by Amy Ewing
Then she fingered the dagger again, her eyes darting back and forth between the men outside and the net, considering her options.
14
Leo
LEO HAD OVERSLEPT, MAKING THEM LATE LEAVING THE inn. Then when they’d finally reached the city, a trolley had derailed, causing a mess of backed-up traffic in the financial district.
Leo’s stomach was twisting itself in knots. He shouldn’t have gotten so drunk last night. He should have volunteered to stay outside and guard the truck. What would his father think if he heard about his behavior? He’d been feeling on top of the world after capturing the weird silver girl. She was so much more impressive than a tiny sprite. Leo wondered if even Kiernan knew something like her existed, or if he had actually discovered a brand-new species all by himself.
Well, Agnes had helped. He wondered what she was thinking, back there in the truck, knowing that soon she’d have to face their father. And this was a serious infraction, even for her. As much as he hated to admit it, though, it was pretty impressive—Agnes might be embarrassing at social events, but Leo couldn’t imagine someone like Elizabeth Conway daring to brave the Knottle Plains in a supply truck.
“Are we taking her to the theater with the others?” Chewing Tobacco asked.
Branson shook his head. “Gotta show her to the boss first. See what he has to say about her.”
The sun was just beginning its descent toward the horizon as they reached the southeastern edge of Jevet’s Park and left the traffic behind at last, weaving through the quieter streets of Upper Glen. Leo had developed quite a headache by the time they reached the brownstone on Creekwater Row.
He stepped out of the car, straightened his shirt, and ran a hand through his curls, hoping he looked somewhat presentable. Eneas was washing the dark green motorcar in the driveway.
“Back already, young master Leo?” he called with a wave.
Leo kept his eyes on the front door as he walked up the steps.
Father, you’ll never guess what I found in the plains!
If you’ll just come out to the truck, Father, I’ve got something I think you’ll like. . . .
We couldn’t find the sprites, but—
Before he had a chance to decide just how to break the news, the door was flung open and his father was looming over him.
“It’s not sprites,” Leo said, the words tumbling out clumsily. “But we found something else.”
“What is it?” he asked.
“You’d best see her for yourself, sir,” Branson said. Leo hadn’t realized he had followed him up the steps.
Xavier’s eyes narrowed at the word her. “Very well.”
Branson headed toward the truck doors, but Leo beat him there. He’d be damned if he wasn’t going to be the one to show his father the girl. He wrenched down the handle and pulled.
“I got her with a net launcher,” he said. “And we’ve kept her tied up. We aren’t sure what—”
But his words were cut off as he opened the back of the truck and a silvery-blue streak crashed into him.
“Grab her!” Branson shouted.
More out of instinct than actual skill, Leo’s arms reached out and closed around the delicate figure. She felt more human than he’d expected—through the dress he could feel her ribs, her spine, her stomach. Her skin was warm and soft where it touched his, and her hair gave off a fragrance that he couldn’t place. She was stronger than she looked, and he tightened his grip on her as she struggled against him, wailing and kicking wildly.
Then there was a smacking sound and her head snapped to one side as her whole body went limp. He hadn’t even seen Branson throw the punch. Everything happened so fast.
“No!” Agnes was standing in the truck bed, staring in horror at the girl’s unconscious form. “What did you do?” she screamed at Branson.
Xavier had one hand around Agnes’s wrist in an instant, yanking her down from the truck.
“What in god’s name were you thinking? You nearly gave Mrs. Phelps a heart attack when she discovered you were gone. What’s wrong with you? What the hell are you wearing?” He looked up and down the street as if terrified someone might see his only daughter outside in pants. “Get into the house this instant.”
Agnes knew better than to argue. She ducked her head and, with a last glance back at the girl, hurried through the gates and up the steps to the brownstone. Leo wasn’t sure what to do. The girl’s body was folded over his left arm, her hair hiding her face.
“Well, well,” Xavier said, walking over. “What do we have here?”
