Brittle, page 14
His expression lightened at these words. “Is he still searching for it, do you know?”
“Is who searching for what?” Her heart began to race, and the way he glanced at the ticking pulse in her neck made Verve wonder if he could hear it.
“I think you know what I mean, Miss Springer.” His grip on her tightened, not uncomfortably so but in an almost reassuring fashion. The fae cleared his throat. “I think someone is going to interrupt us.”
For the first time in minutes, Verve looked at the crowd surrounding them and was startled to discover that the floor had nearly emptied and that Dacre was moving toward them, his eyes dark with anger. “Maybe you’d better go,” she murmured to her dance partner, who released her but did not move.
“Once I know you’re all right.” The words were accompanied by a fragrant blast of grapefruit, which immediately dissipated.
Verve wondered what sort of spell he had just cast, but didn’t dare ask him. She swallowed, hard.
“There you are,” said Dacre, gently taking Verve’s hands in his before sweeping her behind his back as though to protect her. To the strange fae, he said, “Who are you? What do you want with this half-fae?”
When the stranger spoke, his voice sounded nothing like it had moments before. “Just a dance with a pretty lady, sir,” he rasped. “I mean no harm, good sir. I mean no harm.”
Verve peeked around Dacre’s form and caught a glimpse of the fae’s blue eyes darting to and fro shiftily. But he had dark eyes, I thought. She frowned until she realized the spell he had cast must have been to disguise himself. Do they know each other, then?
Dacre inhaled deeply. “Your magic is not familiar here. How did you merit an invitation?” None too subtly, he moved to better block Verve from the stranger’s view.
“It were an open invitation, weren’t it?”
“Yes, but as you must know, that was merely a formality. Those without a personal invitation never attend these things.” Now Dacre sounded bored.
The strange fae murmured more apologies. “I meant thee no offense, sir. I’m from the backwoods, see. Family’s only just relocated to these parts.”
Verve took a step backward. Perhaps she could not escape Letorheas just yet, but she was tired and emotionally wrung out for reasons her mind kept skipping over, and she had had enough of all these strange people. She needed to be alone.
“Is that so?” Dacre’s hand shot back and took Verve by the wrist, drawing her near again. “Well, enjoy the rest of the party. I daresay you won’t want to miss the free food and entertainment.” The words dripped with disdain, and Verve felt herself flushing with secondhand embarrassment.
The strange fae continued to mutter apologies, falling all over himself to flatter Dacre, who simply turned his back and nudged Verve ahead of him. Once they had reached an empty table, he released her wrist and gestured to one of the chairs. “Are you all right?” His brow was furrowed, but thankfully he no longer looked angry enough to tear the entire tent down.
“Yes.”
The crease deepened as he sat next to her. “Was bringing you out here a mistake?” It was difficult to tell if he was talking to himself or asking her what she thought. When she didn’t respond, his expression grew distant as though he were sorting through numerous thoughts in his head. “I thought it would be a nice distraction.”
“It was,” Verve added quickly, not wishing for him to decide she was unable to handle being around people in the future. The fae were strange, true, and she wished to be alone now, but she felt better than she had since arriving in Letorheas.
Dacre gave her a suspicious look and began tapping his fingers on the table. No one seemed to pay them any mind, and as Verve scented the heady aromas of coffee and chocolate, it was possible he was using magic to protect their privacy. “Did he give you a name and reason why he was bothering you?”
That made Verve laugh, albeit halfheartedly. When he continued to frown, she added, “No one was bothering me – except for maybe your friend Tubsman. He’s pompous and a little…frightening.”
A smile tugged at Dacre’s lips, but it soon turned downward. “Tubsman is in a class of his own, but you are skirting the question. Who was that man you danced with?”
“I don’t know. He never got around to introducing himself.”
His eyes narrowed. “That is rather odd.”
Verve shrugged.
“Odd that you wouldn’t ask. You’re curious by nature.”
Being told how and who she was did not sit well with Verve. “I did ask him,” she snapped.
“But he wouldn’t tell you.” He looked down at her hands, which were wringing and twisting…something.
At the same moment she looked down at them as well, only just remembering she still was holding on to the strange fae’s handkerchief.
“May I?” Dacre didn’t wait for a response before taking her right hand and extracting the handkerchief from it. He held the fabric up to the light of a candle that sat on the table, studying the plain white cloth as though he could discern clues from it. “This isn’t made here. It’s from Etterhea.” His attention returned to Verve. “Verve, you didn’t bring this with you. It hardly has your scent on it.”
Her heart leapt in her breast, and she knew instantly that Dacre had heard it. “No, I didn’t bring it with me. Someone gave it to me.”
“That someone being the man you danced with?” He inhaled and nodded. “It smells like his magic. But I’ve never smelled magic quite like that before tonight.”
Verve wanted to ask him why this was so important, but she thought the better of it and kept her mouth shut. As the moments wore on in tense silence, Verve trained her eyes on the crowd surrounding them. The music had stopped, and the fae were growing restless. Several had begun to move toward a side exit, while others raised their voices in drunken disapproval. Secretly, she hoped to see the strange fae, and his absence was odd to her. Perhaps he had been truly offended by Dacre’s snobbery. But the role of foolish fawner had seemed so in contrast to what he had been before that Verve couldn’t help but think it an act.
