by Dylan Steel
“Don’t the Quorum members have to approve our pairing?”
“Mmm.”
“Why didn’t he know who I was?”
He tilted his head, giving her a curious look. “I doubt he even looked at who I requested to be paired with, Sage. I made a choice, and they had no reason to question it. They like to remind benefactors that their authority supersedes our own, but it would be very unusual—and foolish—for them to deny us our indulgences.”
“Oh.” Her heart sank. There went the faint hope of appealing her pairing to any of the Quorum members directly. She frowned as she thought more about what he’d just said. “I’m an indulgence?”
His blue eyes pierced hers, shooting straight to her soul. “In that dress?” he said huskily. “It’s undeniable.”
She swallowed, unsure what to say. Weston claimed not to want anything more than her companionship, but his actions recently were beginning to suggest otherwise. The man was a constant enigma—one she needed to escape as soon as possible.
“What’s ordezko?” she asked, quickly changing the subject.
His lips twitched. “Not here,” he said in a low voice that rumbled beneath her skin. “Later.”
They swept across the room, dancing in silence. Sage was busy trying not to trip over the end of her dress, following Weston’s directions, responding to his slight nudges. By the time she finally started feeling more confident, she opened her mouth to say as much to Weston. But when she looked up into his face again, her throat seized up in fear at his expression.
Weston was staring at something—or someone—off the dance floor. Sage twisted her neck to get a look at whatever it was, but she only caught a flash of blonde hair as a man disappeared into the crowd.
“What’s wrong?”
He looked down at her distractedly. “Maybe nothing.”
His hand pressed more firmly against her side, and she noticed he was leading them to the outskirts of the dance floor.
“It isn’t nothing, though, is it?” she whispered against his chest.
Weston squeezed her hand, not saying anything.
Sage glanced around again, and this time she saw a familiar, unsettling curl of a man’s lips beneath a gold mask. Mr. Gaztok. Even under a mask, she’d know that haughty expression anywhere.
Mr. Gaztok motioned for them to join him, then ducked into one of the halls that branched off of the main room.
“Not a word,” Weston warned as he pulled her along, following Mr. Gaztok away from the revelry.
Sage felt quiet press in on all sides as soon as they stepped into the corridor, the sounds of the party muffled behind them. It was an entirely different world here.
Mr. Gaztok waited for them in the doorway of a dim, empty room. “Mr. Bennick,” he said, not acknowledging Sage’s presence even as she stepped inside the room with the two men.
Weston nodded a curt greeting. There was no friendliness in the action.
“I believe we have some things to talk about.” Mr. Gaztok’s mouth stretched into a tight smile. “Have you heard about the ordezko?”
Sage’s eyes flicked to Weston’s in surprise as he nodded again.
“I have.”
“And?”
“I suppose congratulations are in order,” Weston said dryly. Something in his tone made Sage’s heart start beating faster. It took every ounce of her courage to not take a step back on instinct.
Mr. Gaztok’s lips thinned in disapproval. “Your flippancy is disturbing.”
“Not at all. My respect for all the members of the Quorum is as high as ever,” Weston said, punctuating his speech with great intentionality.
“I see.”
“Sage, I need to have a private discussion with Mr. Gaztok right now.” Weston spoke clearly, not bothering to disguise the fact that she was being summarily dismissed from the impromptu meeting. “Don’t go too far. I’ll come find you when we’re finished here.”
Swallowing hard, she backed out of the room wordlessly, tamping down on her nervousness. Truthfully, she was grateful to be allowed to leave, though she certainly didn’t need to be told not to go too far—it wasn’t like she could’ve forgotten about the tether’s short range.
Once she was back in the hall, positive she was out of hearing range, she let out a shaky breath. Mr. Gaztok’s presence had always made her uncomfortable, and tensions were running high when she left. Whatever was transpiring between him and Weston right now, she knew didn’t want to be trapped in the middle of it. One wrong look, and either man could decide he wanted to be rid of the Indarra nuisance for good.
