Crown of Salt, page 13
part #4 of Faerie Lords Series
“I know of nothing else,” he said. “But perhaps you have a different thought in mind.”
Valentine closed her eyes.
It’s not like I can take it with me. And if the Drowned Lord catches me, he’ll know everything soon enough anyway.
“Fine,” she ground out, opening her eyes again. “Take th’ bloody letter.” She shoved the envelope across the table toward him. “What you know better be worth it.”
La Voûte met her eyes. A strange, empty feeling extended out from around him, winding around her soul. Valentine had expected him to read the letter… but she felt its contents weighed within her mind, judged against some esoteric measure. The knowledge of the letter didn’t leave her mind… but she knew somehow that it had been seen and duplicated, as a conscious debt settled into her soul.
“You want to know how to escape the Drowned Lord without breaking your contract?” La Voûte asked. She knew he was confirming, for the sake of whatever magic lived within his soul.
“Yes,” Valentine rasped. “Tell me.”
Monsieur Moreau straightened in his chair. “I know of no faerie warlock who has ever won their own freedom,” he said. “But faerie lords have been known to buy and trade their servants. If you were able to convince another faerie lord to buy your contract, this would suffice to remove you from the Drowned Lord’s power.” He paused significantly. “You would need significant leverage in order to force a bargain of that sort. Fortunately, I know where it is you should start.”
Valentine sucked in her breath. “And where would that be?” she asked.
“The Lady of Briars has spent the last five years searching for a woman named Elaine Halstead,” La Voûte told her.
Elaine Halstead. The name set Valentine’s memory running back to the assignment that had led her to Percy. Lord Blackfrost had been searching for the same woman.
“Why?” Valentine asked. “What is it wi’ that woman?”
Monsieur Moreau frowned. “You may know her better as the White Rose of Blackfrost,” he suggested. “You warlocks do so love your nicknames.”
Valentine snapped up straighter in her chair. “She’s th’ witch that killed th’ old Lord Blackfrost,” she said. “Murdered him at th’ center of his own realm, an’ walked right out again.”
La Voûte nodded. “Many people — many faerie lords, in fact — would like to know just how it is she accomplished that feat. But Miss Halstead disappeared most effectively after her return from Arcadia, five years ago. Blackfrost and the Briars are old enemies, and the Lady of Briars would no doubt love to know how to remove a second Lord Blackfrost, if necessary. There has been speculation that Miss Halstead also stole something of great value on her way out of Blackfrost. If that’s so, then it’s possible you could sell what she holds to any faerie lord at all.”
Valentine chewed at her lip. “Five years an’ th’ Lady hasn’t found her,” she said. “Why do you figure I’d have any more luck?”
“Faerie lords and their servants are not well known for their grasp of modern technology,” Monsieur Moreau told her blandly. “I assume you have associates who might be willing to help you in that respect. At the very least, Elaine Halstead is a target which you may safely pursue without breaking the terms of the wager. You shall have to leave the matter of your spouse in other hands for now.”
Valentine nodded slowly. It’s something, at least. It’s more than I had.
“Give me th’ pen anyway,” she told him. “For somethin’ else — not th’ paperwork.”
La Voûte frowned — but he passed her a heavy fountain pen, which she took to the back of the envelope.
Percy had asked for a response. She wasn’t at all sure what to say, but she wouldn’t leave without writing him something.
She paused, with the nib on the paper. After a breath, she wrote:
I’m fine. Save a waltz for me.
It wasn’t poetry, but she suspected it would make him smile anyway.
She folded up the envelope, and handed it back to La Voûte, along with his pen. “That’ll go to Percy,” she said roughly.
Monsieur Moreau stowed the envelope in his suit pocket. He flipped the file folder closed again, and pulled it back across the desk. “In which case — it seems we come to the matter of my favor.” He stroked at his chin with a hint of worry. Valentine’s hackles raised warningly. There’s something wrong here. He’s uncomfortable… and he’s letting me see it for some reason.
