Grinning, he picks up his cap, bouncing on his toes and nervous to be in the room. I realize I cannot explain why I have a large black bird in my room, but Sir Bird has elected to be a book again. Simon sets the bag on the edge of my bed.
“Is that man around?” I ask. “The one who’s been following me?”
“Lord Ackerly? Yes. He said you’d have a book for me to deliver to him? The letter is from him, too. He tips something handsome, Miss Jessamin. Everyone likes him.”
“Hmm. I’m sure. Did you let him into my room earlier?”
“No, Miss Jessamin. This is the first he’s been here all day.”
I glance at Sir Bird, but as neither book nor bird can he tell me how Finn sneaked into my room. Annoyed, I hand Simon the book and open the letter. It’s an invitation to a symphony to be held tomorrow evening. In the bag, I find a stunning gown of pale gold with a tag attached that reads:
Aren’t my castoffs simply amazing and tailored to your exact frame? See you at the symphony. Love, Eleanor.
Nineteen
“AND YOU ARE CERTAIN IT’S LORD ACKERLY WAITING downstairs for me? No strange birds hopping about?”
Ma’ati sounds confused as she finishes buttoning the back of my dress. “Why should you worry about birds?”
I shake my head, trying to calm myself. I have had three separate written confirmations from Eleanor and Finn that yes, the invitation came from him, and no, there is nothing sinister at play. Aside from false gifts, that is. I run my fingers down the front of the dress. Eleanor’s castoff, indeed.
The dress is silk, pale gold with delicate beadwork on the empire-waist bodice. Sheer sleeves are open at the wrists. Finn—through Eleanor—was kind enough to include a perfectly matched black glove for my uninjured hand. I shake my right hand absentmindedly, trying to work out some of the pins and needles.
I notice it less lately, but the sensation is always there. I cannot imagine what it must be like to feel this way all the time, over your entire body. It makes me a bit more compassionate toward Finn. I would go mad in his place.
Then again, I’m fairly certain he already is.
“I wish we had something sparkly to put on your wrist or around your neck,” Ma’ati says, considering the final product. This time we did not bundle my hair into a bun, but pulled it away from my face and neck with a twist and let it trail down my back.
“Never you mind. Thank you for your help.” I stand and kiss her cheek. “You know, this dress would flatter you even more than me.”
Ma’ati waves her hand. “When would I wear a thing like that?”
“Jacky Boy would like it very much on a certain special occasion. It’ll keep until then.”
Ma’ati’s face blooms into the biggest smile I have ever seen on her. “Well, you know we were waiting to save up enough so we wouldn’t have to live in the hotel. We were a ways off—years off—but then . . . oh, I shouldn’t speak of it until it’s certain.”
“What? You must tell me now!”
“Lord Ackerly has offered Jacky Boy a position in his country estate! It’s a good deal of responsibility. He would be in charge of the kitchens and head butler duties, and Lord Ackerly says he has never kept a staff so Jacky Boy would do well to bring someone with him. His words were ‘perhaps a bride.’ And then he gave Jacky Boy a good-faith payment and promised to arrange it all as soon as he is ready to staff his new home! We would have our own cottage on the property.” She sits back onto the chaise longue, nearly overcome. “It’s more than I ever hoped for. I was so scared when my aunt sent me here—I was afraid I’d be lost or killed or beaten daily. But I found Jacky Boy and now we’ve a real future and oh, Jessamin, I am so happy I might burst.”
I cannot puzzle why Finn would be taking on servants now when he so recently told me he never kept them, but Ma’ati’s joy is contagious. I wrap her into a hug. “You deserve every happiness in the world.”
“Thank you. He’s a good man, you know. Jacky Boy likes him, and Jacky Boy is the best judge of character.”
I shrug noncommittally, but she doesn’t let me go, pressing on. “He looks us in the eyes, Jessamin. All of us. You’ve worked here long enough to understand what that means. But, oh! Stop right now.” She pulls back from our embrace, fussing over my dress. “We can’t wrinkle you. Now go and enjoy your evening listening to terrible, boring Alben music.”
