I decide nudging is the best plan, so I shove her shoulder and jump back. Her eyes fling open, inquisitive, blue-centred saucers with long, lush lashes. Her pink petal lips tighten. “What is it? ‘Oo are you?” She scrambles to the other side of the bed, yanking the bedclothes up around her neck. “I’ve a blade and I’ll use it!” She produces one from between the sheets and starts swinging. It glints in the waning moonlight.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, Livinea!” I rock backward, away from her wild swipes, and swing the lamp between us to better illuminate my face. “It’s me. Urlick.”
“Earl what?” She looks confused.
“Urlick. Babbit. Eyelet’s Urlick.” Still nothing. “The Ruler.” I puff out my chest.
None of this is ringing any bells with her, by the squirreled up expression on her face. “Like… of the kingdom?”
“Yeah, that’s it.”
Her eyelids drop to a dreamy half-mast. “Let me guess.” She writhes between her sheets. “You’ve come to ravish me in me chambers?” She reaching up, loosens the strings of her nightgown at her throat, and lets it fall.
My eyes pop as she slinks toward me and begins petting my hand, slowly stroking her way up my arm.
“No.” I steer her hands away, yanking her cotton frock back up over her shoulder when she drops it. “Look. Livinea. It’s not that kind of visit.”
She’s giggling. “It isn’t?” She slithers closer, ample breast bouncing.
“No. Livinea, stop it, please,” I say, skittishly. “It’s me, Urlick.” I slap her hands from walking up my front and smile at her, showing teeth.
She pulls back in a pout, and something registers. She squints hard at me. “Oh.” She flops back in bed and sighs, disappointed. “What’re you doin’ ‘ere?” Her eyes grow wide with worry. “Is there somethin’ wrong?”
“No. Quite the opposite, actually.” I fall back on my heels, terribly relieved. “I’ve come in search of a favour.”
She looks perplexed. “I was just about to do you one,” she whispers.
“Not that kind of favour.” I scowl. “It’s for Eyelet.”
“Oh, anythin’ for Eyelet.” Livinea beams, all bottled up with a secret. “What is it? What are we gonna do?”
I lean over and drop the news in her ear.
Livinea falls back giddily, giggling. “Oh, that’s grand!” She flaps her hands, then draws them to her face in a burst of emotion. “That’s so wonderful!” Tears brim her lids. “I’ll bring the flowers. It won’t be a celebration without flowers.”
“Wherever will you get them?”
“Leave that up to me.”
I smile. “That’ll be splendid.”
I’ve left Iris for last, even though, for what I’m about to do, I need her approval more than anyone else’s.
“Iris?”
She moans in her sleep.
“Iris.” I touch her shoulder, shaking her lightly. She stirs. Her mouth is slightly parted. “Iris, it’s me, Urlick. I have something to tell you.”
Finally, I draw her from sleep. My face registers in her eyes, and dread takes over her expression. Her hands fly to her mouth.
“No. No. Don’t worry.” I sit on the mattress next to her. “Nothing’s wrong.”
Her lips part, her eyes seeming to ask, Then why are you here at this hour? and I take her hands in mine. I study her searching eyes. There’s a pounding in my heart. I can hear it in my ears and feel it in my veins.
I can hear nothing else.
I swallow hard, and still the words don’t come.
I need her to accept this. I need her to approve. I need her, more than anyone else in the world, to love the idea.
A crushing thought bears heavy in my head. We’ve been through so much together, Iris and me. What if she hates this idea? What if she’s jealous?
“What I’m trying to say is…” My cheeks flush red. I can feel them heating. I stammer a string of inaudible sounds.
Iris widens her eyes, as if trying to help coax the words out.
“I want you to know, what I’m about to say changes nothing between us.” I strike out the air. “Nothing at all. I’ll always be Urlick, you’ll always be Iris, and we’ll always be—”
Iris takes on a pained expression.
“What I’m trying to say is…” Why is this so hard? It’s Iris. My best friend. My sister per se. Surely she’ll be happy for me… right? No one else could ever take her place in my heart. She must know that?
