Midnight Jewel

by Richelle Mead

  “Yes, yes, certainly. My poor jewels—of course you must recover. But then you will have such fun once the season begins! Your promenade was only a taste of the delights to come.” Charles pushed up his spectacles and smiled at all of us.

  “Promenade” was hardly the word I would have chosen to describe our earlier procession, but he seemed sincere in his good intentions.

  Mistress Culpepper proved a bit cooler in her reception. She made Mistress Masterson seem indulgent. “No doubt many of you think the New World is a looser place, where you will be allowed to run wild. But not while I am in charge of this house. You will follow all rules I set and adhere to their every detail. There will be no inappropriate or uncouth behavior under my roof.” Her eyes rested on me.

  Adelaide and I had a room all to ourselves, but it was a bittersweet luxury. It had two extra beds, meant to accommodate more girls—girls who wouldn’t be joining us. I stared at one of the empty beds, pushed up by the window, and felt a lump in my throat as I recalled the first day I’d met Tamsin. She’d refused the window bed in our room, lecturing us about sunlight and freckles.

  Once we’d settled in and understood the rules of our new home, we were left alone to mourn, as promised. There seemed to be some debate among the Thorns on how many days that mourning would last, but for now, we had nothing to do but rest and adjust. After all the activity of the last day or so, that stillness came as a shock.

  Adelaide just wanted to lie down and seize a moment of peace, and I didn’t challenge her on that or her plea that I not worry about her. She needed to process what had happened. No words of mine could change the responsibility she felt for Tamsin’s death, and I could only hope my friend wouldn’t let herself be burdened with undeserved guilt.

  Desperate for distraction, I “processed” my grief by exploring the house. Wisteria Hollow had two main stories, with a cellar below and a small attic above. Although the house was set on vast acreage, the rugged land wasn’t manicured or designed for recreational strolling. Going outdoors was discouraged and only allowed upon the front porch, under the mercenaries’ watchful eyes.

  Wisteria Hollow also didn’t have the excess of rooms that Blue Spring did. No ballroom, no conservatory, no drawing room. Nearly every space here served a utilitarian function, the exception being an ornate parlor. Even that, I was given to understand, would be busy once our suitors came calling. A railed landing looked down upon the parlor from the second floor and offered precious privacy. I settled in that nook once I’d explored everything else, curling up against the wall to make myself as small as I could.

  Tamsin is dead.

  I expected to burst into sobs or scream my outrage to the world. But the blaze of emotions in my chest had gone cold. I felt hollow now, with only the ache of loss to fill that space. Grant had said I carried ghosts, but he was wrong. I felt like one. Insubstantial. Lost.

  The floor creaked, and someone sat beside me. Glad I hadn’t cried, I looked up to see which of my housemates had discovered this spot.

  But it was no one from the Glittering Court. The woman beside me wore wide-legged trousers, and a loose, untucked blouse with deep blue embroidery at the collar and bell sleeves. A long necklace of pearls and intricately fashioned gold leaves hung around her neck. Her long black hair rested over her shoulder in a loose braid that made me envious of easier days. And her skin . . . was the same color as mine. For a heartbeat, I thought I’d found another Sirminican. But no.

  “You’re Balanquan,” I exclaimed.

  Amusement filled her beautiful features, which boasted lively dark eyes and high cheekbones that half the girls in the house would’ve killed for. “And you’re Mirabel.”

  “I’m sorry.” I felt myself blushing. “That was rude of me to say.”

  “Compared to some greetings I get? Hardly.”

  The cadence of her voice captivated me. The accent was a heavier, purer version of what underscored Grant’s words. It was so different from anything Evarian, and I wished I could understand the language’s dynamics.

  “You can call me Mira,” I told her. “And it’s very nice to meet you . . . ?”

  “Aiana.” She extended her hand, and I shook it. Silver rings adorned almost every finger. “I know you’re mourning your friends. I won’t bother you for long.”

