The Bones of Ruin

by Sarah Raughley

  With a sigh, Madame Bellerose placed her teacup on the table. “I have a proposition for you,” she said, setting her elbows down, entwining her fingers, and resting her chin on them. “A trade, if you will.”

  “What could I possibly have that you would want?” Iris asked. “Beyond beauty, inner goodness, human decency—”

  “Your time, for now,” Bellerose said, her voice growing strained. “Yes, I want your time, Adam’s champion. After that, I suppose we’ll see what you have that would suit my interests.”

  Iris’s body was ready to spring at the slightest surprise. “What do you mean by that?”

  “I’m throwing a party tonight.”

  Iris rolled her eyes. “Yes, I know. Good for you,” she answered flatly.

  “Oh, forgive me,” replied Bellerose with a dismissive wave. “I don’t suppose you even have parties where you come from.” Iris bristled. “But your presence is required nonetheless if you want this card.”

  “Let me guess.” Iris folded her arms. “Your party’ll be filled to the brim with champions just itching to get me out of the way.”

  “Such a negative little thing, aren’t you?” Madame played with a strand of her hair. “Not at all. There’s just someone I’d like you to meet.”

  Iris was just about to give her a nasty retort and make for her card.

  “Adam’s been keeping him from you.”

  Iris unfolded her arms. Once again, Madame was watching for her reaction. “So?” She scoffed. “I’m just a champion. The second I win this tournament and get my money, I’m out of London. Who cares what secrets he’s keeping?” Adam’s secrets had secrets. But what did Bellerose know about her? That was the question.

  “Aren’t you interested in learning?” Bellerose continued. “I am. I’m interested in finding out everything I don’t know.”

  Iris said nothing.

  “What if I were to tell you that this is a man Adam tried to murder?”

  Her shoulders dropped. Iris sat a little straighter in her seat.

  “That’s what makes the dear boy so delectable: his skill at deception.” The feathers on Bellerose’s hat fluttered as she tilted her head to give Iris an arrogant look.

  Bellerose touched a finger to her red lips. “It was Riccardo Benini who ‘cleaned up’ after him so to speak, making alibis, creating a new murder site, and bribing officials after Adam tortured Neville Bradford and shot him in the head.”

  The man whose picture was framed in the greenhouse? Adam had said he’d been met with an unfortunate accident, but not this. Iris kept her hands on her lap, trying to stay calm. She knew the sight of her distress would give Bellerose the utmost pleasure.

  “Oh, you poor pet, you didn’t know, did you?” she asked, amused.

  “I’m no one’s pet,” Iris responded, hands clenched.

  “Before Adam executed Mr. Bradford, there was another man whom Adam tried to kill: Carl Anderson. Do you know what the two men had in common? His father, John Temple.”

  It was a name that came up entirely too much. But that was the man who held in his hands the key to the truth. Did Bellerose know? Or was she only just starting to understand?

  “Many of us are interested in his research these days. Why, just the other night, several men who work for Benini were found dead near Temple’s burial site. Whatever were they hoping to find there? His bones, perhaps?” Bellerose laughed. “Or maybe it’s just my imagination. John Temple’s secrets are valuable, you see. As such, he confided in very few people. And one of them is about to have his survival revealed tonight.”

  “I can’t imagine that would be very safe for him,” Iris said flatly.

  “But you don’t care about that. No.” Bellerose gave her a sidelong look. “You care more about what John Temple told him that was so dangerous he needed to be killed, even if Adam’s attempt failed. You care about the Temple men’s secrets as much as I do.”

  “Why don’t you ask Carl yourself?”

  “You think I haven’t? But his tongue won’t budge. I think he might respond to you, though. Since he’s been saying your name.”

  Iris frowned. She tried to search Madame Bellerose’s face, but her expression was unreadable. Her name? Was this woman telling the truth?

  “It’s all he’s been able to say, I’m afraid,” she insisted. “Nothing else. I’m sure you want to know why.” Bellerose set down her cup. “Well, then, now that that’s settled. Come.”