“I’m bound to help in whatever way you see fit,” she said shortly. “Th’ Drowned Lord was clear on it.”
Monsieur Moreau met her eyes carefully. “Do you have any other secrets to sell me?” he asked.
Valentine shook her head. “I warned you. I gave you what I had.”
He sighed, and rubbed at his forehead. “My favor is this, then: for the next hour, you will use no magic whatsoever. Further, there is a car idling just outside the office by now. You will leave, and you will get inside of it.”
Valentine narrowed her eyes. “…that’s all?” she said, when he failed to continue.
“That’s all,” Monsieur Moreau confirmed bleakly.
Valentine chewed at her lip. “…Percy didn’t pay for this particular favor,” she guessed. “Someone else did.”
La Voûte remained silent behind his desk.
Valentine rose from the leather chair. Slowly, she stretched the stiffness from her limbs. “Don’t worry, Frenchie,” she told him. “The Deeps ‘ave done worse to me than anythin’ you could fit in a car.”
That got her an arrogant scowl. “Frenchie?” he repeated archly.
Valentine smiled grimly. “Just makin’ sure you won’t miss me if somethin’ happens,” she told him.
She turned, and stepped back outside into the waiting area of the office.
The first thing she noticed was that Simon Leclair had lingered significantly, though he no doubt had better things to be doing. He was currently leaned against the front desk, chatting amicably with La Voûte’s secretary — though perhaps chatting was a generous term, given the distant look on her face, and the monosyllabic nature of her responses from behind her novel.
Does he have something to do with this favor? Valentine wondered. But Simon shot her a careful look as she passed, and she dismissed the thought abruptly. The Wanderer of Arcadia wasn’t to be taken lightly, but neither was he the sort to start trouble where there was none before. He’d seemed genuinely surprised to see her earlier; he was probably just making sure she didn’t do anything too terrible on her way out.
“Madame Valentine,” his voice called quietly, just as she reached the door.
Valentine turned to regard him with a flat expression. There was a note of reluctant concern in his face that she had never seen before.
“…you don’t look well,” Simon observed finally.
Valentine cocked an eyebrow at him. “You’re normally a better conversationalist,” she said. “If you want to help, you can tell me th’ date.”
Simon frowned uncertainly. “…it is December twentieth,” he said, in a slow, stilted tone. She heard the hint of suspicion beneath the words — as though she might do something nefarious with the information.
It hasn’t been long at all, Valentine thought to herself. At least, not in the Lower World.
She nodded dismissively at him, and headed back out the door, into the night.
The Wanderer is so bloody soft for a warlock, she thought, not for the first time. The Lady of Briars didn’t have a reputation for softness — she’d once put a whole castle of people to sleep for a hundred years, in a fit of spite — but somehow, the Wanderer of Arcadia had kept his humanity intact within her service.
She had only the briefest moment to envy that, before the black sedan in front of her opened its side door.
“Pallid Valentine, was it?” Cecilia Atheling’s voice floated out from the back of the car. “We have a great deal to talk about, I think. Please have a seat.”
Chapter 11
“Fancy seein’ you here,” Valentine said, as she settled into the back of the car.
Cecilia’s cool expression didn’t even flicker. She was seated just across from Valentine, dressed in a very fine skirt suit — but there was a red tinge to her eyes that suggested she wouldn’t be averse to getting blood on it.
The doors locked immediately — no doubt the switch was somewhere up front, past the dark glass that divided the back seat from the front.
“I’m gettin’ th’ feelin’ you don’t intend me to leave this car alive,” Valentine observed.
Cecilia smiled thinly. “The thought had crossed my mind,” she said. Soon, even that thin smile disappeared. “I paid a very dear price to La Voûte to learn what Percival was up to. The truth was far worse than I ever imagined — and I have come to expect quite ridiculous things from him.”
She’ll use her touch on me. I can’t fight her off with magic. The crucifix will make her sick, but it won’t keep her fully at bay. The grim reality of Valentine’s situation settled in. She had no illusions that this exchange would end well for her. She needed a way out.