I swallow down the wet lump forming in my throat. “I was wondering if…”
Iris examines me carefully through squinting, inquisitive eyes. Suddenly, her gaze fills with tears. She bursts into a smile and throws herself forward, crushing me to her chest in the world’s biggest hug.
“You know, don’t you?” I say. She knows, though I’ve said nothing.
Iris whimpers and rocks me back and forth, patting my back like a mother would a child.
“Of course you do. You’re Iris.” I reach up, awkwardly patting her back. Iris knows me better than I know myself. “So, does that mean you approve?”
She exhales a soggy, happy, laugh. I don’t think Iris has ever hugged me prior to this moment—this long, hugging moment—and certainly never for so long.
I pull back sharply. “I have something to ask of you.”
She looks somewhat alarmed. Her sad-dog eyes glaze with concern.
“I know it’s rather unorthodox but, I was wondering…” I swallow. “Would it be awful if I asked you to be my best man?”
Iris stares at me strangely, her brows tightly wrinkled.
“It’s just that…, I guess I could ask C.L., but— well…, I know it’s odd, but I can’t think of anyone I’d rather have stand by my side than you.”
Iris’s eyes flash bright as struck matches.
“I’ve asked C.L. if he wouldn’t mind standing up for Eyelet, though you could have done for both, in all honesty—”
Iris fills her chest with air. Elation sweeps her face, softening all the fine lines and stretching them out with her smile. Her long cheeks plump with joy. But her wide-brimmed happiness fades almost immediately, her face creasing with concern.
“What is it? What’s the matter?” I frown.
Reaching over, collects pencil and paper from the nightstand next to her bed, and wildly scribbles something down. Her lips quiver as she passes the note to me. Tears glisten in her eyes.
I read it briefly, then rip it up. “It won’t be an issue. I won’t let it be. You can acknowledge with a nod.” I toss the note away. “Besides, you can sign your name as good as anyone else, right?”
Her wet eyes brighten. She nods her snuffling head.
“Well, then, there’s no issue, is there? It’s the documentation that makes it legal, anyway.”
I find myself in her clutches again, being squeezed so firmly I can hardly breathe. “So I take it that’s a yes, then?” I gasp.
Iris nods, sobbing—a short symphony of wet, rattling pulses.
“Are those tears I feel dampening my jacket back?” I ask, hearing a patter strike my coat jacket.
Iris sucks in a withering gasp and clings to me tighter, sobbing even harder.
It’s so unlike her—stoic, withdrawn, stubborn Iris—to show emotion. This is all Eyelet’s fault. Iris has become so much more alive, since her arrival.
We all have, actually.
“There. There.” I pat her back. “You best pull yourself together.” I try to peel her away, but fail. “I’ll be needing you to wake Eyelet with the news.”
Iris springs away from me, wearing a smile so wide her teeth take over her mouth.
“Could you do that for me? I don’t want to tempt fate, or the Gods, or whatever stands in judgement of bridegrooms who lay eyes on their brides before—”
She presses a quick finger to my mouth, and her gaze searches the room, as if looking for the aforementioned spirits. Superstition dances in her eyes.
“Very well, then.
It’s agreed.” I rise from her bed, straightening the points of my mussed waistcoat with a tug. “Masheck’s on his way to wake the Vicar, Livinea’s after flowers, and C.L.’s dressing up the hall. You go wake Eyelet, give her the news and meet us at the hearth in the Grand Hall in about half an hour.” I turn to leave, then jerk back around. “That is, if she agrees with the plan.”
Blood drains from my face. My knees wobble. I’d never thought of her refusing me. What if she’s changed her mind? “You don’t suppose she’ll—”
Iris launches her notebook at me, and it clips me in the head as it sails past. “Right,” I say, acknowledging the gesture and rubbing the spot where it glanced off me.
“I trust you can find something suitable for Eyelet to wear?”
Iris nods and springs from her bed, elated.
I glide to the door, clutch the handle, and then turn back. “Oh, and Iris...” She blinks. “You do think me worthy of her, don’t you?”