Making her way back to the edge of the party, she peered out from the archway at the guests. They were laughing and dancing, completely unaware that anything less than festive might be going on around them. Sage scanned their faces, realizing she hadn’t seen Pippa at all. Maybe Grayson hadn’t required her to attend the party. Sage certainly wouldn’t have come if she’d been given the choice.
As her gaze lingered on the crowd, a brisk movement along the side wall caught her attention. Sucking in a sharp breath, she shrank back, narrowly avoiding tripping over her own skirt. Kai was heading straight toward her, but she was pretty sure he hadn’t spotted her yet.
Clenching her jaw tightly, she moved down the hallway in the opposite direction. After everything he’d said and done—including his most recent dismissal of her plea for help—she had no desire to talk to him ever again. At least not until she could find a way to make him pay—to get justice for Penelope and Everett.
But not tonight.
Casting a glance around the corridor, Sage noticed a door slightly ajar not too far from where Weston was speaking to Mr. Gaztok. It was as good a place as any. Slipping inside, she peeked out, holding her breath as Kai turned down the hall and stormed past her.
Her shoulders sagged in relief. She wouldn’t have to deal with him tonight.
In fact, this room seemed like the perfect place to wait for Weston to finish his chat with Mr. Gaztok. It was dark, quiet, out of the way—she wouldn’t have to force herself to stomach interacting with people who could care less whether she lived or died.
She backed up slowly, keeping an eye on the sliver of hallway she could see silhouetted along the side of the partially-opened door.
“Uugh.”
A hollow thwump echoed in the room. Sage grabbed the back of her head, wincing in pain.
Blinking in the darkness, she twisted around and groped at what she’d just bumped into. A smooth surface passed beneath her fingertips, and she pushed herself backward one tentative step. She waited a few moments for her eyes to adjust. When they finally did, her hands flew to her mouth, stifling a cry.
A glass case rose up in front of her. Inside, a lifelike statue stood posed in an elegant ruffled dress made of real fabric. Jewelry wrapped around the statue’s neck and wrists caught a bit of light from the hallway, casting a freckled glow on Sage’s gown.
She staggered back. Her head swung back and forth wildly as the rest of the room shed its dark cloak before her eyes. The glass case she’d stumbled upon in the center of the room was merely one of many. Each case held a similar stone statue, what looked like a young woman, but their poses and attire and jewelry were each unique.
Squaring her shoulders, she moved down the line of cases, observing each one in turn. It was a strange display. A collection of various fashions—no doubt any one of them would have cost more than an entire year’s salary from her tech position at the Peace. Yet here they were, uselessly enshrined as beautiful works of art, immortalized in the dark. She doubted they would ever be worn.
Had they ever been worn?
Her chest rose and fell faster as blood roared a warning in her ears. Her fingers twitched at her side. She should leave.
There was something very wrong here.
“Do you like it?”
Sage nearly jumped as the man’s warm breath brushed against her neck. She hadn’t heard anyone walk up behind he
r. Spinning around defensively, she froze in terror as she found herself face to face with Edward Grayson. An intrigued smile crept over his lips as his gaze roamed over her. She stiffened as his fingertips traced down her arms, exploring. His hands slipped to her waist, roughly tugging her against himself.
“It’s years in the making. A collection of my favorite ensembles by pair.”
Bile began making its way up her throat. By pair. Which dress had been Rosalind’s? Inette’s?
She swallowed hard, fighting back dizziness. What would he choose for Pippa?
“Mr. Grayson?”
“Yes, my dear.” White teeth flashed mere inches from her face. “You’re in my house, but I don’t have the faintest idea who you are. Are you here to crash my party?”
Her eyes widened. “No, I—”
“Shh.” He held a finger to her lips as his other hand moved lower, skipping over thick folds of fabric. “It would be alright if you were, you know.”
“I’m not.” She bristled under his touch. “I was invited.”
