Maela gives a hollow laugh as she stands. But when she brushes past Cormac, her fingers slide across his shoulder and she whispers something I can’t quite hear.
When she’s gone, I raise an eyebrow.
“You don’t want to know. Maela and I…” He doesn’t finish the thought, but I don’t need him to.
“I don’t care about either of your sordid pasts,” I assure him.
“You should. You are marrying me, after all.”
“To what do I owe this very unexpected pleasure?” I ask, changing the subject from his past conquests. “I haven’t ordered dinner yet, but I certainly could.”
“No, don’t bother. I’m here on official business. I won’t bother you for long.” But even as he says it, he shrugs off his jacket and throws it over a chair. Next he’ll pour a drink. Then he’ll avoid my questions. Our interactions here have become like clockwork.
“You aren’t bothering me,” I lie in a practiced tone that reeks of obedience and inferiority and all the things he craves from me.
Cormac reaches for his jacket and retrieves a thin box. “A gift for our upcoming engagement gala.”
“You shouldn’t have,” I say as I lift the lid to find a pair of shimmering black satin gloves.
“I’m told gloves are coming back into fashion, and my future wife should be the height of style.” He pulls at his bow tie, loosening it a little without taking it off.
“Thank you. They’re lovely.” I lay the box aside, knowing this isn’t why he came. He could have sent the gloves with my aesthetician. “Why are you here?”
“There are concerns for your safety within the Ministry,” Cormac says.
“You have me in total lockdown in a building reinforced by Arras-knows-what technology,” I remind him, pausing to allow him to contradict me. But when he doesn’t, I add, “I could go on.”
“That’s quite enough,” he says. “In order to keep public focus on the wedding, I will need you to travel. Therefore I’m bringing in someone to keep an eye on you … to protect you.”
“To watch me,” I correct him.
“Damn it, Adelice. Do you want to get killed?” He’s yelling at me, his fingers balling into fists, but all I can do is stare at him. Calmness sweeps over his face, and he continues in a slow voice. “Believe it or not, I don’t want you killed by some revolutionary.”
“You think the Agenda will kill me?” I ask, shaking my head at the ridiculous idea.
“The Agenda is unpredictable. I think they might try to take you away. Not only would that void our agreement, but it would also undo everything we’ve worked for.”
“You’re being overprotective,” I say, grinning at his choice of words. Even in private moments, Cormac is such a politician. But then he grabs my arm and shakes me so hard that my vision goes blurry.
“Don’t laugh at me,” he warns, cold fury creeping into his words.
I wrench myself away and stare at him, trying to focus. What was that about?
“I wasn’t laughing at you,” I say.
His eyes remain furious but after a few minutes he calms down and showers me with a litany of apologies.
“So I’ll have my own guard?” I ask.
“Yes.”
“Good. I’ve always wanted a guy in a suit to follow me.”
“Alixandra is hardly a guy,” he scoffs.
“Alixandra?” I repeat, narrowing my eyes.
“Did you think I’d leave you alone with a boy after what happened before?” he asks me.
He has a point. Not that I’m looking for romance at the moment. “I’m surprised you trust a woman with something as important as this.”
“Alixandra knows her place,” Cormac says. “Maybe you can learn a thing or two from her.”
“When do I meet her?” I ask.
“She’ll arrive tomorrow and then escort you to the gala at the end of the week. She will remain with you at all times.”
“Like when I go to the bathroom?” I ask.
“Of course.”
“Will she watch me sleep?”
“And floss your teeth, if I ask her to,” Cormac says, cutting off my questions. “You aren’t being cute, darling.”
“I’m not aiming for cute.”
“I won’t allow anyone to hurt you—not even yourself.”
“Then what about our deal?” I plead.
Cormac brushes off my objections and picks up his jacket. Before he leaves he says something I already know.
“Deals change.”
FOURTEEN
THE ENGAGEMENT GALA IS A TYPICAL GUILD affair right down to the flashing cameras and my choreographed entrance into the Northern Ministry on the purple carpet. Pressed linen tablecloths and structured flower arrangements are displayed carefully around a slate-gray dance floor. Even my gown had to be approved by Cormac in advance—a gray silk dress that skims my negligible curves and swishes in soft waves to my feet. It’s beaded with silver crystals in triangular patterns that accentuate my waist and catch the dim light in the hall. Martinis are passed on trays. I grab one immediately but put it down after I taste it.
“Don’t be wasteful,” Cormac says, motioning to the abandoned drink. He presses his hand against the small of my back.
“Cormac!” A tall woman in a wine-colored gown dashes over and throws her arms around him, startling us both.
“Dawna, how nice to see you,” he greets her smoothly as he pries himself out of her embrace. His eyes scan her vibrant dress, and then narrow. She must have broken his carefully articulated dress code.
“Your bride has such lovely taste,” she says as she motions to the ballroom filled with Cormac-style objects, and I realize she must not know him very well. Anyone who did would see this is all Cormac’s doing.
“She does indeed,” he responds. He looks past Dawna, scoping out the crowd for someone more important to speak with.
“Actually,” I say, plastering a smile on my face, “Cormac planned the entire event.”
