Midnight Jewel

by Richelle Mead

  “But he came back to you. You must have had a bigger impact than you thought.”

  Silas shrugged. “He didn’t come to me right away. He went to the Balanquans first. I don’t know what happened there, but he didn’t stick around long. Would he have come here after that if he hadn’t met Aiana? Hard to say.”

  That friendship had always been a mystery to me. “Did they meet when he was back there?”

  “No. He found her in the northern colonies, on the run from her . . . wife.” Silas didn’t sound like he disapproved, so much as he was still getting used to a concept that wasn’t openly accepted in Osfrid and Evaria. “The Balanquans were hunting her. She had no idea what to do or where to go. Grant’s father might have been a ruthless bastard, but he did teach Grant how to take care of himself. And he took care of Aiana. He needed a fixed place for her to hide, and Cape Triumph was the only one he knew.”

  “I bet it was more than the city. I bet it was you.”

  “I don’t know. But I didn’t waste that second chance. I could tell he would drift away if I didn’t tie him down. No one remembered him, so I helped him make a new life. Set him up at the store, had him take charge of teaching Aiana to protect herself. He slipped into new roles so easily that it didn’t take long to realize he could do what I do—except he could do it in secret. Everyone knows I run the agency. But they don’t know who works for me. And, well, technically, he doesn’t. I can only make him an agent-for-hire, so to speak. Sir Ronald can give him a legitimate position—and will, once we stamp out these traitors. Agent or not, Grant can be invisible right now, and that’s very, very useful to us.”

  “Useful for him too,” I mused. “He gets to be everyone—and no one. He can move without restraint or commitment. Just the way he likes it.” One of Silas’s bushy eyebrows rose again. I’d come to realize that was a signal that something had really and truly astonished him. “Except you did tie him down. You gave him something, and here he is.”

  “But he won’t stay.” Silas’s hard countenance faded, and for the first time in our brief acquaintance, he looked vulnerable.

  A loud knock heralded Grant’s arrival and ended the conversation. Silas’s gruffness returned as he opened the door. Grant entered, dirtier and sweatier than when I’d last seen him. He gave a quick nod to me and focused on Silas.

  “We rode all the way up to Hamley. Scarborough had us search around the taverns for signs of itinerant priests while he had a very long talk with a tin merchant about the town’s heretic situation.”

  Silas made a hrmph. “Something tells me they discussed more than that. I assume you got his name? We’ll get Crenshaw on it. Right now, we’ve got more pressing problems.”

  We updated Grant on what I’d learned, and he seemed even more suspicious of how I’d found a “reliable source.” But after studying the map with Silas, he confirmed the oldest boardinghouse on Water Street, adding, “Oh, yeah, it’s ugly. Horribly maintained. A lot of shifty people go through there. The other one’s not quite as old, and that owner’s pretty strict about who he lets board.”

  I listened, ignored, as they plotted strategy. Silas wanted to recruit a few soldiers to follow Sandler when he left with the delivery, arresting him only once they determined his destination and the North Joyce contact.

  Silas put a hat on. “I’m going to the fort right now. Wait for me. And let her finish that letter—she’s earned it.”

  I’d been so engrossed in their planning that I’d paused in my writing again. After Silas left, I scrawled the ending and folded the paper up. Grant leaned against the wall, lost in his own thoughts. There was an almost feverish glitter in his eyes from the excitement of the night’s developments, but his body looked as though it had been pushed past exhaustion.

  “You should get some rest before whatever happens . . . happens.”

  His dark eyes flicked to me. “It won’t be much longer. Just through dawn. Then I’ll get a couple hours of sleep before the store opens. Right now? I’ve got the drive. I can do anything.”

  I tilted my head. “Are you sure? Can you explain what ‘because’ meant?”

  “Because?”

  “In the conservatory. You said I didn’t do anything wrong that night. But the only reason you gave for why you stopped was ‘because.’”