“I cannot justify the risk,” Cecilia told her. “If Percival wishes to risk his life, that is one thing. But he cannot risk the dignity of our house and the power of our bloodline. I will not see him in the hands of a faerie lord — it would be an untold disaster.” Her red eyes darkened. “Unless… he’s succeeded at his aim already?”
Valentine heard the faint note of hope in the other woman’s voice, though she was sure she wasn’t supposed to notice it. She doesn’t want to kill me. She knows how Percy will react, if nothing else.
“He hasn’t,” Valentine said bluntly. “He had a good plan. But there were unforeseen complications. He’s still got most of th’ year, so I wouldn’t count him out—”
Cecilia’s hand shot out to grasp at her neck, faster than Valentine’s eyes could follow her. A sickening warmth leached from her fingers where they touched Valentine’s skin.
“I won’t lie,” Cecilia said calmly. “I had hoped to hear otherwise.”
Valentine’s vision grew dizzy. Her mouth dried up. Her heart raced in her chest, rising from its usual, sluggish beat. She let out a gasp of surprise.
“You have cholera, at the moment,” Cecilia informed her. There was a hint of pity in her voice. “I thought it might be less offensive to Percival’s sensibilities. But it’s still quite a miserable death. I can kill you more quickly, if you prefer — but one way or another, you will die within the next few hours.”
Valentine sagged against the seat, blinking quickly. “You can’t do this,” she managed hoarsely. Her stomach clenched with a wave of overwhelming nausea.
“I thought you weren’t afraid to die, Pallid Valentine?” Cecilia noted archly.
The observation sent a strange shiver down Valentine’s spine.
I told Percy I didn’t want to die anymore. I meant it. Because…
Because it would upset him. That was what she’d thought, at the time. But that was wrong, too. Death wasn’t particularly frightening, in and of itself… but wherever it might take her, she knew that Percy wouldn’t be there with her.
She had no intention of going anywhere that he couldn’t follow. Not now. Not yet.
“You can’t,” Valentine rasped. “Percy… he’ll never forgive…”
“He’ll never forgive me?” Cecilia said grimly. “Yes. I’m well aware.”
“…himself,” Valentine corrected her bleakly.
Cecilia froze.
“He didn’t ask me… before he made that wager,” Valentine managed. “I begged him not to… when I figured it out.” Her vision spun again, and she had to lean her forehead against her knees. “If you kill me to get him out of it… he’ll know it’s his fault. He’ll ‘ave my blood on his hands.”
Cecilia’s expression didn’t change. In fact, it stayed so perfectly, painfully still that Valentine suspected she had hit a nerve.
Her heart stuttered sickly in her chest. She tightened her fingers against her palms. “La Voûte gave me a plan,” she murmured. “I’m off to sort it… if I live that long.”
It wasn’t much, as far as dangled hopes went. But it must have been just enough — because Cecilia’s cool nails brushed against Valentine’s neck once more. The warmth returned, washing away the miserable symptoms that had begun to eat at Valentine’s body from the inside out.
She leaned against the car door with an exhalation of relief.
“I had better not have cause to regret this,” Cecilia said coldly.
Valentine drew in another shaking breath. “...you know how to use a search engine?” she asked the other woman directly. She was fairly certain that was what Oliver had called it.
Cecilia’s brows knitted together. Her cold manner dissipated briefly into confusion. “A search engine?” she repeated, as though she hadn’t heard Valentine correctly. “Are you... are you asking me to Google something for you?”
Valentine frowned. “I don’t know what a Google is,” she said crossly. “I just need to find someone in a hurry. If you don’t know how to do it, I’ll call someone who does.”
Cecilia pressed her neatly-manicured fingernails to her forehead. “I assume this is related to what La Voûte told you?” she asked slowly.
Valentine nodded shortly against the car door, still breathing hard.
“In which case... I can do much better than a search engine,” Cecilia said contemptuously. She narrowed her red eyes at Valentine. “Who is it, exactly, that you wish to find?”
