Midnight Jewel

by Richelle Mead

  “She isn’t some hapless girl.” Grant sounded remarkably calm. “She already knew a lot of our methods, and she picked up on everything else I knew in a matter of weeks.”

  “I’m surprised it took that long,” grumbled Silas.

  “And, she even memorized the entire cipher.”

  “You showed her the cipher? Yes. Yes, of course you did.”

  “How else was she going to safely pass written notes?”

  “Well, apparently by putting on a mask and sneaking off in the middle of the night! You’re lucky she’s alive, alone and defenseless.”

  “She’s not defenseless. She carries a knife. She knows how to fight.”

  I could hardly believe what I was hearing. On the ship, Grant had always kept his praise at a minimum.

  “Her coming here wasn’t the plan,” Grant continued, “but given the circumstances with Aiana—”

  “Aiana shouldn’t be involved with this either. People already mistrust Balanquans. She’ll get in a lot of trouble if she’s caught sneaking around.”

  “Aiana can take care of herself. Don’t worry about her.”

  “She’s not the biggest problem. You are. You don’t know how to run spies, so don’t start now. If you were doing this the right way, no one in your ring would talk to each other. They wouldn’t know each either. They wouldn’t know how to get here! Your prodigy should have used her cipher skills to leave a message in a dead drop for Aiana on the Thorn property, which then would’ve been passed on to you in another drop.”

  “Mirabel knew the news was important and had to get it to me,” Grant argued. “This was pretty resourceful.”

  “This is how spies get made—and killed. She’s not doing this again. She’s out. She needs to go back to her parties and dresses.”

  I closed my eyes. No, no. I needed this. I needed the money to help Lonzo. And I needed it for myself, to prove I was capable and resourceful.

  “Silas, you’d be wasting a huge opportunity. Let her do this. She’s smart. She’s got the right connections. She can distract men.”

  “Yes, I can tell.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You know what it means. Are you sleeping with this girl?”

  A beat of silence. I opened my eyes.

  “Of course not.”

  “Do you want to?” pushed Silas.

  Another hesitation. “You’re wasting time. This is irrelevant and ridiculous.”

  “You being ridiculous is relevant.” When Silas spoke again, he was calmer. Wearier. “Look, this is the biggest case we’ve ever had. It’s bigger than us. The colonies are in danger. As is your future. Have you changed your mind? Have you forgotten what’s at stake for you?”

  “I haven’t forgotten.”

  “Then cut her off, Grant.”

  When neither man said anything else, I realized they were probably about to come out. I scrambled back to my chair and pretended to be focused on my ankle as the door opened.

  “Thank you for your assistance tonight,” Silas told me, his tone far more cordial than it had been a minute ago. He picked up a coat and a satchel. “Grant will get you back. I’m off to Bakerston.”

  He left without another word. I looked up at Grant expectantly, ready to hear him say my work with the McGraw Agency was over. Instead, he asked, “What’s wrong with your foot?”

  “Hmm? Oh. The ankle’s hurt ever since the storm. And now my calf does too.”

  “Does it?” He knelt in front of me and reached toward my leg, then stopped and glanced up expectantly. I realized he was waiting for permission.

  “Go ahead,” I said, still mystified that he hadn’t said a word about Silas’s orders yet.

  Gingerly, Grant pushed my skirt up to my knee. “Hold it there.” He then took off my muddy shoe and gently probed around my ankle and foot, gauging my reaction. After that, he moved up to my calf. When he pressed on its inner side, I gave a sharp intake of breath and winced.

  “Your ankle’s okay,” he said. “But you’ve been walking on it funny—putting your weight on the ball and the side? Probably trying to spare the ankle at the expense of the rest. That stresses the muscles and probably gave you a nice spasm getting over here. I can help.” When he poked the ankle again, I yelped and swatted his hand aside.

  “That’s helping?”

  “Part of the process. It’ll release, but yes, it’s going to get worse before it gets better. Up to you. I’m not the one who has to dance in strappy little shoes for the next few weeks.”