“But Cormac, you have to let the bride plan these things. It is her wedding after all.” Dawna tut-tuts at the end for emphasis.
Me plan the big day? Not if either of us has anything to say about it.
“Would you like that, Adelice?” Cormac says, and he shoots me a look that says, Two can play this game. He can fake the doting fiancé bit, too.
“I wouldn’t dare dream of questioning your wishes.” I push the words out of gritted teeth, never once letting my smile slip from my face.
“I see how she landed you,” Dawna says, smacking me a bit too hard on the shoulder. “Such a lucky girl.”
“Aren’t I, though?” I murmur, smoothing a wrinkle from my long satin glove.
“These are darling.” Dawna brushes her hand over my wrist. “Are gloves coming back in fashion?”
My eyes flicker to Cormac, but he’s busy searching the crowd. “So I’m told.”
“Then I must get myself a pair,” she says.
“Pardon us, I see Minister—” Cormac doesn’t even bother to finish his excuse before he pulls us from her clutches. As soon as we’re a safe distance away, he twists my wrist. “Stop telling everyone you don’t want to marry me.”
I pull against his grip but fail to extricate myself. “I didn’t say that to anyone, and we’ve only spoken to one person so far. Stop being dramatic, darling.”
“We need the four sectors focused on the wedding—”
“Three,” I remind him softly. “There are three sectors now.”
“Of course,” he snaps. He tugs at his bow tie, but I bat his hand away.
“Don’t undo that. Everyone will assume you’re drunk already and then they’ll think you don’t want to marry me.”
“It’s tricky, isn’t it?” Cormac asks.
“What?”
“Pretending you want to marry someone. Stressful even.”
Before we can break up at our engagement gala, a group of men approach.
“Shut up and
smile,” he orders.
Thanks for the reminder. This is already turning out worse than I feared.
I lose track of who is who and who runs what, and eventually give up on keeping each new person straight. Enora quizzed me on this once, I realize with a pang, but so much has happened since then. And she’s not around to help me now. I turn my attention to the crowd instead. In the two years that I’ve been away from Arras, it looks like Cormac’s been cleaning house. I spot Alixandra watching me out of the corner of my eye. I couldn’t get away from Cormac now if I tried.
I consider going over to her. She’s the only person I recognize here. Although, after nearly a week under her protection, I’ve discovered that Alixandra is not a talker. She dresses like a Spinster when we’re together and the official story is she’s my personal assistant. But everyone knows she’s my security detail. She broods even in a ball gown—though I’m still not buying the story that Cormac is worried about my safety. She’s not my bodyguard.
She’s my chaperone.
Alixandra is petite with long blond hair and a button nose. It’s not going to be hard for her to stay undercover, but I still can’t imagine she’d actually be able to fight if it came to it. But looks can be deceiving. If Cormac trusts her, she has to be deadly. I know little else about her.
The afternoon we met her eyes swept over me, sizing me up with a cool disinterest. I had the distinct impression I’d failed whatever test she’d administered.
“I’m Adelice,” I finally said, as she continued to watch me. I stuck my hand out, feeling it was proper.
Alixandra didn’t shake my hand. She circled around me.
“So you escaped the Guild,” she said in a cold voice.
“I’m not interested in discussing my history with you.” If she wanted to dredge up the past, I didn’t have to participate, but even so, my fingers traced my techprint for comfort.
“I’m not interested in your smart mouth,” she said, her voice never rising above the same steady tone. “You ran off with two boys.”
“Two brothers as a matter of fact,” I said. I had no idea why she was insisting on talking about that.
“Yes, I know.” Alixandra stopped in front of me. We were about the same height, but something fierce in her eyes made me shrink back. “I’m surprised Cormac is marrying you.”
“Join the club,” I said, biting my lip. Most people were nice to my face. But I knew most of Arras must disapprove of Cormac marrying someone as young as me. Alixandra was the first person to show it.
“I mean, he can’t believe that you kept purity standards while you ran around down there, can he?”
“He can,” I retort, tilting my chin up defiantly, “because I did.”
“Is that true?” she asked.
“It is.”
“I’ve seen those boys. I’m surprised.” Nothing about the conversation was friendly. I wasn’t sure if she believed me about the purity standards, and I definitely wasn’t sure why she would even care.
“It’s important that you realize I’m not your friend, Adelice,” Alixandra told me. “My job is to keep you secure and to keep you out of trouble.”
“I’m not planning to get into any trouble,” I said. I meant it. Making things difficult at the Coventry or in Arras didn’t fit into my plans. I hadn’t come back to make trouble. I knew if I wanted to keep the people I loved safe, I needed to play along.
“I’m glad to hear that, but all the same, remember I’ll have my eyes on you,” she said.
Alixandra didn’t like me. That much was clear.
“So you’ll be with me at all times?”
“Yes, per Cormac’s instructions,” Alixandra said.
“And after we’re married?”
“I’ll do what he asks me to do. I wouldn’t count on him relaxing the security surrounding you, though, especially once children come along.”
I gagged a little, but managed to cover it with my hand. Children hadn’t been part of our discussions.