  Iris watched in disbelief as Bellerose stood, leaving her teacup steaming on the table. “Come? What, now?”

  “Yes, now, or I’ll rescind my offer. My servant Pierre will take us back to my residence. Come. That’s all you need to do, and the card will be yours. Along with the truth.”

  Jinn flashed in her mind’s eye. Her first instinct was to run to him, to tell him everything. To bring in Max, to devise a plan. But there was no time. This was an offer she couldn’t refuse, and Bellerose knew that. Without allowing her time to think, to regroup with her team and plot, Bellerose had given her an irresistible ultimatum.

  She’d go. If this was some kind of trap, she shouldn’t—no, she wouldn’t involve Jinn and Max. She’d face it the best way she could and come out on top. No matter what Bellerose had planned, Iris knew that she couldn’t trust Bellerose to just hand her the card, not when the woman was still in the game with her own champions. Iris would have to control the situation somehow.

  She was tense everywhere as she followed Bellerose out of the room. Rin trailed silently behind them down the staircase. Only when Iris spotted Bately leaning against a tree, calling crudely for his new partner, did Rin address her.

  “Don’t worry, Isoke,” Rin whispered to Iris just as Pierre opened the door to the carriage for Bellerose. “I’m still playing my part. And as for you—” Rin kept her voice low as Bellerose entered the carriage. “Be careful. He’ll be coming to help you.”

  “Guard!” Bellerose called her like an old farmer’s maid snapping at her pen hens. It infuriated Iris. But Rin only smiled—a little wickedly.

  “Go,” she told Iris before striding toward Bately. Iris shuddered as he winked at her before she stepped into Bellerose’s carriage.

  * * *

  The old man in Bellerose’s luxurious apartment looked a stone’s throw away from death. Either that, or he’d just come back from the grave. His eyes were open very slightly, and his pupils were milky and unfocused, each staring in its own direction. His mouth was parted just enough for weak breaths to come in and out of his chest.

  Bellerose nodded to the only servant in the flowery, lavender room. He exited, leaving Iris alone with Bellerose and this half-dead man: Carl Anderson, bearded, long-nosed, and terribly thin as if wasting away. A former member of Parliament. A former member of Club Uriel. Now a hostage.

  “Go on,” Madame urged her. There was no sign of mirth in her expression. Just business, then. Fine with Iris.

  Shooting Bellerose one of the worst grimaces she could muster, Iris approached Mr. Anderson with care. He looked so grizzly, so helpless. Iris felt a sympathy for him she didn’t think she could have for someone debased enough to be a part of the British Crown—oh, and a death cult.

  But this man had answers, answers that Adam refused to give her until he deemed her ready. The arrogance. Maybe this was the time. Time to know what John Temple knew about She Who Does Not Fall.

  Still.

  As Iris leaned over Mr. Anderson, she looked behind her at Bellerose, who waited impatiently in her red ensemble with her arms folded. Iris bent lower, pressing her hand against his shoulder, descending until her lips were close to the man’s ear.

  “I’m Iris,” she whispered so that only he could hear. “The Dahomey woman John Temple was researching. The Enlightenment Committee tried to have you killed. There’s a member with me right now. Tell her nothing.”

  “Her.” His lips formed the word weakly, and yet Iris could still feel the fear in his voice, the tension in his body. �
�Belle… rose…”

  “You really think I’ll agree to you whispering things in his ear?” Bellerose began toward them.

  “D-don’t come near me, you ghoul!” Mr. Anderson’s voice was louder now, just barely, but the terror and hatred in his cloudy eyes spoke volumes. “You ghouls, all of you! Stay away!”

  “Ghouls?” Madame Bellerose looked a little annoyed. “Need I remind you, I rescued you from death. I could have let your corpse rot.”

  Mr. Anderson’s voice was shallow. “And instead you brought me here and had me… had me tortured in your basement.”

  Iris glared at Bellerose, wide-eyed. But the woman only shrugged.

  “And I wouldn’t have had to if you’d just told me what John Temple—”

  “N-no.”

  Suddenly, Iris felt his cold, clammy hand around her wrist. “If I speak, I’ll speak only to this girl. You can go straight to hell with the rest of the demons in that bloodthirsty Committee.”