  “Fine. Do what you’ve got to— Ow!”

  He wasn’t kidding about it getting worse. I’d known all the muscles were sore in that part of my leg, but I hadn’t realized what a hard knot I had in my calf until he started digging his fingers into it.

  “Relax this,” he ordered, straightening my leg. “No—you just tensed it more. Relax. Let it drop. Don’t try to do anything with it. Don’t even hold it up.”

  I relaxed my leg as best I could and tried not to cry out as the brutal massage continued. I gritted my teeth. “What happened with Silas?”

  “About what I expected.” Grant didn’t look up. “A lot of grumbling.”

  “He—he didn’t seem very happy about me being here. I figured he’d end the deal. Tell me to go away and refuse to pay me.”

  “No one’s getting rid of you. Not after you got such good information. He caught me up on the situation when I got into town. There haven’t been many ships coming in yet, but Craft’s trips always coincide with when one arrives. This is the first time Silas has gotten a heads-up before he left. And it’s all thanks to you and your brilliance.”

  “Stop it. You’ve never been this nice to me. It’s unsettling.” That, and I still couldn’t believe he was lying to me. Or was he? Nothing he’d said was untrue. He just wasn’t telling me the whole truth.

  I felt even more rattled when he looked up and smiled at me. Really smiled. It even reached his eyes, and it made something in my chest tighten. I’d never seen Grant so . . . happy. Like a normal, easygoing person—not some tense cynic who was always hyperfocused on his work.

  “You, Mirabel, have just proven you’re worth fifty gold. But don’t think you’ll get a copper more.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it,” I murmured, watching as he returned to his work. “So what do I do now? Go on with life at the Glittering Court? Get ready to charm and dance with all the men I can manage?”

  He paused, his hands resting on either side of my calf. I couldn’t see his face so well from this angle, but it looked like that smile had faded a bit. “I suppose so. That’s what you’re here for. How’s the leg now?”

  I tentatively pressed against the side of my calf. The knot hadn’t entirely released, but it was smaller and softer. The whole muscle had relaxed. Freed from the worst of the pain, I suddenly realized what a scandalous situation I was in. A man at my feet. My skirt hiked up. His hands on my leg.

  But I wasn’t scandalized. Through some unspoken agreement, he and I had never mentioned the time I’d tricked the favor from him. We’d behaved as properly as male and female acquaintances should, only lapsing into informality when our lessons segued into banter or one of us outraged the other. I still studied those sculpted features sometimes, still thought back to when I’d run my hands over his hair and chest. But it was easy to shelve any lingering desire when I was focused on my larger goals in Adoria. It was very easy when I no longer saw him every day.

  But here he was in front of me now, holding my leg in his hands. His skin felt warm against mine, and every place his fingers had traveled along my body had come to life. And places that hadn’t been touched hoped they would be.

  Get a grip, I told myself. Turn this off, just like you have before. You have more important things to worry about. Remember when you talked to Tamsin? When y
ou made going to bed with a man sound like something you could take or leave with ease? Leave this one.

  But when I’d so flippantly told Tamsin that, I hadn’t been faced with a man who was so frustratingly attractive—and just frustrating in general. A man who was looking at me as though he too had suddenly realized the nature of our current situation.

  I hastily released the skirt. His hands dropped almost as quickly. “Better,” I said. “Still sore, but the regular kind of active sore.”

  “Good.”

  An awkward moment seized us, and I wished I knew what he was thinking. He had his inscrutable mask back on. “How . . . how’d you know what to do?” I asked at last.

  “Because once, in another life, I was apprenticed to a healer.”

  “Really? When?”

  “With my uncle. But like I said, that was another life.” Grant got to his feet and handed me my shoe. “This’ll all get better if you stop trying to spare your ankle when you walk. Let it do a little work sometimes, and then just rest when you can. Dancing’s not going to do you any favors.”

  “It can’t be helped.” I stood up as well and tentatively put weight on the afflicted leg. “Much better.”