A little more than an hour later, Valentine was forced to admit that she’d deeply underestimated the sheer reach of Percy’s powerful family.
It only took a few phone calls and a short wait before the most likely address for Elaine Halstead showed up in Cecilia Atheling’s email inbox. Cecilia passed over the address as though it were a trinket — but she declined to accompany Valentine on her shortcut through Arcadia.
Don’t let this year drag on, Cecilia said coldly. Otherwise, we shall see each other again.
It was snowing just as hard in Toronto as it had been in Montreal. Cold, wet flakes drifted down from the dark sky above, catching on the shoulders of Valentine’s damp coat. She’d walked up and down the street mentioned in the address multiple times, searching for the garden shop Cecilia had written down for her... but it simply didn’t exist. A coffee shop one number before the address was nestled right up next to a bookstore one number after it. No garden shop.
The thought that Cecilia might have lied to Valentine crossed her mind... but to what purpose? If Cecilia had wanted her dead, she’d had the perfect chance to accomplish the deed. Stalling Valentine would only waste what time Percy had left.
Valentine stopped in her tracks on her fourth time down the street.
Of course.
She turned back toward the coffee shop, and opened her Witchsight.
Dense briars climbed the building, tangled thickly along its walls. Snow white roses blossomed between sharp-looking thorns, casting an illusory scent across the night air. Capricorn magic was the stuff of dark, dead earth and not living growth... but it was still a cousin to other earth signs. Valentine knew the feel of a Taurus witch’s magic, even if she didn’t entirely understand it.
She’s hidden her shop away from anything supernatural, Valentine thought. A natural precaution.
The wards were strong and subtle. Valentine wasn’t certain how easily she might break through them — but just the sight of those white roses sent a thrill of triumph through her. They were almost certainly a signpost signalling that she’d found the correct Elaine Halstead.
All she had to do now was convince the woman to give up whatever she’d stolen from Blackfrost. It was unlikely to be a friendly conversation, of course — a witch once trapped by wicked faeries was unlikely to look favorably upon a warlock like Valentine. But Valentine was rather an expert in unfriendly conversations by now.
She leaned herself against the door just outside the coffee shop, considering her plans. Halstead was either already inside, or else she’d be coming by to go inside by morning. Either way, Valentine could wait for her.
Valentine had nothing of value with which to bargain — her only hope lay in putting the other woman at such a frightful disadvantage that she felt obliged to offer up her secrets. She would need to hit the woman hard and fast to keep her from retreating behind her wards; a witch that skilled would be nearly inaccessible within her own place of business.
Valentine settled in, prepared to wait the night out. As it turned out, however, she spent only an hour or so longer standing in the cold before a slim, dark-haired woman in a long black coat came clipping down the street toward her.
It was hard to tell, in the cold reality of the Lower World, whether any magic clung to her. Was Valentine looking at the White Rose of Blackfrost, or was it just some woman out for a late coffee with friends? As the other woman neared, and details became clearer, Valentine saw that she was elegantly made up. Smoky eyeliner outlined her dark green eyes; her high cheekbones were brushed with a faint pink blush, her black hair pinned up neatly behind her head.
A sharp stab of envy hit Valentine so unexpectedly that she had to catch her breath.
Elaine Halstead had killed her tormentor and won her freedom — utterly. Was this her? She was so perfectly composed, without even a hair out of place. She’d probably woken up that morning and showered like a normal human being, putting on whatever clothes she liked. Her hair wasn’t just neatly-brushed — it was long and beautiful and styled. Her face had a classic beauty, unbothered by misery. She probably had plenty of admirers, none of whom she had to worry about accidentally luring into stupid bargains with dreadful faerie lords—
The other woman stopped abruptly in the middle of the sidewalk. Valentine stiffened, wondering if she’d been seen... but her target pulled a phone from the pocket of her coat, glancing down toward the screen. Her lips curved into a faint frown, and she began to tap out an answer to something on the phone.
