Wizard's Masquerade, page 53
Until Finnigan took her hand again, his touch gentle, and she could breathe again.
“I don’t want us to fight,” he murmured.
“Neither do I. I’m just angry after what happened today.”
“I would be, too. I saw you remove the silencing charm from Beatrice.”
“Yes, I had to speak to her. To ask her if she’d killed Bancroft.”
Finnigan frowned. “Why would you think she’d killed Bancroft?”
“Because she said so at her trial. But…” she frowned, tucking loose hair behind her ear. “She denied it on the scaffold. And I asked her if she’d killed the queen, but she never had the chance to answer. Someone must have overrode my order. Did you see who it was?”
“I did, actually. It was Captain Marton.”
Leyna’s eyes widened, but then her shoulders slumped. “That doesn’t tell me much.” The captain was usually slow and measured in his decisions, and wasn’t one for taking initiative. “Did you see who gave him the order?”
Finnigan shook his head. “I’m afraid I only had eyes for you.”
He was exaggerating, but it was a sweet thing to say.
“So, I came to talk to you…” she began. The executions had inflamed her concern for Jill and Toby, and she needed to tell someone to get it off her chest. But she had to be sure she could trust Finnigan. She turned to him in a business-like manner. “Are you in the Brotherhood?”
She was convinced he would finally answer her—it was obvious he wanted to—but when his eyes met hers, there was a world of ‘no’ lurking behind the serene blue.
He said nothing.
She blew the hair out of her face and changed tack. “Well, at least tell me why you’re upset. It’s not because of something I’ve done, is it?”
He straightened. “No, of course not.”
“Then what is it, Finnigan? Please, I can see you’re hurting.”
Finnigan gave a half-smile. “I don’t know how to begin. Or how much I can say.”
“Then say what you can. You can trust me. We’re…we’re a couple now, right?”
It was a bold thing to say, but the tight expression on Finnigan’s face seemed to ease as he met her eyes, flecks of light dancing in the pools of blue.
“Yes,” he said. “I believe we are.”
Holding her gaze, he kneaded her palms, which she suspected was as much a self-soothing motion as it was an affectionate one. She was trying to summon the courage to lean in and kiss him when he spoke.
“Leyna, there’s something I need to tell you.”
“Oh?”
“Or rather, someone that I haven’t told you about.”
She froze, but Finnigan continued to stroke her hand.
“There is someone here at the castle who is very dear to me, and she’s in danger. I fear for her life.”
Leyna’s stomach hardened.
Her? Finnigan had said ‘her.’ Did that mean…?
“Someone who is…dear to you?” she ventured.
“Yes, I’m sorry I haven’t told you, but I had to protect her. I love her, she’s—”
They both flinched as someone knocked on the door.
“Just ignore it,” he murmured, and they sat still.
The knock came again.
“I’ll send whoever it is away,” said Finnigan, rising.
Stunned, Leyna remained seated, her heart thumping as his words echoed in her ears.
She is very dear to me…I love her…
Before Finnigan had reached thingoor, the lock clicked, and it swung open, revealing Professor Fry.
“Cornelius, sweetie,” she greeted, adopting a sing-song voice. “Not using magic to lock your door these days? Getting sloppy!”
Her eyes honed in on Leyna sitting on the edge of the bed.
“Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realise you had company!” Her false tone made Leyna suspect that she’d known she was here. Had Fry followed her? “I hope I’m not interrupting anything?”
“You are, actually,” said Finnigan shortly, which made Leyna look up at him in surprise. She had never heard anyone rebuff Fry so bluntly before. “It’s not a good time, Maisy.”
“Ah, I understand,” the blonde woman said, adjusting her bun while shooting daggers at Leyna from the corner of her eye. “In that case, I’ll come find you another time when you aren’t quite so…busy.”
But Leyna had heard enough. Between Fry showing up unannounced and Finnigan’s heartache for a mystery woman, she didn’t need to be dealing with this right now. It was growing dark, and she needed to have a clear mind for tonight’s mission. She stood up.
“It’s fine. I’m leaving.”
“Please, stay,” said Finnigan, but she shook her head.
“I have other matters to attend to.”