“I found her in the plains, Father. She—”
“Put her back in the truck,” Xavier said. Branson bent to grab her feet, and together he and Leo wedged her in among the crates and tools. A bruise was forming on her temple. She seemed . . . young. Vulnerable.
He looked away. “We don’t know what she is, Father. I found her in a pit in the middle of the plains.”
Xavier was inspecting her, turning her head side to side, examining her palms and her feet, fingering the material of her dress.
“Get her to the theater with the others,” he said to Branson. “Keep her locked up. And get Kiernan there first thing tomorrow morning to find out exactly what the hell she is.” He clapped Leo on the shoulder. “Good work, son. At the very least she’ll be a stunning addition to the new production. If we can’t find other uses for her.” He smiled, and Leo felt proud and uneasy at once, which made for a rather confusing combination.
But he shook it off and forced himself to focus on the here and now. His father was proud of him. That was what mattered.
“Come,” Xavier said, as Branson and the others secured the truck and prepared to leave, “let’s have a drink in my study and you can tell me the whole story.”
Leo had never in his whole life been invited into Xavier’s study, except when he was being punished. But to have a drink and regale his father with the story of his adventure in the plains? It was a dream come true.
“Yes, Father,” he said eagerly.
“Just a moment.” Xavier turned to the man who drove the supply truck, the one Agnes had bribed. “Did you know she was stowing away on this vehicle?”
The man blanched. “N-no, sir, I swear. Not until we were well away from Old Port, and then—”
“And why did you not return her to this house immediately?”
“Well, I . . .”
“She bribed him, Father,” Leo said.
The only sign Xavier gave of his irritation was a slight flaring of his nostrils.
“Do I not pay you enough?” he asked the man.
“Of course you do, sir. I’m sorry, I—”
“Clearly not, if you are willing to take money from my daughter to line your pockets. Greed is a sin.” He stepped forward, and Leo felt as if the temperature had just dropped a few degrees. “You will never work in this city again if I have anything to say about it. And my reach is long. Do you understand me?”
The man was shaking, his face turning the color of porridge. “Y-yes, sir.”
“Good. Now get out of my sight.”
He jumped like a frightened rabbit and scurried off to the cab of the truck.
“Choose better men next time,” Xavier said to Branson. “Or you’ll be looking for employment yourself.”
Branson wasn’t the type to scare so easily, but his nod was terse, his jaw set. “Yes, boss.”
“Imbeciles,” Xavier muttered as the men drove away. He strode back up to the brownstone, Leo trailing in his wake. Swansea stood by the door, and Leo heard his father say to him, “Get word to Forester Grange immediately. Tell him it’s a done deal.”
Forester Grange ran a successful carpeting business in Old Port, but his family was not a prestigious one, however much Mr. Grange would like to hope otherwise. You could not simply buy your way into the Old Port elite. Leo wondered if his father was getting new carpets for the Maribelle.
Xavier’s study was in the back of
the house, an oval-shaped room with large windows that overlooked their garden patio, full of pristine leather couches and impressive-looking old tomes. There was a portrait of Leo’s grandfather on one wall, though since he had squandered the McLellan fortune and was the reason for Xavier marrying a Pelagan in the first place, Leo was always curious as to why his father didn’t have it removed. A crystal decanter of whiskey sat on his desk, and his father uncapped it and poured two glasses, handing one to Leo.
“To a successful expedition,” he said, raising his glass.
“Hear, hear,” Leo said. They drank, and Xavier settled himself in his plush leather chair. Leo took one of the hardback ones that faced the desk.
“So,” Xavier said, eyeing his son over his drink. “Tell me everything.”
And Leo did. He fudged a bit on the part where he’d fallen asleep, saying only that he had decided to search for the sprites near the car when he discovered Agnes. But he described the rest in detail. Xavier asked all sorts of questions about the girl, most of which Leo could not answer, as he knew nothing except what she looked like and that she spoke in a strange, almost musical language.
“And nothing out of the ordinary happened around her?” Xavier asked.
“No, sir. Nothing.” He had a feeling there was a correct answer to give, but he didn’t know what it was.