“There is one way to find out for sure,” Dacre startled her by saying. He snapped his fingers and the lights grew brighter with an audible pop. “Stay where you are, Verve. That protective charm I put on you earlier doesn’t protect you from kidnapping.”
Verve frowned. Dacre had risen from the table and conjured a rosy glass into his hand, which he tapped with the lip of a conjured spoon. “It is time for the unmasking.”
The crowd went from disgruntled to delighted in a single moment.
“Gentlemen only, if you please.”
Verve knew this was for her benefit. Everyone would probably know she was entirely human if she unmasked in front of them all.
Of all things, Dacre strode forward and snared a tall man by the elbow and steered him around. “On the count of three. One…”
Verve’s heart caught in her throat. It was the man she had been dancing with. What did Dacre suspect him of being or doing? Whatever the case, he’d taken an obviously strong dislike to him, and it would have probably behooved the creature to have fled while he still had the chance.
“Two,” everyone chanted together.
Dacre’s eyes glittered from across the room.
“Three.”
Chapter Nine
Dacre ripped off the man’s mask, his look turning from triumphant to disappointed so quickly, it might have been comical to Verve had the stakes not felt so high. For a moment the crowd moved between Verve and the two fae, and she could not make out what was happening.
If the other guests thought something was strange, they didn’t let on. There was laughing and pointing, and overall a general gaiety that belied the situation.
Verve was on her feet but uncertain what to do. The strange fae had mentioned that she would not be able to escape that night, what with the tracking paint she was wearing. Would he have helped her get away otherwise?
The laughing and chatting crowd soon parted, allowing Dacre and the strange fae through without sparing them a glance. “Is this the man you danced with?” he asked Verve, holding the confused and terrified-looking fae in his grip.
“I told you ’twasn’t I,” the creature said.
“I want to be certain,” Dacre shot back.
Verve studied the fae, but didn’t need to for long. This wasn’t him. One eye was green, the other blue, and his pale hair was most clearly his own. And besides his face, his stature and voice were wrong. Wanting to spare the fae, who had begun to shake, Verve shook her head. “I don’t think it’s him.”
Dacre seemed relieved for a short moment, before worry shadowed his face. “Is this mask yours?” he asked the fae.
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. He gave it to me.”
“Who gave it to you?”
The fae cried out, but still no one paid them any mind. “The fellow. The fellow that brought me here. Please release me. I’ve done no wrong.”
Dacre raised a finger and the scent of chocolate filled the immediate area. When he spoke, Verve had to strain her ears to hear. “Did this man have an invitation?”
“No. But he said it was an open event and that invitations were no longer the fashion.”
“Did he give his name?” Dacre nodded his acknowledgement to the two male fae who had materialized at his side.
The one man, Tubsman, looked irritated to have been taken from the festivities, while the other, a fae Verve had never seen before, was alert and nervous. “Milord?” the latter asked.
“What’s this?” asked Tubsman.
“He’s here. Let no one exit the tent, or the grounds for that matter. Take this man to the dungeon for questioning—”
“Dungeon?” squeaked the fae in Dacre’s grasp.
Dacre pushed the fae to Tubsman, who caught him by the shoulder and held him still. “Be wary. I think his magic’s changed or he’s found a way to disguise it.”
Verve frowned as Dacre took her by the arm. Before she could object, she was being led toward a side exit.
“What’s changed? Scent or appearance?” Tubsman shouted after them.
“Scent.” For some reason Dacre looked at Verve, his eyes bright with panic. “We had it wrong. He’s not after my power.” With that said, his grip on Verve tightened and he hurried her through the exit, pushing guests aside without an apology.
Verve’s muscles burned as he rushed her up the steep hill, and breathing grew difficult. Only when she stumbled did he relent and give her a moment, standing close to her, his posture tense.
Something rustled in the ground cover on their left, and Dacre sent a bolt of white light flying at it from his fingertips. There was a screech and the intense odor of burned coffee and all was still.
“You probably just killed a rabbit,” Verve found herself saying as she clutched the pang in her side.
Dacre’s lips quirked into a half smile before straightening into a thin line. “Have you caught your breath yet?”
Verve shook her head. “Who’s after your power?” She was playing for time, knowing that once she saw the inside of the house it was most likely she wouldn’t see the outside again for some time.
“No one that you need worry yourself about.” He held out his hand for her, and reluctantly she accepted it. Dacre threaded his fingers through hers and led her the remaining half mile to the house, keeping a slower pace this time and constantly looking around for danger.
The path they took was lit by candles that gave the illusion of daytime. Only the sky, now dark and starry, spoke the truth. Verve stifled a yawn and shivered. The body paint apparently had some insulation properties, as her arms and neck were still warm. But her bare feet were cold, even though they’d had the protective spell put on them, just as that one fae had told her they would be. That one fae…or were they something else? When Verve tried to recall the details of the creature, her mind immediately jumped over them and she began thinking of other things, like how her hand was growing sweaty in Dacre’s as his thumb stroked her knuckles.