  “Mostly just one friend.” I looked away, the novelty of meeting Aiana suddenly replaced by a stab to my heart. “And I don’t know how I’m going to get by without her.”

  “Don’t your people believe the dead are guided to a paradise by angels? Floating off on a sea of light?”

  “I don’t know what I believe.” I rubbed the bridge of my nose and tried to force my mind from Tamsin. “You’re Grant’s contact, aren’t you? The one who’ll take my messages to him. How are you going to do that?”

  “I work here,” she said, smiling again. “For the Thorns. We aren’t supposed to have met yet, but I wanted you to know who I am.”

  “What kind of work do you do for the Thorns?”

  Aiana spread out her hands. “Everything. Sometimes I chaperone parties. Sometimes I work as a bodyguard. Between seasons, I check up on married girls to see if they’re happy and are being treated well by their husbands. I make sure everything is going well, really.”

  “And what happens if everything isn’t going well?”

  “Then I deal with it,” she said after several moments. “Usually through reasonable means. Some marriages have been dissolved, but that’s rare.”

  “And if . . . if things can’t be resolved through reasonable means?”

  “Then I deal with it,” she repeated.

  She was half a foot taller than me, and even in the loose clothing, I could see a lean, muscled body. Something in her tone gave me a few ideas as to how exactly she might deal with such problems.

  “Grant gave me the impression that most Balanquans stay away from us—people from Evaria and Osfrid.” It was another bold thing to say, but there was an easiness about her that made me feel comfortable about speaking bluntly. “That . . . they . . . you think we’re primitive.”

  She laughed. “Not primitive. More like . . . uncouth. Most Balanquans think your people have little to offer and that your ambition is dangerous.”

  “And you don’t?”

  “I think you have something to offer.” She didn’t acknowledge the dangerous assertion. “There’s something fascinating about all of you. Uncouth, yes. But never boring. I didn’t plan on staying here—but then, I didn’t really have any plans at all when I arrived. Before I knew it, I’d connected with the Thorns and found I was content. And I get to keep an eye on Iyitsi.”

  “Who’s I-yit-si?” I stumbled over the word.

  “Who do you think?”

  “Grant?”

  “Yes.” Her earlier amusement faded. “I don’t like him using you, but he’s never listened to me before. Why should he start now?”

  “Is it hard for you here? Being Balanquan?” I faced enough prejudice, and I had much more in common with the locals than she did.

  “In some ways. Not in others. I don’t make any secret of who I am, and that’s easier than trying to dress or behave like one of you. If I did, I’d always be lacking. It’s better being true to myself and openly Balanquan. People don’t question my identity. Now, how they feel about Balanquans personally? That’s always a surprise.”

  “Grant says things are simpler when he plays up his Osfridian side.”

  “Simpler for others, maybe. As for him? Well, nothing is simple with him. But yes, he speaks like a local and shows enough of his father’s side that no one gives him a second glance. I don’t even think the benefits of seeming fully Osfridian matter as much as just proving he can transform into whoever he wants. As long as he can do that, he doesn’t have to figure out who he is.” Her gaze turned inward a moment as she pondered her ow
n words. A few moments later, she shook off the mood and became stern. “Well. Don’t let his goals interfere with yours, Mira. You didn’t come here to chase conspiracies, and the instant you want free of that, let me know.”

  Something in her words triggered a question that had long bugged me. “You just called me Mira. He always calls me Mirabel. Is there any reason for that? Or just his own quirk?”

  That smile returned. “Names have meaning. Power. Mirabel is your birth name, right? The one your parents gave you? It defines you. Shortening it or making a nickname out of it diminishes that importance. So, we give other names if needed. Those who take on new status—a military leader, for example—can choose another name for that role. A person who’s been shunned may also choose something different. And in affectionate relationships—friend, family, husband, wife—we usually end up calling them something different too. A name just between two people. It signifies a bond. It could be something as simple as ‘brother’ or ‘sister.’ It could be something descriptive. The best translation for this is . . . a ‘close name.’”

