The Beholder

by Anna Bright

  Perhaps I could do the same. Given time.

  “But, Jeremiah, we need to address this now. After tonight’s events, Selah’s reputation will only suffer the longer she continues without a fiancé.” Alessandra’s face lit up, her smile so bright and beautiful and filled with concern it almost stung my eyes to look at. “Besides, our Selah is lovely, cultured, accomplished. She’s a very productive seneschal-elect, and she did so well in school.”

  I froze.

  I’d often wondered what Peter and the court and everyone thought, when they looked at Daddy and me next to Alessandra. But my stepmother had never left her feelings for me in any doubt.

  She disdained me in every way.

  Suddenly, I was very, very afraid.

  “Really, Selah’s predicament is an opportunity in disguise.” Alessandra’s tone was broad and sincere; but I read an almost manic tension in the furrow of her brow and the press of her palms on her stomach. “In times like these, we need good friends and long arms. Since our search in Potomac has failed, I suggest our seneschal-elect cross the Atlantic in search of her groom.”

  5

  I waited for the punch line to her hideous joke. But Alessandra didn’t laugh. Secretary Gidcumb stared at me across the table, his high forehead smooth, his dark brown face carefully expressionless behind his glasses. I could read nothing in the press of his broad lips.

  My vision clouded as I slipped into a daze; my thoughts grew fuzzy, as though my brain had fallen asleep the way my arms and legs sometimes did.

  Across the Atlantic? The Atlantic Ocean?

  Daddy’s brows pinched together. “Alessandra, that kind of planning would take ages. We’d have to dig up protocol officers, pick her out a team of advisers, commission a ship—the whole affair could cost us years. And I don’t want her going so far.”

  My heart rate steadied. O ye, of little faith, I reprimanded myself.

  Alessandra shook her head. “Jeremiah, don’t be offended, but I’m afraid I foresaw this, and I’m glad I did, because I’ve saved us a wait. Boys like Peter . . . Well, he’s extremely well-liked; he’s handsome; he comes from a good family. You may be seneschal-elect, but Peter has options.” My stepmother reviewed me with a quick glance, shrugging as if to say, You should’ve known.

  You should’ve known he wouldn’t choose you.

  The oldest stranger narrowed his gray eyes.

  Daddy shook his head unhappily, but my smother waved a hand. “Several courts have very graciously agreed to receive our daughter.”

  Our daughter. She never called me that.

  “In light of her situation, we should be counting our blessings,” Alessandra added. Captain Marshall bobbed his head, eyebrows arched in obsequious agreement. “A fine group of young men from respectable houses have agreed to court Selah. After what happened tonight, what are her chances of finding a husband at home, even should she wish to?” She waved an elegant hand, the other still pressed protectively to her stomach.

  My father stared at the table, not speaking. The room seemed to hold its breath. Or perhaps it was just me.

  I counted the seconds as they passed. Everything in me strained across the table toward my father. I wanted to shake him, to make him meet my eyes. To make him make Alessandra explain herself.

  When Daddy lifted his head, looking resigned, I knew I was lost.

  “I want to personally approve her team,” he said. “I remember what it was like to choose Violet, and you, too, for that matter. Whole committees scrutinized you both, helped me deliberate.”

  The day my stepmother arrived, golden-skinned and dark-haired, mysterious and beautiful, everyone had been as delighted with her as they had been with our newfound ties to New York, a kingdom home to more shipbuilding magnates than any other on the East Coast. Alessandra was second cousin to the wife of a prince, born of a wealthy family.

  I wasn’t sure if we had reaped anything from the connection. As a child, I hadn’t cared. I’d only felt the formal angles in her embrace and known she wasn’t my mother.

  My pale skin, green eyes, and freckles told everyone we weren’t blood. Her coldness told them we weren’t family.

  “Of course, darling. You can approve them right now.” Alessandra rested one manicured hand on Daddy’s arm and swept the other at the three strangers, still noiseless to one side of the table. The soft-looking one tipped his chin agreeably, but the iron-haired man and the tanned, long-lashed one didn’t budge.