I laugh and stand. “Yes, I can’t say I am looking forward to that part. Perhaps I’ll get in a good nap.”
Ma’ati follows me into the hall, then grabs my elbow and turns me around. “Not the servants’ stairs. Just this once, use the main ones. But give me half a minute to go ahead, so I can hide near the lobby and watch you walk down!”
She hitches her skirt and takes off at a run for the back stairs. If it were anyone but her, I’d follow, refusing to make a spectacle. I cannot say no to Ma’ati.
Counting to sixty in my head, I walk slowly down the wood-paneled hallway toward the open flight of stairs that will take me to the lobby. I peek over the balcony to see if Ma’ati is ready. Standing in the center of the marble floor, looking straight up at me, is Finn.
His tailed tuxedo is trim and fitted, showcasing the slender lines of his body, and his golden hair catches the overhead electric chandelier. It’s even a bit messy tonight, not so controlled as usual. He leans casually against his cane, and when he meets my eyes, a smile slowly spreads across his face.
Something inside of me breaks and re-forms into a new, unknown shape, and I do not know what has happened or why, only that I feel as though I am glowing from my toes to the tip of my head and I want to be beside Finn right now.
I take a deep breath to calm my racing heart, trying to tell myself that it’s the effect of his silly charmed hair, but as I take the steps in measured pace, I realize this time it feels different. Before there was a sort of fuzzing, a misty separation from reality. But tonight everything is clearer, sharper, as though the sun has finally broken through the Alben clouds and lit the world in a new way.
As though Finn has created his wonderful miniature sun inside my heart.
I am down the stairs before I process having passed even one flight. I hear a soft, happy sigh and turn to see Ma’ati peeking from behind the dining room doors. I smile and wave at her. Then, hardly daring to look at him lest he somehow sees straight through to my wild, giddy panic, I turn to Finn.
“You look beautiful,” he says, and that new something inside of me flares even higher. My eyes dart like a butterfly in a cage, alighting on everything but staying fixed on nothing. His jaw, his hair, his shoulders, his mouth.
“Yes,” I answer, careful to keep my voice controlled, though I feel as if it should be two octaves higher. “How strange that Eleanor should purchase gowns so clearly the wrong size.”
“The ways of women are a mystery to me.” He holds out his elbow—in all the time we have walked with each other I have never taken it—and says, “Shall we?”
I slip my hand into place, and my voice trembles as I say, “Yes.”
For some reason, it feels as though I am answering a far more important question.
Twenty
FINN TAKES MY HAND AS I CLIMB OUT OF THE carriage when we arrive at the Royal Hall. It’s near the palace, across the river from the courthouse. All these are buildings I have walked by many times but never dreamt I would enter. Four soaring spires mark the corners of the Hall, the stone elegant and carved over arching stained-glass windows and massive scrolling iron doors. This is where the queen was wed, where her husband’s funeral was held.
On Melei, the monarchy is officially ours, too, but we all grow up knowing the pale, unsmiling portraits in our schools are nothing like us—and care nothing for us. So, while I do not hold the monarchy in any regard, it is still more than a little intimidating to walk on such ceremonially important grounds.
When we pass guards in the queen’s deep purple livery, Finn does not hand them the invitation as I expect him to. One of the guards holds out a golden platter, in the center of which a single sharp needle sticks up.
“Lord Finley Ackerly,” he says in a deeper voice than I am used to. I had not known Finn was a nickname and feel both embarrassed and strangely privileged to know him as such. He then pricks his finger on the point. A spark ignites and the guard nods, withdrawing the platter.
I am cold with fear that he will expect me to do the same but Finn guides me forward without hesitation. “What was that?” I whisper.
“No one outside of the gentry is allowed at this concert. You’ll understand why.”
“Need I remind you I am not gentry?”
“But you are my very special guest, and no one enjoys telling me I cannot do things.” He smiles confidently, and we walk through mingling clumps of people. I do not mind that I stand out so horribly this time, but I can feel many eyes on me.