  “But you don’t keep that custom if you call me Mira.”

  “I keep it among my people. With you, I feel it’s more important to adhere to your customs.”

  I pondered all of that. “Is I-yi-yitsi Grant’s birth name?”

  “Iyitsi,” she corrected. “It’s what I call him. He never told me his Balanquan birth name.”

  “Does it mean anything?”

  “Iyitsi is one of our gods. A trickster. The masked god. The god with many faces.” Her eyes sparkled again. “He hates it, but I think it fits him perfectly.”

  Mulling over what I knew of Grant, I said, “I couldn’t agree more.”

  CHAPTER 11

  I HAD MIXED FEELINGS ONCE THE REAL BUSINESS OF the Glittering Court began. On the one hand, I welcomed a break in the doldrums we’d fallen into. But it also meant I had to face up to the future I’d been trying to escape. I could no longer let Tamsin’s loss be the center of my thoughts.

  Technically, we were still in mourning when potential suitors started showing up. Jasper and Charles had made it publicly clear that we weren’t officially “on the market” until after our opening ball, but they also didn’t turn away men who claimed they only wanted to make polite inquiries. Some of these men really did stop by out of general curiosity—wanting to know prices, what qualities to expect in us, etc. Other men, however, had been present at our arrival and had already spotted specific girls of interest.

  My hideaway on the landing had been compromised when my housemates realized it looked down on the parlor where the Thorns received their visitors. Unable to resist, we would all gather in an excited huddle to eavesdrop on the conversations below. Each girl hoped to hear her name mentioned and also wanted to check out everyone else’s prospects. They cooed over who seemed the handsomest, the most romantic. Me? I assessed the suitors in a much cooler way, trying to determine which one might give me the least hassle and most freedom.

  I was also enthralled at seeing the Thorns at work. Selling and pitching ran in their blood, even docile Charles. The three of them took turns managing these meetings, though sometimes, more than one Thorn would greet a man. I loved those meetings best because the suitors never stood a chance.

  One man who had the bad luck of facing down both Cedric and Jasper especially made me pay attention—because he was on Grant’s list.

  His name was Theodore Craft. He’d made his fortune by operating a number of distilleries in Denham and adjacent colonies. Grant’s mentor, Silas Garrett, had begun investigating him just before Grant left. Apparently, Craft made oddly timed—and suspicious—trips to visit his holdings, trips someone of his means didn’t even probably need to make in person.

  I leaned forward as Cedric urged him to sit. Theodore was a stout man, balding at the temples, and dressed to impress. He was interested in Beatrice, a girl from Guthshire, and made no pretense about why he wanted her.

  “I like blondes,” he stated. Since no one knew anything about us except our looks, attraction was pretty much the only reason a man might be drawn to one of us. A lot of them would try to make up deeper reasons, saying things like “She looks like she’s a hard worker.” But we knew the truth.

  “Well, we have a number of them,” said Cedric, cheerful as ever. “All talented and lovely.”

  “I liked the looks of that one.” Beatrice beamed at that until Theodore added, “But I’m open to others if there’s a big enough price difference. I’m overdue for a wife, you see, and I intend to make sure I choose one worthy of my station. I make the finest rum and whiskey in all the colonies, you know.”

  “Oh, yes,” said Jasper. “I’m well aware. Everyone knows your exceptional business.”

  I believed Jasper. In fact, I believed he probably had a good idea of how much Theodore earned, down to the last coin. He spent a lot of time researching Cape Triumph’s well-to-do citizens.

  “A respectable businessman needs a respectable wife,” added Cedric. It was a line he used all the time. “And it’s a good thing you’ve come to speak to us early. I mean, we aren’t brokering any deals yet, but we’ve had many, many inquiries.”

