ati with a sick feeling in my stomach. I’ll have to ask Finn to take them on immediately rather than waiting. If they’re on his property, they’ll be safe. But what will
I
do to make sure no one else is hurt because of me? Not everyone can be carefully shuffled off to other places.

And why should I be a part of any of this? Albion, the continental countries—let them tear each other to pieces. I just want to finish my studies and go home.

I am wilting under the electric lights, coming apart at the edges and unable to hold on to myself or anyone else.

“Drink, milady?”

I reach out without looking, but the same voice says again, this time startled, “Jessa? Is that you?”

Focusing on the servant—had I forgotten to look them in the eyes?—I realize with a shock that he is none other than Kelen.

“What are you doing here?” I gasp, terrified that this, too, is a ploy of Lord Downpike’s. If he’s found out Kelen was a childhood friend, my first kiss, part of my own island . . .

He gives me an odd look. “I’m working. I could ask what you are doing here, though.” He nods down at my dress, raising his eyebrows.

“Oh.” I try to wave my hand, but even the gesture fails me. “I—I’m here with—a friend.”

“A friend.” His flat tone leaves no question as to what he thinks of that. “It appears you’ve made better friends than me in your short time here. I’ve been by to see you.”

“I know, I’m so sorry. Things have been—well, complicated. Insane, actually.”

He nods, one black eyebrow raised in condemnation. “I see.”

I can’t stand the judgment in his face, not after Ernest’s criticisms. “You don’t understand, I—”

He holds up his free hand. “No, I understand. I knew our mothers, too, remember?”

“It’s not like that!”

“He’ll use you up and then throw you away, and there’s nothing you can do about it, because in the end you aren’t one of them and you never will be. No one here will ever see you as an equal—no matter how many fine dresses you accept.”

I can feel tears building, both at his accusations and at the deep-rooted suspicions that he’s right.

I take his free hand in mine. “Please, let me explain. Come and see me at the hotel, I’ll tell you everything. It’s not—” I find myself once again on the verge of saying
“I didn’t choose this.”
But . . . it’s a lie. I chose to come here tonight with Finn. I chose to let him into my life. I wanted to, much as I protested otherwise.