The room had darkened over the course of the evening, and Xavier leaned forward to turn on his desk lamp. “You have done well, Leo. Better than I expected.”
“Thank you, Father.”
“I want you to attend to Kiernan tomorrow as he makes his examination of her.”
Leo’s chest swelled. He was being included, at long last. He hesitated for a moment and then decided to press his luck.
“Why is this your final show, Father?”
Xavier drained the last of his whiskey and set the glass down on the desk. The movement felt calculated, as if he was deliberating what to say or whether to answer at all. Leo held his breath and waited.
“Do you know what it feels like to have nothing, Leo?” he asked in a voice as lethal as a snake’s hiss. “To have everything you hold dear crumble and turn to ashes? No, of course you don’t. Because I have ensured that you never will.” He turned to the portrait of Leo’s grandfather, eyeing it with disdain. “I keep this painting here to remind myself of how close I came to utter ruin because of one man’s unforgivable weakness. My father was much loved in Old Port—he was a jovial man, a prolific storyteller, and a big spender. But he was a drunk and a fool. What money he didn’t gamble away he spent on whiskey and women of ill repute. And through it all he lied, to me, to my mother . . . he lied with a slick tongue and a smooth grin, and we bought it hook, line, and sinker. Until the day one of the maids found him dead with a pistol in his mouth and a pile of bills at his feet. And just like that, the man I thought I knew, the man I loved and respected, was gone and my world came crashing down.”
Leo sat very still. He had never heard the story of his grandfather’s death told quite like this. He had never thought of Xavier as a son who loved his father before.
Xavier shifted in his seat, the dim light making his brown eyes look black. “Those were a hard few years. Your grandmother almost did not survive the shame. It was up to me to find a new influx of capital, and when I did, I swore to myself that I would not fail my mother like my father had. I would keep this family’s reputation intact by any means necessary.” It was a cold way to describe a marriage, but honest, Leo thought. He wondered what life had been like in this house when his mother was alive. Maybe the two of them had simply avoided each other.
“And behind every reputation,” Xavier continued, “there must be respect but, more importantly, money. The anti-Talman plays have given this family both for many years, but competition has increased and the theater scene has become glutted. If I want to keep the McLellan name relevant, it is time to move on, to adapt in ways my father could not. Innovation, Leo. That is the key to success.”
“And that’s what those creatures you found in Pelago are about? Innovation?”
A smile of steel curled on his father’s lips. “That is exactly what they are. Have you ever wondered why Pelago is so rich in resources? Why Kaolin seems to suffer from heat waves and overfishing and Pelago does not?”
Leo had always thought it had simply been a luck-of-the-draw-type situation—that Pelago happened to be fortunate in ways Kaolin wasn’t. He’d never imagined there was a specific reason behind the difference.
“The Arboreal and the mertag are not merely grotesques,” Xavier said without waiting for a response. “They have abilities, Leo. Powers you and I have never dreamed of.”
“Like . . . magic?” he asked. It sounded awfully far-fetched.
His father chuckled. “I suppose you could call it that. Magic seems too frivolous a word, too fantastical, and these creatures and their skills are very much real.”
“What do they do?”
Xavier leaned forward. “They replenish. They can make this country as fruitful as Pelago. Imagine not needing to bow to the demands of the Triumvirate. Not to be dictated or talked down to by those three scheming, godless queens. And we will own this power, Leo. We will control it, the McLellans alone, and our name will go down in history as the family that saved Kaolin.” There was a fanatical gleam in his eye that made Leo uneasy. “They’ve been keeping this secret to themselves, all these years, those greedy and grasping Pelagans. She thinks she is untouchable. But she will see. . . .” He trailed off.
She? Leo thought. But he decided not to press that matter—something about it felt dangerous, especially in tandem with the conversation he’d overheard with Kiernan. He wondered if he should stop asking questions altogether, but his father had never confided in him like this, and the need to know more was irresistible.
“So then why perform a play at all?” he asked.