Several people greet Finn as “Lord Ackerly,” and he nods in acknowledgment but stops to talk to no one. He stays at my side, a hand at the small of my back, and leads me to our seats. We’re on a private balcony overlooking a grand ballroom. People are drifting toward the seats set up on the floor. Two chairs beside us are open, and I wonder if anyone will fill them. The vantage point feels both privileged and exposed. I can see everyone, which means everyone can see me.
A small, raised stage in the center has a semicircle of chairs about a dozen in number, but no one is there yet. The walls of either side of the room are lined with guards—one group in the royal purple livery, the other in blue and gold.
Finn feels both too close and too far away, sitting with our arms nearly touching. I need something, anything, to cover my inner flutterings.
“What symphony will they be performing? Am I terrible if I admit I find Alben music dreadfully dull and somber?”
“I am terrible right along with you, then. But have no fear. It’s an international group of musicians from the royal families of several continental countries.”
“Ah. Thus the strangely liveried guards. I’ve always been partial to art and music from Gallen.” The country immediately east across the channel from Albion, Gallen seems to suppress passion less.
“Spirits below,” Finn says under his breath, shifting in his seat and angling himself toward me so half my view of the room is cut off. He smiles, but it is too bright, too forced. “I am so sorry. I had it on good authority that he wasn’t coming tonight. Still, there is not a safer room for you in all of the city at the moment.”
“Downpike?” I startle forward and there, in a balcony directly across from us, sits the nightmare man himself.
He raises a glass filled with bloodred wine in mock cheers and then takes a dignified sip, his eyes never leaving me.
My hand aches, spasming into a fist, and I want to flee, be anywhere but here with that man so close. I nearly ask Finn if we can leave, but the expression on Lord Downpike’s face is too smug. It’s not even a challenge. I’m not worth it in his estimation. Sitting straighter in my chair, I meet his horrid gaze from across the room and raise my right hand in a cheerful wave, being certain to wiggle all my fully functioning fingers. Then I fix my eyes firmly on the stage, resolving not to look that direction again.
“Well done,” Finn murmurs.
Another couple joins us, the man maybe ten years our senior, handsome with reddish-brown hair. His wife is dripping in ostentatious jewelry, her face neither pretty nor plain, rather severe but offset by heavily curled blond hair. She gives me a slight nod and then settles in the farthest chair.
“Lord Ackerly,” the man says, and I recognize his voice—Lord Rupert, Eleanor’s uncle the earl. “I did not know we would have the honor of sharing a box this evening.”
“The honor is mine. Might I introduce Miss Jessamin Olea?”
Lord Rupert takes my hand and inclines his head, but his eyes are shrewd, and he obviously knows who I am. “Charmed to make your acquaintance.”
“Thank you, my lord. I am fortunate enough to count your niece, Eleanor, as a friend. She is a credit to your family name.”
“Quite, yes.” He sits next to his wife, whose chin is already bobbing into her pearls. Apparently, I am not the only one who thought to use the symphony as an excuse for a nap.
There is a strange sensation from my hand, and I look down to see the fingers of my right glove tugging free of their own accord. Finn clears his throat loudly, slamming his cane down against the floor, and immediately the tugging ceases, my glove no longer possessed.
“Now he is simply being petty,” Finn says with a scowl, covering my hand with his own.
“It would appear Lord Downpike is intent on getting your attention,” Lord Rupert says conversationally.
“I had noticed.” Finn’s tone is polite and unconcerned.
“Have you given any more thought to what he is proposing?”
“I cannot say that I have. What was wrong two years ago is still wrong today, and you will find my position unchanged.”
“Yes, but the good of the country . . .”
“Is the good of the country, and I will always do my part to protect it. Why should we stretch further than needed? We have been independent and strong for decades now. The Continent holds nothing we cannot do for ourselves. I find myself perfectly satisfied with the amount of power we currently hold. Aggression would lead to war, which would benefit no one, least of all our own citizens. Oh, look! They’re about to begin.”
Finn still has not moved his hand from where it rests on mine. My stomach does not know how to feel about this development. Fortunately, I’m soon distracted as the lights dim and the music begins.