  He straightened up and walked to the other side of the room, angling away from me. “Do we have to talk about this?”

  “Well, you’re not doing anything else until Silas gets back.”

  “Would you settle for me saying I did it because I’d hoped to avoid conversations like this? I knew things would get muddled.”

  “They shouldn’t have.” My voice cracked a little, and I cleared my throat to sound hard again. “It was all supposed to be simple. I thought we had an understanding.”

  He was showing all the little signs of agitation I’d learned. Pacing. Raking his hands through his hair. But I knew he wasn’t frustrated at me so much as himself, and having to talk about personal things. Finally, he spun around.

  “Simple, huh? Okay. Then tell me why you wanted to do it.”

  I blinked, caught off guard. “What kind of question is that?”

  “An easy one. Here, I’ll give you a simple answer. I wanted to because you’ve got a face that could sack Ruva and a body I can’t stop staring at. That night we ‘met’ in the rain? I saw plenty in that wet nightgown, and I’ve wanted to see the rest for a long time. Those other girls you live with are like dolls. They look like they’ll break. But not you.”

  My mouth went dry, and I had no idea how to respond or even feel. To a certain extent, I’d just been complimented—on my appearance, at least. And wasn’t this whole debacle supposed to be circling around physical attraction? Desire and nothing more?

  He’d given me a simple answer, but he’d delivered it with almost no expression, no feeling, not even when citing the almost poetic reference to an ancient queen whose beauty had allegedly broken the great peace of Ruva. It sounded so practiced, like he could have been reading from a script.

  “No simple answer from you on what should have been a simple matter?” he prompted.

  The taunt in his tone sparked me back to life, and I began thinking up a list as impersonal as his. “I don’t know what your point is, but yes, it’s the same for me, obviously. I like—wanted—your body too! Rosamunde and I were sizing up all the men on the ship on that first day, and I didn’t even look at anyone else. You were stronger. Hardened. You had a fighter’s stance, and I could tell right away you were more than a shopkeeper. I wanted to touch your face, your arms, your chest . . . and try to figure out if you were some kind of warrior in disguise. You’ve got this look in your eyes that pierces right through me. It’s always hungry. Hungry to tear apart the world and its secrets. And sometimes it’s hungry for me, and that . . . does things to me. Even your hair . . . I like it because it’s like you. Trying to behave, but ultimately, the unruliness—or maybe it’s just defiance?—comes out. And when you didn’t shave—”

  Grant held up a hand. “Okay, I’ve heard enough.”

  Without realizing it, I’d started smiling when talking about his hair, but his pained expression snatched my amusement away. “What? You asked for a simple answer.”

  “And you didn’t give me one.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and slumped against the wall. “Seriously, Mirabel. Let go of . . . whatever we stumbled into. Focus on helping with the case and getting your money. Focus on what you worked so hard to get here for: a husband.” The word tumbled out harshly, like it left a bad taste in his mouth.

  “That’s not what I came for,” I said after several moments of contemplation.

  A small frown creased his forehead. “Isn’t it? I can’t really believe you sailed across an ocean to help root out traitors.”

  “No. I came here for my brother.” I pointed at the letter a
nd could hardly believe I was telling him what I’d never told anyone. “Lonzo Borges is Lonzo Viana. He got in some, ah, trouble and started using a different name. He sailed here almost two years ago as a bondsman. I lost contact shortly after he arrived—until you found him.”

  I could see Grant processing this. He rarely learned something he hadn’t seen coming. “That’s why you want the reward. I wondered if you . . . were trying to buy out your own contract. You’ve gone through all of this . . . for him?”

  “I’d do more. As much as I’d like to buy out my contract, his bond comes first. And if that means finding a rich husband? Well, it’s worth it to keep him safe. Why are you looking at me like I’m crazy?”

  “I’m not. I’m looking in awe. Whenever I think I know how brave you are, you astound me again.”