  I stiffened. I hadn’t expected the pieces of her plan to be right here in the Roots, ready and waiting across the table from me.

  My thoughts slowed, growing sluggish. I felt sick.

  “Have you assembled your crew, Captain Lang?” asked Alessandra.

  I was startled when the youngest of them spoke, pushing one tanned fist into the opposing palm. Both hands were smudged with ink, or pencil. “Gentlemen of the Council, Seneschal and Esteemed Consort, Seneschal-elect: I’m Captain Andrew Lang. This is our ship’s navigator, Homer Maionides.” He tipped his head first at the rugged man to his right.

  “You may already know Sir Perrault, my appointed protocol officer,” Alessandra added. She waved a hand at the man with the face like a portrait. “I’ve known Sir Perrault since we were young. He grew up at court in New York, as well.”

  Captain Lang seemed to shift away from Sir Perrault. I felt myself draw back a little, too, my insides twisting.

  Perrault and my stepmother were old friends.

  And here he was, ready and waiting.

  “I don’t want to,” I burst out. “I don’t want to go!”

  Alessandra cocked her head. “You dismissed Sir Perrault’s suggestion of further talks with the Janesleys. This is your remaining option.”

  The captain glanced once at me, eyes and lashes the color of midnight beneath dark brows, then looked back to Alessandra. “The Beholder is ready to sail tomorrow, per your request.”

  “Tomorrow?” Daddy frowned.

  “It’s a long trip, dear,” said Alessandra. “Why delay?”

  Horror clenched me between its jaws, gnawed my bones with its teeth.

  Alessandra had set us all up like game pieces, just waiting for her opening move. The Council. These strangers. And me, rejected and out of options.

  She’d planned it all so, so carefully, for who knew how long, and I hadn’t seen any of it.

  “Where?” I breathed, able to manage just the one word around the fear choking me. Sir Perrault studied me like a museum piece. “Where am I going? Who am I meeting?”

  Alessandra smiled at me. Her relief at her victory rendered the expression more like a baring of teeth. “It’s a surprise.”

  I stared at my father, wordlessly begging him to ask Alessandra why she’d maneuvered behind his back. To tell her that my leaving was not up for discussion. That I was his girl and I needed some sleep.

  But my father only watched the candles melting at the center of the table, staring into the flames.

  I fought tears. My voice cracked when I finally spoke. “Daddy, aren’t you going to say anything?”

  “Maybe you should take this chance, sweetheart,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “Don’t you want to be happy?”

  “I’m happy here, at home, with you.” I pieced my thoughts together like a broken mirror; my voice was jagged. “Don’t you want me here?”

  “Maybe I don’t know what’s good for us anymore,” he said slowly, meeting my eyes. “I think you should listen to your momma.”

  Your momma.

  The words sucked the breath from my chest.

  Half a mile away, the clock in the tower at the Church of Saint Christopher warned of midnight’s fall. I stood and backed away from the table, stumbling over my chair and over the Roots that grasped at the dark.

  I would not be unmade in front of these people.

  Alessandra’s voice stopped me, low and tight as a hand around my throat. “The harbor, tomorrow, dawn.”

  I glan
ced from my blank-faced father to the uneasy councilmembers to the young captain, whose unsettled gaze told me he was sorry.

  My stepmother was breathing hard, very nearly through her teeth, like winning our fight had sapped her strength. Her arms were wrapped around the child inside her womb. Around the brother or sister whose birth I might not be home to see.

  Without replying, I fled.

  I tore up the pallid stone stairs and through halls as white as a bloodless face. I’d nearly reached one of Arbor Hall’s back doors when I tripped, losing a shoe as I crashed to the floor.

  For a moment I didn’t move, my shoulders shaking as a sob split my chest. The clock clanged again and again, brazen, unfeeling. When I gathered myself off the snowy white tile, I hissed at the throb in my knees that told me twin purple bruises would bloom there, like lilacs beneath my skin.

  Up-down, up-down. I limped toward the door, my remaining shoe slicker than glass against the marble floor. I had to get out.

  Up-down. I had to get to the graveyard.