  Jasper nodded along with his son. “I expect most of these girls to be spoken for before the opening ball is even over. We have fewer this year, you know. So unfortunately, some men are going to be disappointed.”

  A small frown was the only sign of Cedric’s displeasure at the subtle reference to the Gray Gull, but he was still quick to play off his father’s lead. “That’s why making an early decision is going to be so critical. Those who delay are going to miss their chance. Why, we’ve even heard of men already moving assets and taking loans for their fees—isn’t that right, Father?”

  “Absolutely. Of course, the girls have all season to choose, but if presented with an early, respectable proposal at our debut gala? Especially with surety money involved?” Jasper shrugged eloquently. “Well. I doubt these jewels are going to wait around.”

  The Thorns would often try to upsell callers on a more expensive girl, but a line of delicate questioning soon revealed that Beatrice was right at the top of Theodore’s price range. So Jasper and Cedric went to work, pitching her hard and extolling her virtues and—of course—beauty.

  “When is your opening ball?” he asked nervously. “I have an important trip to make to Bakerston in the morning. One that I can’t reschedule. I’ll be there for two days.”

  “The announcement isn’t official yet, but I can say that you’ll have just enough time,” Jasper told him conspiratorially. “But don’t extend your trip.”

  Theodore lit up. “I won’t, I won’t. And I’ll start looking into my accounts today.”

  A trip to Bakerston. One he couldn’t reschedule.

  My heartbeat quickened. It was exactly the kind of information Grant wanted: movement from a man under suspicion because of mysterious trips.

  With everyone in the house so preoccupied watching our suitors, it was easy to slip off later on and sneak outside to the porch. “Hey,” I said, beckoning one of the mercenaries. “Do you know where Aiana is?” I didn’t know how else to locate her, especially since we weren’t supposed to have met yet.

  The man hesitated, knowing the rules about talking to us. “No. It’s her day off. Now get back inside.”

  My heart sank. I couldn’t expect Aiana to be at my constant beck and call, but it made using her as a go-between with Grant difficult. How critical was the information about Theodore Craft? Pretty critical, if he was leaving in the morning.

  Before I could really ponder what to do with this problem, high drama swept the house when Warren Doyle, the governor of Denham’s son, arrived. Every girl in the house crowded close to the railing, trying to get a better look at the parlor meeting below. I could understand the buzz. Warren was handsome, polite, and quick to inform the Thor
ns that he’d actually just been appointed governor of his own new colony, Hadisen. Several girls near me clasped their hands in excitement. One offered up a prayer.

  But it was in vain because Warren had already decided on one girl and one girl only: Adelaide. A visibly eager Jasper snatched the pitch from Cedric, rather than engaging in their usual volley.

  “She is certainly incomparable,” Jasper said. Warren hadn’t just admired her from the decks; he’d also quickly learned about her excelling at every subject. Jasper again hinted that the ball was close and that Warren wouldn’t have long to wait before meeting her. Warren’s reaction was a little different than Theodore’s.

  “I don’t really need to meet her,” said Warren. “I’m sure she’s exceptional. And I’d like to seal a marriage contract now.”

  Cedric, who’d said little in the exchange, flinched. “That’s not . . . how it works. The girls meet all potential suitors in our social season. Then they choose.”

  “I don’t want to risk losing her to someone who might woo her with a lot of flash and no substance,” Warren told him. “I’ll put out a price to make it worth your while for removing her early—one I might not be willing to match if I have to wait. One thousand gold if you do the deal right now.”

  It was an unheard-of price. I heard gasps around me. Adelaide remained silent, but that was because she was holding her breath. Or maybe she just couldn’t breathe at all. I think there was a very good possibility Jasper might have changed the Glittering Court’s rules then and there if Cedric hadn’t been so adamant in his stance.

  “It would be a breach of our normal policy,” admitted Jasper. “But I’m sure, given the circumstance, there’d be no harm in her at least meeting him now and—”