  “I don’t feel brave. I just love him, that’s all. He’s sacrificed for me too.” I clenched my hands in front of me and looked down. “He broke with our father because of me.”

  “Broke?”

  “Our father trained us both to be a part of his crusade, but we had very different roles. I was the pretty distraction—even more than I am here. I wanted to go on daring escapades, like the men did, but I believed in my father. I thought he knew best. The cause really was just, and I was born to it.” I took a deep breath and almost couldn’t go on. “He encouraged me to be friendly with men when it suited his needs. Very friendly. I distracted them while my father conducted his secret deeds. Sometimes I coaxed out information. Usually, all I had to do was a kiss or a little touching. Sitting on someone’s lap. I didn’t like it at first, but after a while . . . well, I just didn’t think about it at all. It just became I something I did. I was indifferent to it.”

  I glanced up. Grant’s face gave away nothing, but I could see him hanging on to every word. I had to look away again at the next part of the story.

  “One day, he found an informant who could spill all the plans about a massive attack coming against some Alanzans. The man was ready to talk—but he wanted me along with his bribe. He said he’d give my father’s faction everything he knew in exchange for a night with me. And my father was ready to make the deal.”

  Grant jerked upright from his lounging position, face incredulous. “How could anyone make their daughter do that?”

  I shrugged. “Fighting injustice was his life’s work. And he didn’t make me do it, exactly. But he pushed. He told me it was a small sacrifice compared to how the Alanzans suffered. That it’d be over fast and was almost the same as what I’d already done. Except . . . this time, I didn’t feel indifferent. I was afraid, but I also felt guilty. I didn’t want to disappoint him or betray the cause. And I almost gave in . . .”

  “Almost.” Grant latched on to the word.

  “Then Lonzo found out. He’d always followed our father’s way without question too. But this broke him. It broke all of us. My father called me a coward. Lonzo accused my father of selling me like merchandise. We argued all night. I shouted. I cried. And in the morning, Lonzo and I walked away. Our father’s way couldn’t be ours anymore. He went to Belsia and died shortly after that.”

  “Mirabel . . . I wish you’d told me that before.”

  I finally met his eyes and felt a bitter smile on my lips. “Why? Because we’re always so forthcoming about our feelings and secrets, Grant? I’m not even sure why I told you now. I guess to explain why I’m here and why I need to free Lonzo from his bond. Although, I suppose I’ve sort of become a bonded servant myself in the Glittering Court.”

  “No. You’ve held true to your family. You have family. You bettered your education. You’ll move into high society.” He stared off but wore the same pained expression he’d had while I’d spoken about my father. “The Balanquans would praise you for raising your status.”

  “Like . . . prestige?”

  “More complex. Status defines your place in society. Your worth.” He walked across the room, stopping a few feet in front of me. “Do you know what my Balanquan name is? Not what Aiana calls me—the one I was born with. Agamichi. It means ‘without a shadow.’”

  “Without a shadow,” I repeated. It was ironic since McGraw agents were called shadowmen, but I didn’t say so.

  “It’s one sound off from akamichi. That means ‘without status.’ That similarity’s intentional. My uncle named me and thought he was being clever. Among the Balanquans, all social order, all relationships . . . they’re all built around status. Not having any is the worst thing that can happen to a person. And a half-breed bastard has very little.”

  “But we aren’t among the Balanquans.” A wave of emotion swelled up in my chest, much as it had in the moment I’d discovered his scar. I fought the impulse to reach out to him.

  “It doesn’t matter. For all intents and purposes, I’m still a ghost. No people, no home, no great deeds. But I’ve accepted it,” he added. “If I don’t have anything, then I can’t lose it.”

  “But you have a lot,” I exclaimed. Compassion still burned in me, but I couldn’t help my shock. “You do have a home. You do have people. Silas and Aiana love you, and you love them—I’ve seen it. Creating a family like that is a great deed. So is the work you do. Look how determined you are in breaking up the conspiracy! It seems to me like you’re rich in status.”