He cocked his head, dragging his fingers up her cheek to her mask, letting them linger on it. To remove the mask or not—she could see the debate warring behind his eyes.
“Have we met?”
“No,” she lied. Something told her it would be a bad idea to reveal that she’d visited his estate once before as a student—especially since she’d made sure to never come back again like he’d requested. “I’m here with my benefactor.”
A vicious hunger crept into his expression. “How unfortunate that he doesn’t seem to be keeping very close tabs on you tonight. Seems such a shame. Has he become bored with you already? Perhaps he and I could come to some sort of agreement. Make sure you’re able to remain useful.”
“He’s nearby.” Her hands balled into fists. It was all she could do to keep from trembling.
“Mmmm. Obviously.” Grayson’s eyes narrowed. Pulse racing, Sage squeezed her eyes shut as his thumb and forefinger stroked the edge of her mask tenderly. He pinched at it suddenly, yanking it off without warning.
A surprised gasp slipped from her lips, which only made him smile wider. Cupping her chin, he turned her head back and forth, studying her closely.
“Why is it you look so familiar?”
“I—”
“Edward.” Weston’s deep voice boomed across the room. Sage’s heart leapt inside her chest, then came crashing back down. The benefactor spun her back around as he turned toward Weston, holding her tightly against him as his fingers dug deeper into her hips. She bit back a cry of pain. She didn’t dare move.
“Let her go.” Weston moved closer, stopping a few feet away. “She’s not one of yours.”
“No. Not technically.” Grayson pulled at a loose strand of her hair, toying with it almost absentmindedly. She could’ve sworn he even smelled it. “But she could be. After all, she’s a guest at my party. Unless—”
“She’s mine.”
Grayson’s hands jerked back, flying off of her as if she’d burned him. “Yours?” he hissed. It came out as an accusation.
“Mine,” Weston said evenly.
A rough shove against her back sent Sage stumbling forward. Weston caught her easily and moved her to the side, never taking his eyes off the other benefactor.
“She didn’t say she was yours,” Grayson growled behind her.
“Well, now you know.” Weston’s voice was laced with a challenge. “And you know the respect I have for you, Edward, but I don’t like other people touching my things.”
Sage tensed in his hold. She wasn’t his possession. She opened her mouth to say so, but his grip on her arm tightened painfully. A warning. She snapped her mouth closed.
“Of course not, Weston. I understand completely.” The benefactor’s tone was more casual this time, more controlled. But no less dangerous.
“If you’ll excuse us,” Weston inclined his head, “I would very much like to get back to enjoying the masque. You’ve really outdone yourself this time.”
“It’s been an absolute pleasure.” The benefactor’s words slid over Sage’s skin, leaving a trail of ice in their wake.
Without another word, Weston pulled Sage out of the room, leaving Edward Grayson alone with his collection.
To her surprise, he led her down the hallway in the opposite direction of the party.
Her brows furrowed. “Aren’t we—”
“We’re leaving.”
“But this isn’t the way,” she protested, offering a little resistance as she glanced over her shoulder.
“It’s the way we’re going.
Nerves twisted inside her stomach, but she didn’t argue anymore. The sounds of violins and laughter died behind them as their footsteps echoed down the dim corridor. Even with little light, Weston’s steps forward were purposeful, sure. There was no question he knew where he was going. He’d been here before.
It bothered her that he’d come to her rescue. Again.
It bothered her even more that she’d needed his help, and they both knew it. Still, she didn’t have to admit it.
“I had it all under control,” she said testily, breaking the silence between them.
He made a noise that resembled a grunt.
“Grayson doesn’t scare me,” she insisted, injecting a false confidence in her tone. It wasn’t remotely true, of course. But telling lies—that was her crutch. It kept her sane when her world was crumbling around her.
His hand clamped harder around her arm as he kept moving forward. He was obviously done relying on the tether to keep her close, resorting to more primitive methods.
“Stay away from him.”