  “Silas took the only horse I have easy access to, but I can hunt down another one.”

  “No need. I can make it back. And you don’t have to walk with me. I’ll be fine.”

  “Probably. But dark streets and country highways are dangerous for anyone alone.”

  “I actually wasn’t on the highway that much. I cut through some woods by Wisteria Hollow.”

  “Keeler’s Pond Woods? You walked through a bog in the dark?”

  “It was frozen. And there was a path.”

  “Mirabel.”

  It was all he said before disappearing into the bedroom. When he returned, he was a less-scarred version of his laborer self from Osfrid, complete with scraggly wig and too-big coat. “Why the disguise?” I asked as I put on my own.

  “Grant Elliott shouldn’t be linked to much more than his shop. An occasional night out, a quick drink at a tavern? Not a big deal. Nightly outings might raise questions.”

  Plenty of revelers were still out on the town when we left, and Grant led us around the more crowded spots. I eyed those raucous streets with longing, hoping I’d get to explore them one day. Maybe I could marry a tavern owner.

  Grant and I spoke little as we passed through the main gates and onto the highway. We didn’t touch, but I was acutely aware of every inch between us. I finally stopped and pointed to a wooded area along the side of the road. I’d made note of an oddly shaped stump when I’d emerged from the brush earlier. “This is the path back.”

  Grant cocked his head as he stared at it. “You really are reckless.”

  “I think you meant to say ‘fearless.’ And seriously—let me go on my own at this point. The trail’s tight, and if I’m caught on the other side, it’ll be better if you aren’t with me.”

  He studied the dark trees a little longer and finally turned back to me. “Be careful. If you hear anyone—anything—stop and hide.”

  “I will.” But I stayed put. I had to try one more time. “Grant . . . are you sure I’m not in trouble with Silas? Are you sure you’re not in trouble?”

  “Me? In trouble? Hardly.”

  “He seemed so angry.”

  “It’s the eyebrows. They make him look scarier than he really is.”

  “I’m serious.”

  “So am I.” Grant kicked at the dirt road. “You were right on the ship. I would’ve regretted not having you on this case.”

  And that was it. No hint of cutting me off.

  “Okay.” I turned toward the woods. “I’ll see you . . . sometime.”

  “Be careful,” he repeated. “Don’t get lost out there.”

  I pointed to the sky. “I’ve got help. The constellations are the same here as in Evaria. I know where they move during the seasons. And I know that Ariniel’s star doesn’t move at all.”

  He looked up with me. “For Balanquans, Ariniel’s star is the wayfarers’ star—the star that always brings you home, no matter how lost you are. The only thing a wanderer can count on.”

  “You must know it well,” I teased, thinking of the stories about his past.

  “It guides me. But it’s never brought me home. Good night, Mirabel.”

  CHAPTER 13

  IN THE DAYS THAT FOLLOWED, I LONGED TO KNOW WHAT Silas and Grant were doing and if my tip had helped. But that wasn’t how the asset arrangement worked. I provided Grant with information. He didn’t pass it back. If I had nothing to give, there was no reason for contact.

  The approach of our opening ball ensured no one sat still at Wisteria Hollow. Mistress Culpepper and Miss Bradley had us endlessly trying on dresses and experimenting with hairstyles. No alteration was too small, not if it led to perfection. The designers in Osfrid had outdone themselves with my fiery debut dress. The silk caught the light at every angle, blazing into a hundred shades of red. They’d trimmed the dress with black accents, which Mistress Culpepper didn’t like. She thought it was gloomy.

  “You’re a ruby,” she told me, frowning at the glittering jet beds along my neckline and sleeves. “You need to look the part.”

  “I’m a garnet.”

  “No, a ruby. You jumped up to the third position. We couldn’t leave you as a lesser stone.”

  She attempted a few modifications to the dress that week, swapping out the ruffled black petticoats for other colors or covering up the beads with ribbons. But in the end, she conceded that the original design was best.

  I liked the black. It seemed daring to me. Dangerous. It reminded me of my masked escapade.