“Oh, I’m sure you do,” simpered Fry, following her out the door. “I’ll walk with you!”
Leyna’s heart sunk. “I thought you were here to see Cornelius?”
“I was, but I’d much rather chat with you, sweetheart. I can come back and speak with our beguiling Cornelius anytime.”
Leyna hated the way she emphasised the word ‘anytime’, and that she was on a first-name basis with him, even if ‘Cornelius’ was just a pseudonym. Out in the corridor, she glanced back at Finnigan, who was standing in the doorway.
‘Stay,’ he mouthed, his eyes calling her back. A second later, Fry slammed the door shut.
“There, now it’s just the two of us,” she said, smiling as if they were two best friends.
“Why are you following me?” Leyna demanded.
“I’m just watching over you, sweetie.”
“On whose orders?”
Fry tilted her head in consideration. “Can’t it simply be because I care?”
Leyna desperately wanted to see the good in Fry, but it was safe to say that Fry cared nothing for her welfare.
“Leave me alone,” she said, stalking away as fast as her leg would allow. The faster she walked, the more pronounced the limp was, and she was torn between moving slowly to disguise it and putting distance between herself and Maisy Fry.
“I’m just curious what you were doing in Cornelius’ room,” smirked Fry, at her heels like a nipping terrier.
“I could ask you the same question,” Leyna muttered.
“Well, if you must know, I came to speak with Cornelius on an important matter—in a professional capacity, mark you. It concerns his uncle.” Fry tilted her head as if to gauge her reaction. “So, I’d say that I have rather more reason to seek out his acquaintance than you do.”
Leyna frowned. Finnigan had never mentioned his relatives before. “Who is Cornelius’ uncle?”
Fry smiled smugly, as if Leyna had asked the very question she was hoping to hear.
“Why, hasn’t he told you yet? Oh, dear. And for a moment, I thought you two were close! Well, if he hasn’t bothered to tell you, then it’s certainly not for me to say.”
Leyna’s nostrils flared.
“And truth be told, sweetheart, I’m rather concerned for you. Our dear Cornelius is not who you think he is.”
Fry was dangling a carrot in front of her. How much did she know about Finnigan? And why did she know more than her?
“And,” continued Fry, “while I may have official business with Cornelius, what you might be doing with him at this time of night, I couldn’t fathom!”
“He’s courting me,” said Leyna. She increased her pace to put some distance between them, but Fry’s voice floated behind her like an annoying fly.
“Courting? With no chaperone? Why, that didn’t look like courting to me! In fact, from an outside perspective, it could be mistaken as something far more scandalous…”
Leyna stopped in her tracks and spun to face Fry.
“Nothing happened,” she growled.
“Oh, I’m sure it didn’t,” said Fry, but her tone was one of disbelief. “But how is one to know? You were both alone for goodness knows how long!”
“Shut it.” She took a step towards the small woman, ready to slap her, but her left leg chose that inopportune moment to wobble.
“Careful, don’t faint again!” she tittered, but ducked out of Leyna’s reach as she swiped at the professor. And then, Fry’s voice changed, the ugliness that she hid from so many others now injected into her words. “I’d be careful if I were you, Leyna. You may have risen up the ladder thanks to your privilege, but I know that you’re neither half as talented, nor half as righteous, as you make yourself out to be.”
“Are you quite finished?” said Leyna, but Fry’s words had rattled her.
“Not quite,” she said, eyes narrowed. “I knew you were an arrogant, selfish, entitled girl the moment I met you. And here you are, parading around on the Royal Guard as if you’re better than the rest of us, when everything has been handed to you on a golden platter. But I’m going to catch you out, little Leyna. Sneaking around with a lord in his bedchamber? You’re a disgrace.”
The last words were full of disgust, and Leyna realised in that moment that nothing she could ever have said or done would have been enough to earn her Maisy Fry’s approval. It was something she wished she’d known a long time ago—a lesson that had needed repeating too many times before sinking in.
Leyna flexed the fingers of her casting hand. Anything short of a fireball was an insufficient reply, but something about Fry’s words paralysed her. Had there been truth to them?
Was she only a wizard because she was born into privilege?
Does that mean I don’t deserve to be a huskarl? Am I really arrogant and selfish?