  “Well, as long as you speak.” Madame Bellerose shrugged, turning around. “I’ll get the answers from her soon enough,” she said, patting her inside breast pocket, where Iris knew she’d stashed the tarot card.

  The tension didn’t dissipate until after Madame Bellerose had shut the door behind her, but Iris was still on high alert. Carl Anderson. He looked at her as if he was gazing upon something not of this earth, just like Adam had all those years ago in South Kensington.

  South Kensington… Iris knew she’d have to be the one to start the conversation, to thaw this man out of his sudden stupor. What better place to start?

  “You mustn’t tell them,” Mr. Anderson whispered just as she opened her mouth. “You mustn’t tell them what John told me.”

  “What did John tell you?” Iris knelt down next to him. “And why did he tell you?”

  “We grew up together. Even in childhood, he trusted me.” He didn’t speak easily, but Iris was patient, waiting for him to form each syllable, to inhale and steady himself between words. “He no longer trusted the Committee. Their designs for power. The madness of the tournament. And he knew that devil child would come for him soon.”

  Devil child… Iris paused, imagining his handsome face and blue eyes. “Adam Temple?”

  The name itself threw him into a fit of coughs. Iris placed a hand on his chest to calm him, fed him the glass of water next to his bed to keep him lucid. Dribbles of liquid dripped down the sides of his mouth. It wasn’t until a few minutes later that he was able to speak again.

  “He’s not to be trusted.”

  Iris felt that pang again. That odd tugging sensation in the core of her being that told her Anderson was right and wrong at the very same time. When it came to Adam, she was pulled in different directions. She did not trust him, and yet she knew she could. It was a bitter sensation.

  But Adam didn’t have the same regard for others that he seemed to have for her. That much was clear. This old man’s state was proof.

  “In some ways, I understand him,” said Carl, clearing his throat and sinking into his pillow. “John was a terrible father. Put his dreams, his research, and his never-ending desire to seek thrills across the world before his family. Charlotte’s brother, who stayed with him, was as puritanical as she, but a violent madman. He beat that child senseless while John was away. More so after Charlotte and the other children were gone.”

  Carl fell silent. Iris stared at the white sheets, torn.

  “And yet that child never lost that wicked, scheming mind,” Carl continued. “In fact, if anything, it only grew sharper. Once I heard that his uncle had been committed to an institution, I knew that boy had been behind it. He managed it. Somehow.”

  Iris remembered, a slight chill running down her back, the night Adam had casually told her about his family. She swallowed the lump in her throat.

  “If John had spent more time with that boy, he would’ve realized what he was capable of. He would’ve realized sooner that he had learned John’s secret—the truth. That stupid man—” Carl hacked up blood. “If he’d come to me before he realized his life was in danger—”

  “I don’t understand.” Iris shook her head. “What’s the secret John was hiding from—”

  “The Committee,” Carl finished, his eyes wide. “The Crown. The world. The truth is dangerous. Released into the wrong hands, it would be disastrous. Brought out into the open, it would plunge the world into blood and madness. Knowing is the ultimate power. The power to prepare for the true future ahead of us. The power to guide it. To save humanity… or to destroy it.”

  If Iris wasn’t scared before, she was now. Deep down, she didn’t want to believe Adam’s nonsense about the end of the world, but this man’s bulging veins screamed differently. However, the more Iris pressed with questions, the more the feeble man lost track of his thoughts. Soon, he was staring at her and just babbling, drool slipping down his chin.

  “The crystal ornament in John’s safe. It went dormant because of those damnable experiments.” He shook his head. “It was Adam who realized it all before John did. Adam who took it and offered it up as a sacrifice. John didn’t know what his son had done until it was too late. Why didn’t he realize it? Why didn’t he realize how much that boy hates this world?”

  “Slow down,” Iris hissed, gripping him tightly as if he would fly away aboard his own delusions. “Explain this to me one step at a time. Do you mean the white crystal?” When Carl gasped and went silent, she hurriedly continued. “What about the white crystal? What do you know about it? Please tell me!”