  6

  Tears and makeup and moonlight blurred my vision as I flung myself in front of the hazel tree and my mother’s headstone. Esteemed Consort Violet Savannah Potomac. Beloved.

  I dragged my fingers over the words and leaned my forehead on the stone, my hand clasping the sapling at its side. I’d planted it from a cutting of Momma’s favorite shade tree when Alessandra had it torn up. It had been our place in the summer; she’d sit and read to me from her book of fairy tales for hours, until the sun grew low and the earth cooled and the air grew thick with dusk and magic.

  I clung to the tree and the seven-years-cold headstone, and I sobbed.

  My world had burned to cinders when my mother died. And now Alessandra had lit another match.

  Something rustled close by, and I glanced up, tensing. “Who’s there?”

  But a familiar face emerged from the shadows. “Selah, it’s me.”

  I gave a ragged sigh, eyelids sinking closed, but Godmother Althea patted me on the back. “Eyes open, sweet girl. We don’t have much time.”

  I rose, stumbling breathlessly after her white habit through the big double doors of the Church of Saint Christopher. “Godmother—” I blurted, confused. What did she know? And how?

  After all, I’d been caught completely unawares.

  “Shh.” She baptized a handkerchief in a nearby font of holy water and wiped my tearstained cheeks. “Come on, now.”

  My godmother led me from the nave through a small door, down two flights of stairs and into a room smelling faintly of dust and incense. Candles came to life in their sconces as she circled the room. “We need to talk. Still, best to keep in the light.” She ushered me to a table in the corner, and I sat heavily. “Now, to begin at the beginning. I heard what happened tonight, and I find Peter’s turning you down more than a bit odd.”

  I gave a sad little laugh. “And why is that? My being rejected by one of the most popular boys in Potomac isn’t all that surprising.”

  “No fishing, and no self-pity.” Godmother Althea’s mouth curved in a knowing not-quite smile. “I know you worship the ground he walks on, and Peter’s a good boy. But, Selah, he’s just a boy.”

  “He’s different. Special,” I said hotly. “Peter’s good and handsome and wonderful.” I grimaced, feeling the words like salt in a cut.

  “You’re a little biased, baby. He’s a cute kid, sure. Comes to confession twice a week and waited on his mother hand and foot when she got sick last winter.” She tipped her head at me. “But Peter’s not out of your reach.”

  I swallowed hard; I remembered how he’d taken care of his mother. When I’d spotted Peter here at Saint Christopher’s near a bank of candles one day, I’d recognized him instantly, gone to his side.

  “What’s all that for?” I’d blurted, nodding at the basket at his feet. It was crammed with a pot of soup, sharp-smelling poultices, and sachets of tea. Peter had opened his eyes slowly, wearily, wilting me. “Sorry,” I’d cringed. “You’re here to pray. Of course. I—I’ll talk to you later.”

  But Peter had smiled. “No, it’s all right,” he’d said, a little tired, glancing down at the basket. “My mother’s sick.”

  “I’m sorry.” I’d bitten my lip, smiling up at him a little ruefully. “But tea and prayers sound like a fail-safe cure.”

  “It’s been days.” Peter had sighed, passing a hand over his dark curls. “Dad and I just stare at each other at dinner. Move around each other all day. Neither of us knows what to talk about without her. I just want her better.”

  I’d frowned, grasping for the right thing to say—for the perfect thoughtful remark that would make Peter feel better and stay with him till later. But with no warning, his brown eyes had widened in horror. “Oh, Selah. I’m sorry. I didn’t think.”

  I’d blinked, confused. Then—oh.

  Sorry about Momma, he’d meant. About Daddy and me and our loss. Sorry for complaining about a few days without his mother when I’d been missing mine for the better part of a decade.

  “It’s okay,” I’d reassured him, and he’d nodded. And the moment had listed precariously toward awkward silence.

  He was sensitive, to think about his words, about my feelings. I’d been desperate to salvage the moment.

  I’d chewed my lip, impulsively looked around. “Can I tell you a secret?” I’d suddenly asked.

  Peter’s brow had furrowed, earnest. “Is it a good secret?”

  I’d bobbed my head. “Alessandra’s having a baby.”