“You don’t look excited about having children,” Alixandra noted.
I wasn’t. “Things are happening very quickly. It’s a lot to take in.”
“Cormac will want an heir, of course, and then…” She let her words trail away and didn’t finish her thought.
I wanted her to continue, but I couldn’t stomach any more talk of my future with Cormac. I avoided conversation after that.
“Adelice!” Cormac’s voice calls me back to the present, and I blink at him. “Minister Swander asked you to dance with him.”
“Of course,” I murmur, trying to remember who Minister Swander is. The name sounds familiar, but to my surprise the man who steps forward is young and handsome. I recall the last gala I attended at the Coventry—when Erik reminded me that every official was married. Swander’s wife must be nearby. I take his hand, ready to get it over with.
Minister Swander leads me onto the dance floor, keeping a proper amount of space between us and dancing formally, which is to say, stiffly. For a moment I wish I was dancing with Erik, but I immediately put the thought out of my head. Then I notice that with each careful step, he is leading me farther across the dance floor, farther from Cormac.
“Cormac has finally landed himself a new Creweler,” he says in a light tone.
I study him closely. He’s exactly how I imagine Cormac would have looked at the same age. Too slick, too quick with a smile.
“I suppose he has,” I respond. “Pardon my saying so, but you seem a little young to be a minister.”
“You seem a little young to be a Creweler.”
“Touché.”
“I was born into Ministry service,” he explains to me. “My father was an official.”
“Was?” I ask.
A confused look passes over the minister’s face. “He died.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” He waves off my regrets with the ease of someone who never mourned the loss.
“You weren’t close?” I guess.
“No, we were,” the minister assures me, “but that’s life.”
But it’s not life, I think. Not for the Guild. Officials don’t just die and ministers don’t forget what happened.
“How did your father die?” I press.
“Old age, of course.”
I can see I’m not going to get far with him, so I change the subject.
“Is your wife here?” I ask.
“I’m not married,” he says.
I can’t help myself. “That’s unusual.”
“I suppose I was married, but my wife is gone.” He stumbles over the confession, blinking as if to clear his head.
Suddenly I know where I’ve heard his name. The old memory resurfaces and my stomach rolls over.
She had an accident.
Amie’s words. Before I can compose myself, he stops and drops his hands from me.
“The song has ended. I suppose I must return you to your fiancé.” He offers me his arm. His gaze stays unfocused, as though he’s searching for something in the distance as he leads me back to Cormac and thanks him for the dance.
“Of course,” Cormac says. “It looked like you were having a nice chat.” I can tell Cormac wants to know what the minister said to me. Of course he does.
“He was telling me how his father died,” I admit.
“He was?” Cormac asks. I can’t gauge his reaction.
“Actually, he was about to tell me,” I say, turning to Minister Swander expectantly.
“Excuse me, I see Brient,” he says, avoiding the question once more. “Thank you for the lovely dance.”
He hurries away, and I can’t help but notice that he dashes straight for the washroom.
“How did his father die?” I ask Cormac. “I thought the Guild had gotten around that inconvenience.”
“We can still die, Adelice,” Cormac mutters.
“You could have fooled me.”
“Death is a tricky thing. He wears many faces
.”
I wonder what face death will wear when he visits Cormac. I wonder if death will look like me.
“And his wife?”
Cormac shrugs.
“There was an accident,” I say. “You made an example of her.”
I recall the reverent account Amie gave about her teacher, at our dining table. I remember the hushed fear in my parents’ voices. I remember everything about that night.
“You do love your stories,” Cormac says, taking my elbow and steering me out of earshot.
“The truth is much more interesting,” I say in a low voice.
“Truth takes time,” he warns me. “Someday, when you’ve lived a lifetime, you’ll understand that.”
“And how long will it take you to believe it?”
He flashes me a murderous look, and I duck back toward the crowd, my heart beating fast as my past and present collide.
* * *
The dinner is served in courses. The first is the onion soup I despise. I slurp it loudly, pretending to relish every drop. Cormac ignores me, chatting with the other guests at the table. I pick at my roasted pheasant and finally abandon it.
“When is the wedding?” the wife of one of the ministers asks me from across the table.
I blink at the question. We haven’t set a date, which is fine by me. It gives Cormac more time to milk this distraction and me more time to figure out what he’s hiding from me.
“I’m not sure,” I say in a syrupy voice. “Cormac is preoccupied with other issues at the moment. I wouldn’t dream of distracting him with my silly wedding plans.”
Cormac’s hand lands on my leg and squeezes it tightly. I’m being warned.
“But you must be excited.” The woman folds her hands under her chin, a dreamy look coming over her face.
“I am,” I lie. “I hope it’s soon.”
Cormac leans in toward me. “I wouldn’t dream of making you wait much longer.”
I force a smile onto my face, hoping it looks right. I don’t find his words reassuring.
He stands and raises his champagne flute, waiting for the other tables to quiet. A few people tap their own glasses with forks and soon all eyes are on him. The conversation in the room dies down, but I spot a few people whispering and even a handful of eye rolls.
Unraveled Page 11