Sage narrowed her eyes. “You sound worried. I didn’t think there was anything that the great Weston Bennick couldn’t handle,” she said snidely. “Didn’t you say worrying was a wasted effort?”
Anger flashed behind Weston’s eyes as his grip tightened on her arm. He spun her around. “I swear you have a death wish, Sage.”
She bit back a whimper, raising her chin defiantly instead. Weston had never acted like this with her before, but it’s not like she hadn’t been expecting it. She’d known his wrath would come out eventually—ever since he’d shown up and revealed his true identity to her in the hospitality suite.
He took a step closer, trapping her between himself and the wall. “Edward Grayson is ruthless. He could tear you apart in seconds—kill you, if you were lucky. Leave you broken if you weren’t.” He leaned in, lowering his voice to a whisper in her ear. “Know which battles to pick.”
Weston backed up abruptly, pulling her along with him. He didn’t say anything else until he yanked open a door at the end of the long, winding corridor. The exit was hidden behind multiple twists and turns, and the cool night air smacked Sage in the chest, making her suck in a breath in surprise.
“We’ll have to walk the long way to the trailer,” he said brusquely. “It’s not a good idea to stick around for Edward to get a better look at you.”
She scowled, resenting the way he was speaking to her, ordering her around. He was her benefactor—and yes, she was tethered—but he’d never dismissed her so easily.
“Why not? Are you afraid if I spend any time with him, I might like him better than you? Maybe the Quorum should make him my pair instead of you.” She didn’t know why she’d said it. She certainly didn’t mean it. No part of her wanted to be enslaved to Grayson—being paired with him would mean dying a slow death until the real one finally rushed in.
Blue lightning cracked behind Weston’s eyes. She snapped her mouth shut, realizing what she’d done.
“Is your tongue too loose tonight? It’s not too late for me to alter the terms of your tether, Sage,” he growled. “We don’t even need to see the Dignitary this time.”
Panic flooded her chest, squeezing her heart into her throat.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t—I don’t know why I—”
She dropped her eyes, watching the ground fly by beneath
the bottom of her gown. Her stomach churned. She’d done it. In the course of a few hours, she’d managed to lose any trust she’d gained. Her advantage was slipping rapidly, falling over a dangerous precipice. If she ever hoped to convince him to lose the tether, she needed to find a way to regain his trust.
An image of Grayson’s warped collection flashed in the front of her mind again, bringing with it an idea. The smallest spark of hope.
If Weston had allowed his own home to be turned upside down to prove there were no Lawless ties left at the Bennick estate, it was a safe bet he’d be interested in knowing Grayson was secretly harboring a rebel relic. Sage doubted Grayson knew it was a Lawless artifact, but that didn’t mean Weston couldn’t use the information. Maybe sharing what she’d seen would finally convince her benefactor to trust her. After everything that had happened tonight, she needed to do something to get back in his good graces.
Sage wet her lips, shooting a timid look up at her benefactor. Her heart pounded in her ears, drowning out everything but their hurried steps.
“Weston?” Despite the distance they’d already put between themselves and the manor, his name came out no louder than a whisper.
He glanced down at her, not slowing his pace as he held her tightly to his side.
“In that room…” She hesitated, trying to shake the guilt already cropping up. Sucking in a shaky breath, she began again, “I don’t know if he realizes it or not, but I think Mr. Grayson has a Lawless relic.”
Weston stopped dead in his tracks, staring at her. “What kind of relic?”
“Jewelry. A hairpiece. It was—it was tucked in the braid of one of the…” She stopped, her face screwing up at the disturbing picture in her memory.
“Are you sure?” His tone was clipped, urgent.
Her lips parted slightly. “Well, it’s not like I had time to authenticate it. But yeah, pretty sure. I—” she paused, debating whether or not to admit she’d recognized the hairclip from the Archives. At the time, she hadn’t even realized it was significant—one of the old Lawless relics—but now it seemed so obvious. Unmistakable. She had no idea how Grayson had come by it. It was probably safer not to mention that she’d seen it before. “I think so.”