  But then, silently, tears began to leak down the old man’s face. Slipping down his chin one after another. He wept. For himself. For others. Iris didn’t know. A light breeze from the open window brushed her back and rippled the light curtains behind her, but Iris could only watch this old man as he cried shamelessly in front of her.

  “Damn that man,” he said finally. “Giving them the heart that he broke cursed the Temple family for eternity. Damn him. Seymour…”

  Her mind went blank. Her fingers, once gentle upon Carl’s white shirt, now dug into his chest without her realizing it. Hate rose inside of her, insidiously, secretly. “Seymour,” she whispered, her nails finding skin. “You mean Seymour Pratt…”

  She didn’t need to see him nod to know it was true. That the man she couldn’t remember, the man she hated but didn’t know why, was at the center of this mystery. She barely heard Anderson begin to shout in pain before she started barking at him.

  “Tell me where he is,” she said, her eyes round and menacing. “Where is he? Where is he?” She needed to know so she could kill him, of course. That’s what she had to do without a doubt.

  Carl looked upon her as if the kind girl in front of him had suddenly been taken by a demon. “Where he always is: th-the Crystal Palace,” he said.

  “The Crystal Palace,” Iris breathed, the bulging veins in her hands beginning to soften.

  The Crown is hiding something there. Something underground. That’s what Rin had told her.

  Carl let out a scream. Snapping out of her daze, Iris panicked, letting go of him.

  “I’m sorry.” She shot to her feet, horrified at the sight of his bloodied skin underneath her nails. “I’m so sorry!”

  Carl wasn’t looking at her but toward the window. Someone was behind her. Before she could turn, a hand held a sweet-smelling white cloth over her nose and mouth. She didn’t have time to struggle before the room went dark with Carl’s frightened yell.

  35

  IRIS AWOKE IN A COLD dungeon, filled almost entirely with worn instruments of torture but for the pot of beautiful pink azaleas in the leftmost corner. Madame Bellerose’s shriek was what made her snap back to her senses, and when she barreled through the door, Iris realized she couldn’t defend herself; her wrists and ankles were tied with rope, her body crumpled on the floor. Bellerose’s sharp-heeled boot was on her chest before she could figure out what had happened to her.

  “Tell m
e who killed Carl Anderson,” Madame Bellerose demanded, sending a shock through Iris’s system.

  That frightened old man, dead? Iris’s lips parted, but she couldn’t make a sound.

  Bellerose stomped down hard. “Tell me!”

  Iris gasped for air. “I don’t know!”

  “Tell me, you little beast!”

  “Look at the two of us,” Iris spat. “You really think I’m the beast in this situation?”

  Another stomp. Another.

  “Madame, stop!”

  Iris’s breath scraped her throat as she inhaled sharply. Adam? It was Adam’s voice. Slowly, painfully, she turned her head to find Lord Temple shirtless and beaten, tied to the ceiling by a long chain, his feet just touching the floor. Shallow cuts painted his chest red.

  “You found her unconscious in his room at the same time you found the man’s body,” Adam said. It was astounding how he could remain calm in this situation. Then again, who could deal with an Enlightener better than another Enlightener? “I’m sure one person was responsible for both. You’re smart enough to figure that out, Violet.”

  Madame Bellerose strode over to Adam and seized him by the chin. “Don’t call me by my name, you rude little boy.”

  And slapped him. Adam spat out blood.

  “Then again.” She considered it, letting her anger calm. “Carl Anderson died before he could reveal his secrets to me. To the Committee. I’m sure you had something to do with that.” Bellerose caressed the side of his cheek. “Even from in here, bound up like a little present. Just like I’m sure you had something to do with Cordiero’s murder, as we both know it wasn’t me.”

  She pushed him back violently and turned, folding her arms with childish impatience.

  “Either way, the Committee will be here by eight. That old man must have told your champion something.” Madame Bellerose slid up to Iris once again, this time pulling the tarot card out of her breast pocket. “I’m sure you’d give up that information for a reward, no?”

  “Eat filth.”