  When the big night finally came, the Thorns had to hire a fleet of carriages to transport us all. Mistress Culpepper would only let us ride two to a coach—one in each seat—to keep our ensembles as pristine as possible. There’d be no unnecessary wrinkles or tears on her watch. I rode with Adelaide, of course, who sat across from me in crystals and white silk. I envied that they hadn’t altered her natural hair and had simply arranged it in a partial updo. I’d been able to wear my hair down, which I liked, but Mistress Culpepper had “enhanced” it with clipped-in strands of deep red. Other girls had been weighted down with heavy, elaborate wigs, so it could have been worse.

  Our journey took us through the heart of Cape Triumph, and I leaned eagerly toward the window, taking in details that hadn’t been as obvious at night. The ordinary businesses were still open, and the people moving on the streets did so for work and mundane affairs, not pleasure and nightlife. Even so, Cape Triumph’s medley of residents continued to enthrall me. One group of men crossing the street near our carriage wore masks and flamboyant clothing, sporting brightly colored coats and plumed hats. I wondered if I was seeing the city’s famed pirates, but a little more scrutiny made me decide that even pirates with a flair for the dramatic had to get their hands dirty. This group’s clothes were spotless, like they’d never even come close to wear and tear. The men were all young, too, almost desperately hoping to be noticed as they strutted down the road. These were the ones who wanted to be pirates.

  A great hall on the city’s far side hosted the event. At its front entrance, Cape Triumph’s high society was also arriving—not just suitors, but also those who wanted to see and be seen. Our carriages traveled to the back so that we could be taken in a private door and led to a concealed holding area, away from the main room. It gave Mistress Culpepper and Miss Bradley more time to fuss over us while Jasper delivered last-minute instructions.

  Cedric, looking very splendid in a grayish-blue dress coat, strolled over and stood with Adelaide and me, offering occasional comments as we watched the flurry in the room. He explained how suitors interested in us would have to speak to our “representatives” to schedule a dance tonight. It w
as both an attempt at organization and a means of making sure high-status suitors received preferential treatment. I wasn’t surprised to hear Cedric would manage Adelaide’s dance card. I was surprised, however, when he pointed at Aiana and said she’d be in charge of me.

  She stood across the room, speaking with Charles. Her outfit still consisted of a split skirt and blouse ensemble, but the fabric was dressier and the embellishment more elaborate. Realizing I wasn’t supposed to have met her yet, I tried to mirror Adelaide’s surprise.

  “Who is she?” I asked.

  “She’s Balanquan. Does various jobs for us,” Cedric said.

  More jobs than you know, I thought.

  Our procession into the hall started before I had a chance to talk to her. It was a more formal, more civilized version of our arrival at the docks. We entered one by one, paused as we were announced, and then walked down a long aisle toward a dais on the room’s opposite side. Adelaide set the pace, as elegant and poised as ever, acting as though the posh onlookers and richly decorated hall were nothing to her. The party guests regarded her with wonder and awed murmurs.

  I received a few more whispers and astonished looks than she did, which didn’t surprise me. What did surprise me was that I too earned plenty of admiration. There were no slurs as there had been at the docks. I was so used to being “the Sirminican” and treated as an add-on to the other girls that it felt strange to be regarded as their equal.

  Well, some thought I was their equal. Others . . . not so much.

  “Are you really for sale?” one man asked me during my first waltz.

  I hated that word choice and tried to maintain a pleasant smile as I composed a diplomatic response. “I’m available for marriage, so long as a prospective husband can pay off my contract fee.”

  He studied me skeptically. “Oh. I thought maybe the Thorns were expanding their business.”

  “Expanding it?”

  “Well. They’ve never brought a Sirminican before. Why start when there must be hundreds of Osfridian girls who’d gladly come over? I thought perhaps . . . well, that putting you with the girls who are actually eligible was a front. That maybe the Thorns were now selling services to men who don’t want a wife but are still, ah, interested in female company. There’s a huge demand for that, you know.”