  “Because you don’t understand status,” he said, voice weary.

  I moved forward and took his hands. “I understand that you don’t see what’s right in front of you. And you haven’t ‘accepted’ being a ghost. You’ve chosen it! Wandering without attachment doesn’t free you. It traps you. You need to find your own wayfarers’ star and fix your life on something, something with meaning.”

  He was attempting to keep his temper down. “I’m trying, Mirabel. There are things I’m fighting for, whether you believe it or not.”

  “I do believe it. But I also believe you’re throwing away what you already have. And maybe you’re throwing that away on purpose. Is that what you’ve fixed yourself on? Being unhappy? Is that why you pushed me away? Because some part of you didn’t really think you deserved a night where you might actually get something you wanted?”

  My anger had flared up again. So had his. Another day, another fight with Grant.

  “I wanted something simple.” He released my hands and moved away. “And instead I got you.”

  I stared. Something inside me shattered. Angry tears sprang to my eyes. I shot to the door and was nearly hit by it as Silas returned. “Calhoun and the others are on their way to—” He stopped when he saw me. “Didn’t expect you to still be here.”

  “I was just leaving.” I retrieved my things and pointed at the letter. “Please make sure that gets to your agent. It means a lot to me.”

  CHAPTER 22

  THE FLOWER FESTIVAL WAS AN ORDINARY NAME FOR AN extraordinary event. Back in Osfrid, it was a huge, decadent celebration to mark the arrival of spring. The festivities hadn’t been quite as extravagant when the holiday first carried over to Adoria, but over time, the New World began to catch up with the Old World. This year, Cape Triumph was embracing a tradition that was wildly popular in Osfro: evening masquerade balls. Mistress Culpepper hadn’t liked the unexpected development, but most of the girls in the house were delighted. Not me.

  I was tired of masks.

  Mine was beautiful, of course. Everything I wore in the Glittering Court was beautiful. It was a half-mask that covered the upper part of my face, much like the one I wore on my nighttime trips. But this one was covered in deep red silk that sparkled with crushed red crystal. It was hardly inconspicuous, though Tom might have approved of that flashiness simply for the sake of his “image is everything” stance.

  I was also just tired, period. I was burning the candle at both ends, and sometimes, I wondered how much I had left. I usually made it back to Wisteria Hollow about four hours before our wakeup call. Adrenal
ine could keep me fueled during those late hours, but in the day, I dragged. I often fell asleep in the coaches when we traveled. Mistress Culpepper began insisting I wear face cream at night because of the dark circles under my eyes. And whatever energy I had left at social events went to searching for intelligence. I avoided dancing as much as possible. Even if I’d wanted to aggressively pursue some man at a party, my exhaustion put a serious damper on my charisma and conversational skills. My suitors fell away—all except one.

  “Are you ready to make it official?”

  I’d expected Cornelius to find me at the Flower Fest gala, just not so quickly. I accepted his hand for a waltz and put on a bland smile. “I will . . . but not until the end of my season.”

  Behind his blue velvet mask, Cornelius blinked in surprise. “If you’re going to do it, why not take care of it now?”

  “I don’t want it to reflect badly on your father—or me. You know I like him very much and—”

  “That’s wonderful! He likes you too,” interrupted Cornelius. “So does Lavinia. We all do. See her over there?”

  From a refreshment table on the room’s far side, Lavinia waved excitedly. She’d scaled down her dress tonight, a lilac velvet creation that almost looked tasteful. Her natural hair, however, had been covered by a towering white wig adorned with a gem-studded gold coronet. That kind of hair accessory wasn’t uncommon, but from the way hers picked up the light, I almost wondered if it was real and not costume.

  “She’s lovely, as always,” I said automatically. “But like I was telling you, I’ve heard gossip saying I’m only interested in your father because of his money, and I’d hate for others to believe I’d think so little of him or that he’s naïve enough to be tricked.”

  Cornelius flinched. “Of course not.”