Once at the front door, which burst open at Dacre’s command, he moved Verve in front of him, released her hand, and gave her a nudge forward. Only after they were closed inside did he seem to relax. For a moment he stood there, staring at Verve. “You are stunning.”
Verve didn’t acknowledge the compliment. “What’s going to happen to him?”
Dacre moved closer, slowly, as though he were a wolf stalking its prey. “Who?” He wetted his lips.
“The guest you grabbed at the party.” She backed away a step, heat blossoming across her collarbone and creeping up her neck.
“You don’t need to worry about anyone, Verve. You’re safe now.” His voice was sultry, his eyes dark.
Her knees softened and she felt around behind her for something to support herself with. Finding nothing, she took an unsteady step backward.
“That blush is very becoming.”
Verve scowled. “I’m not blushing. I’m overheated. Walking uphill at an ungodly pace will do that to us mere mortals.”
He took a tentative step toward her and then another. The lights flickered and then dimmed, filling the air with coffee smell and smoke. Dacre reached for her in the semidarkness but paused, watching Verve as though he was afraid she might run. “I should very much like to kiss you right now.”
She sucked in a sharp breath when he tucked a loose strand of hair behind her left ear.
“Would that be acceptable?” he asked, his eyes on hers.
The intensity of his gaze made Verve look away. Dizziness and confusion bubbled inside her, and she wished she’d eaten one of the cakes the strange fae had presented her with. Matching wits and playing whatever game he was attempting would be easier with a full stomach.
As if reading the thought on her face, Dacre took her hand again and tugged her toward the kitchen whence came the aroma of baking bread. In the doorway, he raised her knuckles to his lips before releasing her, winking, and leading the way through the kitchen door. “There ought to be something in here worth eating. Have you eaten enough today?”
The door closed itself behind Verve, bumping into her back. She didn’t answer but watched as he removed a white tea towel from atop a loaf of brown bread and began rummaging around in a box by the middle counter.
“You didn’t eat at all today, did you?”
Yawning, Verve took a seat at the round table in the corner of the room. Every bone in her body screamed for sleep. “I think I did,” she said and rested her chin in her fists. As she watched, Dacre slathered butter and then jam onto two thick slices of bread before waving his hand to command a fleet of cutlery that began to chop fruit that had materialized between blinks of Verve’s eyes.
“I’m sorry there’s no meat. Not many of us eat it here in Letorheas.” Something that looked like lentils poured themselves into a pot along with broth and herbs. The most heavenly aroma of hearty soup cooking filled the air, and Verve’s stomach snarled, jolting her out of her stupor.
She removed her elbows from the table and leaned back as a bowl sailed toward her, landing in front of her without spilling a drop. Her stupefaction must have been easy to read on her face, because Dacre laughed and sent the bread flying, followed by the chopped fruit in a white bowl. It all landed with a gentle thud in front of her, and she hastily tore into it.
“It’s been a long, trying day, has it not?”
Verve rolled her eyes at him. “Day? Perhaps you might say it’s been a trying week.” She wanted him to know that a bowl of soup and some bread was not going to make up for anything he had done to her in that time. Not at all.
“You’ve been here over three weeks, Verve – in Etterhea time, that is.”
She was thankful she had finished swallowing her mouthful of food before he said that, or she knew she’d be choking on it. “What?”
Dacre sat across from her. “I warned you, time moves differently here.” He looked troubled. “Eat. You need your strength.”
“I would have written them several letters by now,” Verve said, her appetite waning. “They’ll know something is wrong.”
“Your family knows you’re busy settling in at the boarding house.”
But Verve shook her head. “That wouldn’t stop me from writing to them.”
With a snap of his fingers, Dacre caused a glass of water to materialize to the right of the plate of bread, making Verve jump. “You don’t need to worry about your family. I told you I’m taking care of them.” His tone was concerned, not dismissive, which almost grated on Verve even more.
“They’re not stupid, you know. Hel’s going to figure out something’s wrong.”
“I never said they were stupid,” Dacre said evenly. His hands stretched across the table, causing Verve to lean back, which seemed to make him rethink his approach. He looked into her eyes as though he could plumb her secrets from their depths, before sighing and turning his attention to her plate. “Eat and drink.”
“But—”
“And I’ll make you an offer.”
Verve raised an eyebrow and set her spoon down on the table, though she wanted to throw it at him. Was she being selfish, wishing to go back home? He said he was providing for her family. Could she believe that? The fae was putting her in a difficult position, one she knew would wear her down to nothing. When she spoke, Verve pushed her words through her teeth, her lips tightening. “What offer?”
Dacre gestured to the table. “Eat. I’ll talk.” Watching her, the fae seemed willing to remain there all night until she gave in.
As she was tired and hungry, it didn’t take Verve long to roll her eyes and pick up the spoon again. She wielded the silverware like a saber between them, jabbing at the air in front of her. “Fine. Talk.”