Iris shakes her head, no, and I gasp, my confidence dissolving.
“But you’ll have to do,” she mouths, and shoos me through the door.
I grin, relieved.
Chapter Fourteen
Urlick
I MAKE SHORT ORDER of the long hallway leading from the stairs to the main foyer of the castle, my shoes striking the stone floors and echoing back off the walls. The minacious sound sends a brittle chill up my spine. I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to this ominous place. All these vast rooms and endless dark corridors. It feels nothing like the warm, aether-bathed hovels of the Compound.
I catch sight of a quick shadow moving at the far corner of the main hall. The vision gives my heart a start. I spring for the dagger on my hip as the figure rounds the corner and appears in front of the grand piano.
I squint, making out a slack-fitted dress and the slim, bent-neck figure inhabiting it. “Matriarch Burgess?” I sheath my dagger and glide toward her through the dim, hissing aether light. “What are you doing up at this hour?”
She waves a frustrated hand in the air and sends a wrinkled smile my way. “Uuck. Can’t sleep.” She winces. “Terrible thing. Casualty of age, you know.” Her head tremors slightly on its crooked neck post as she speaks. She swirls the drink in her hand, then tips the curdling contents toward me. “Warm milk only gives you worms, and the sodium bicarbonate the doctor suggested only creates a folly of bubbles in the gullet.” The corners of her tissue-paper-thin lips tug downward. She rubs her stomach and passes the drink off to an invisible servant who’s not there.
I swoop in to catch it before it hits to the floor.
“What are you doing up at this hour? Can’t sleep either?” The Matriarch tilts her face my way.
“No, actually.” I straighten. “I—I—I’m up for another reason.” I check behind me, hoping not to give the secret away.
“Oh?” Her silver brows jump. She’s sensed the unrest in my voice. Her fleshy jowls wobble. “Nothing troubling, I hope.”
“No, no, not at all.” I take her by the arm and guide her up the hallway, back toward her room. “In fact, it should prove to be rather fun in the end when it all comes together, I should think.”
“Really?” She grins in a strange, all-knowing way.
I slow down. “Since you’re up, perhaps you’d like to join in the fun?”
The Matriarch stops. “That all depends.” She bends toward me to whisper behind a hand. “What kind of caper is it this time?”
I laugh. “No caper. In fact, it’s quite the opposite.” I lean in too and mimic her whisper. “I’m planning a special celebration.”
“Are you?” She pulls back. The milky fog clears in her eyes. “In that case, I’d be a fool to miss out. It’s not often this old girl gets herself invited to a party.” She smoothes down her hair.
She makes me laugh again. “Well, I know Eyelet and I will be thrilled to have you there.”
She teeters a little.
“That is, if you feel up to it,” I add.
“Well, I am up.” She lifts her brows. “Come to think of it, I’m the closest thing to family Eyelet has left in the building, aren’t I?” She winks at me in a way that tells me she knows exactly what’s about to happen, though I’ve said nothing of my plans.
Her comment about family strums deep down in my heart. I think for a moment about Eyelet’s mother. No one’s heard a word from her, nor seen her, since the moment the Alchemist showed up in the park. Still, how lucky Eyelet was to have had parents who loved her, even if it was for so little time. I think about my own mother, the one I never knew, and the father I wished I had not.
Matriarch Burgess breaks me out of my thoughts by laughing and pulling me in for a tight, shaky hug. “Thanks goodness for insomnia! See, there is goodness in all things.” She pats my back as she embraces me. “Eyelet is the best thing that’s ever graced the walls of this castle, you know? Along with you, of course—much better than my power-hungry, selfish son.” She sighs deeply, rocks backward on extended arms, and looks me deep in the eyes, though hers see nothing. “Oh, I do hope I get to stay around long enough to witness a smidgeon of your reign. But for now”—her nimble fingers work up and down my sleeves, assessing my clothes— “we must find you something suitable to wear. My goodness, tell me you’re not thinking of wearing this old thing?”