  “The consort is—really?” He’d paused, long fingers rubbing his jaw. “I’m not supposed to know this, am I?”

  “No one is. I just had to tell somebody. That’s why I’m here, actually,” I’d said, nodding at the candles. “To say a prayer for her, and the baby.”

  Daddy had told me that morning. I’d been so full of the secret I thought I’d burst. I’d needed to tell someone.

  But mostly, in that moment, I’d wanted to tell him. To share something just with Peter.

  “That’s really exciting, Selah.” Peter had put a hand on my shoulder, and the warmth in his voice and in his palm had made me dizzy. “You’re going to be a great big sister. Careful, though—you’ll cast quite a shadow,” he’d added warningly, and I’d blushed.

  When he’d bent for his basket and made to leave, I’d caught the bright, citrusy scent he always carried, and my nerves had stood on end. “Peter—”

  “Yes?” He’d moved back toward me, closer than I thought he’d intended. My mouth had been nearly at his ear.

  If I’d moved at all, I would have been touching his shoulder or his cheek—though I would have never. I couldn’t even have imagined.

  “Don’t tell,” I’d whispered, the words two little breaths.

  Peter’s mouth had quirked, flashing the gap between his teeth I loved so much. “I won’t. Promise.”

  He’d left me burning brighter than the candles.

  Now I just felt burned.

  I gave a wan smile and cleared my throat. “Anyway, now the Council says if I don’t— Well, let me start over. Apparently, no one on this continent will do.”

  Godmother Althea shook her head. “I already know, sweet girl.”

  I blinked at her. “How do you know? And—and why?” I demanded. “I know I’m not what she wants me to be. I know she thinks I’m country trash. But why is she doing this? Why do I have to go so far?”

  My godmother bowed her head a long moment before answering. “My best guess is that she hopes you won’t come back,” she finally said. She paused, her broad face sober. “It’s a long trip you’re taking.”

  My breath came out in a huff. “She’s expecting something to happen to me?” My voice cracked.

  Godmother Althea wet her lips and put a hand on my arm.

  My mouth worked, but it was a long moment before I could form words. “And if something happens to me? What then?” I passed a hand through my hair. “And why now?”
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  Godmother swallowed. “She’s having a baby, Selah. Her hopes for the future may have changed lately.”

  I thought of Alessandra’s hands pressed to her stomach, palms protective and eyes threatening, and something in my chest went still.

  “Daddy’s still young,” I finally said, scraping at a cuticle. “She’s playing a long game, if you’re right.”

  My voice told us both how much I really believed that.

  “She may be.” Godmother Althea paused. “On the other hand, sweet girl, you don’t need me to tell you what people are saying about your father.”

  I met her steady gaze, and my heart faltered.

  Godmother’s theory was so improbable. Even Alessandra didn’t hate me quite so much as to actually expel me from my home.

  Or did she?

  My father was ill. He might even be dying.

  I knew it. Everyone did. It was why he’d grown so thin, why Dr. Gold hounded him about his habits. I wondered what treatment they’d begun.

  I prayed it worked quickly.

  Godmother Althea shook her head. “I knew she was up to something. But we’d hoped it wouldn’t come to this.”

  “We?”

  One corner of her mouth lifted. “Do you think Alessandra is the only one watching and listening? The only one with friends and allies?”

  Watching? Listening? Allies? I stared at my godmother, wondering what else she hadn’t told me.

  “Do I have to go? Could you—hide me somewhere?” My fingernails drove themselves into my palms. The question was cowardly, and I knew it.

  But there was no judgment in her eyes. “I would, but your disappearing would only make matters worse with the Council. And ten to one, Alessandra would only speed up her plan, whatever it is,” she added. “If you go, she won’t get suspicious, or feel pressed for time. And I’ll have some space to figure out what she’s up to.”

  Neither of us spoke for a moment. In the silence, I added up the cost of a ship and a crew and food for all of us, and tried not to imagine how many more public fields would lie fallow to cover the cost.

  “Am I really supposed to marry a boy I don’t know?” I asked in a whisper. “Is that what I’m going to have to do?”