Xavier refilled his own glass. “Advertising,” he said. “And money. No reason not to have one last hurrah before I bow out of the theater scene, and no better way to get the word out than to make a big splash about it. It will leave no doubt as to who they belong to, who is responsible for bringing them to Kaolin. Those creatures are mine, and no one is going to take them from me.”
Something about this version of his father scared Leo more than the version he was used to.
“I have dedicated my whole life to repairing the damage my father has done, to ensuring that this family lives on with the respect it deserves.” There was a haunted look in Xavier’s eyes. “Think about what kind of man you wish to be, Leo. Think about the mantle you will wear one day. I would hate to see everything I’ve worked for, everything I have built, squandered as it once was. I would hate to think my own son capable of such ruin.”
Leo swallowed hard and gave a curt nod.
“You have surprised me with the ingenuity you showed in the plains, catching that girl and bringing her back to me. Let us hope she does not disappoint.”
There was a knock on the door, and Swansea poked his head in. “I have heard from Mr. Grange. It is done, sir.”
“Good.” Xavier stood and moved to stare out the back window at the garden. “You are dismissed, Leo. Go send your sister down to me.”
It was only after he left that Leo realized he’d forgotten to ask his father about the island he had seemed so intent on finding. But then, perhaps it was for the best—he’d gotten more than he’d ever dreamed, and he didn’t want Xavier to think him an eavesdropper.
15
Agnes
AGNES SAT IN THE TUB WHILE HATTIE, THE MAID, scrubbed her back, her mind replaying on a loop the moment when Branson had hit Sera.
She hated herself for just standing by and letting them take her away. But what else could she have done? The truth was, no matter how much she might wish otherwise, she was unable to disobey her father when he was standing right in front of her. Sneaking out was one thing. Ignoring a direct command was quite another.
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br /> “So Mrs. Phelps told him I was gone?” she asked. She hadn’t taken the housekeeper into account when she’d planned her escape.
“Yes, miss,” Hattie said. Then she lowered her voice. “I’ve never seen him so angry. He got all quiet. Like he turned to stone.”
Agnes shivered. Mrs. Phelps bustled into the room and Hattie fell silent.
“How are you feeling, dearie?” she asked, checking the temperature of the water and wiping her hands on her apron. “More hot water, Hattie.”
Hattie curtsied and left. Mrs. Phelps wasn’t as forthcoming as the young maid, but Agnes had to know what was happening.
“Where did the truck go?” she asked.
“Never you mind about that.” The Solit triangle brooch at her throat gleamed as Mrs. Phelps bent to wet a washcloth and scrubbed down the length of Agnes’s right arm before moving to the left. “Let’s get this nasty dirt off you.”
“I don’t mind a little dirt,” Agnes grumbled.
Mrs. Phelps sighed. “I know you don’t. But your father does.”
It was always what her father wanted. She thought about the jar with Sera’s hair in it, now hidden safely away in her lab. And the letter from Ithilia, tucked inside a book. She had thought she would feel prouder of herself, but mostly she felt like she hadn’t done anything at all. She should have let Sera escape right away. She should have found some way to get to Pelago already, her father’s money be damned—she had some jewelry of value she could pawn. Surely there was a Pelagan ship that would take her. They wouldn’t care about Kaolin rules, or needing a man’s permission. University or not, at least she could be herself there. Leo’s words rang in her ears.
Don’t worry, I’m sure he’ll just marry you off to some low-class Old Port boy and wash his hands of you.
And she knew he would. If Agnes was honest with herself, it was a miracle he hadn’t already. Her stomach clenched at the thought of being married to a man, sharing a bed with a man. If her mother had still been alive, Agnes wondered, would she have been able to confide in her about the type of person she truly wished to marry? Pelago wasn’t as strict as Kaolin when it came to matters of sexuality. There were two southern islands, Lisbe and Crake, that were almost exclusively homosexual. Agnes used to dream of living on one of them when she was younger and beginning to understand that she was not like the other girls she knew. But even as a child, she recognized the danger in expressing that dream aloud.