I’d be insulted, but there isn’t time. “Actually, I was just—” I point over my shoulder toward my chambers—rather the Ruler’s chambers.
“Cromwell?” she hollers into a dark corner of the room.
She turns back to me. “How much time have we got?”
“We’re to meet in the Great Hall in”—I check my pocket watch— “fifteen.”
“Yes, Madame?” Cromwell swoops in, seemingly out of nowhere, a servant—I don’t even notice him. I glance around trying to figure out where he might have been standing, without my knowing. God forbid someone of ill favour be lurking the same way.
“Go to the Ruler’s chambers at once and lay out some clothes.” Then, as though she senses the crinkle of his brow, she adds, “Something suitable for a Ruler to wear to the grandest of occasions.”
“Yes, Madame.” Cromwell bows his head.
“And summon Hurkley to wake the village goldsmith—”
“At this hour?”
She peaks her brows. “Is there an hour that’s more appropriate for love?”
“No, Madame—”
“Very well, then. Tell him his presence is required at the castle, immediately. Now, go.” She shoos him away like a child.
Cromwell takes flight.
“Oh, and Cromwell”—the servant turns back— “tell him to be sure to bring his finest collection. Something suitable for a future Queen.”
She winks in my direction, then scowls back at Cromwell. “Now hurry along! We haven’t all evening. The sun will be up soon.” She flits her fingers at him.
Cromwell turns and scurries away.
I think to correct her about the sun, considering it hasn’t made its appearance in years now, but then think better of it, realizing perhaps she doesn’t know, considering her condition. And why should she have to? A woman of her age. One less thing to keep her up nights.
“Drop me off at the party room, will you?” She grins up at me, looping her spindly arm through mine. “I want to make sure I get a good seat.” She tugs me spryly forward.
Chapter Fifteen
Urlick
THE GOLDSMITH IS A WIRY-looking little fellow. I doubt he stands more than fourteen hands high and is only a good foot length wide. I’m betting I could easily fit both my hands about his waist. His face is drawn, his skin weathered, his beard a salt-and-pepper white.
The edges of nightcap and gown peek out from beneath his hat and overcoat. A woollen insulator toque covers his frizzy, hair-muffled ears. He yawns more than once during his introduction, which tells me he was indeed woken from his sleep.
“And now may I present.” He opens his case—a box, carv
ed of rare purple dashwood, the rarest wood in the land—unveiling a dazzling array of beautiful jewels. He displays each before me on a black velvet cloth.
“J.L. Golddoth’s finest.” He nods his head, introducing himself and his collection, with a bow. “Nothing less than a full carat, as directed.”
A carat? Of what? Oh, yes…, gems, diamonds—specifically.
I stare a little harder. Each of the rings speaks to me in a different way. Actually, that’s not true. None of the rings is calling to me in any way. I don’t know what to do. I’ve never seen such extravagance before, let alone be asked to choose. I scratch my chin and sigh, hopelessly.
“May I suggest this one?” The goldsmith holds up a massive blue gem. “Sapphires are always immensely popular among royalty.”
He passes me the ring. Its glare forces me to squint. “So, this selection is a common one made by royalty then?” I fight to open an eye, seeing him nod. Common doesn’t seem to fit Eyelet, at all.
The goldsmith says nothing, just wrinkles his brow and purses his lips. “Perhaps something a little more original.” He snatches the sapphire from my hand and trades it for a large, pearl and ruby-encrusted ring. “I can assure you this has never been selected.”
“I can see why.” I slip it on, staring down at the oblong-shaped stone stretching almost the whole length of my finger.
“Maybe this.” The goldsmith holds up a rose-cut diamond in the shape of a full moon, or so he sharply tells me. On either shoulder sit striking inlaid, ebony steps, featuring a cache of rose-coloured diamonds embedded within them, arranged to form twin, tiny hearts.
I stare down at all the rings and dab my brow. I cannot choose. Cannot. They are all so grand. But which one is grandest? Nothing but the grandest for Eyelet.
But what would Eyelet think grand? I know nothing of jewels, or women, or women’s desires. I need an expert. Or perhaps two.
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