As her former healing professor strutted away, Leyna’s casting arm remained by her side, useless against an enemy who could deal out death with words alone.
She’d left the jar of rosin on his bed. By the time she remembered, it was too late to go back. What would Finnigan make of it? She tried to distract herself from Grace’s pacing by reading a book, but her gaze slid over the words, rereading the same paragraph.
As dinner time approached, she rang the service bell. Neither of them were hungry, but they needed to eat something before the mission. The minutes passed, but Sophie did not come.
Worried, Leyna went to her parents’ suite to ask after her.
“She went for a walk to find you mint leaves, of all things,” said Lady Saunders huffily, taking her frustration out on her knitting. “But that was this morning! If I’d known she would help herself to a fine day out, then I would never have let her go! She’s probably off seeing that potter of hers.”
“Mamma, Tom is a painter,” Leyna corrected. He and Sophie were saving up so they could have a wedding and start a life together, but she doubted sharing this would bring comfort to her mother, whose knitting was growing more frantic by the second.
“Painter, potter, what difference does it make? She’s left me here, alone!” Her mother’s annoyance fell away, revealing her fear she’d been masking. “They’re saying they might organise a search party for the poor girl. What do you think could have happened to her? Oh no, look—I’ve gone and dropped a stitch!” She shoved her knitting aside. “This has been a wretch of a day!”
“Mamma, I’m sure Sophie will be back soon,” she said, and this seemed to calm her mother a bit.
But returning to her room, Leyna’s skin prickled as she glanced out the dark window. Where are you Sophie?
Midnight drew near, and Leyna and Grace were already in uniform. Grace’s pacing was making her nervous, and she tried to ignore the nervous quivers in her stomach as she waited impatiently for the minutes to tick by.
A soft knock came on the door.
“Lord Brighton!” Grace exclaimed, opening the door wide and curtsying to Finnigan.
“Good evening, Huskarl Grace,” he said. “I understand the hour is late, but I was hoping to speak with Huskarl Leyna, if it’s not too much trouble?”
“Yes, of course, do come in!” Grace ushered Finnigan inside, managing a hint of enthusiasm despite her nerves. “I’ll just be minding my business while you two talk.”
Leyna gestured for Finnigan to follow her into the sitting room.
“How can I help you?” she said formally, sitting at the far end of the chaise.
Something flashed in his eyes. Pain? He hesitated before choosing an armchair. “Leyna, I wanted to apologise for Maisy intruding on us earlier.”
She was glad he’d brought it up first. “What did she want?”
“No idea. She left with you and didn’t come back. If I had to guess, she’s probably just stirring the pot like she usually does.”
She gave him a barbed look. “Does Fry often visit your chambers in the evening?”
Finnigan’s mouth twitched. “Why, Huskarl Leyna…you’re not jealous, are you?”
“It’s a simple question.”
“And it deserves a simple answer,” he conceded. “And the answer is ‘no, not often.’ I generally lock my room, and put a detection ward in place.”
She gaped. “A detection ward? Is that how you knew I’d been in your room the first time?”
“Yes, but…I may have already had a hunch where you were before you tripped it. Or maybe,” he added with a wink, “I just hoped to find you there…”
She smoothed her cloak. “So…are you and Fry close?”
“Hardly. She’s not the most endearing person, as you’ve experienced first-hand, and I’ve had little to do with her over the years, to the point that she hardly recognised me at the Guild. But she keeps my identity a secret, so that counts for something.”
“She’s a horrible woman,” she said, rubbing at her eyes. “By the way, she mentioned something about Cornelius’ uncle.” She raised her eyebrows pointedly. “Care to elaborate?”
He scratched his nose. “It’s a secret.”
“A secret you’re keeping from me, but one that Fry knows,” she muttered, unable to keep the bitterness from her voice.
“A secret Fry will keep to herself, if she knows what’s good for her.”
“Enough. Please. Just tell me. Tell me something about yourself. Who is your uncle?”
She was tired of being kept in the dark.
Finnigan rose from the armchair and scooted to sit beside her.
“You’re right,” he said, taking her hand. “Forgive me. It’s hard because the secrets aren’t solely mine to share.” He frowned down at their hands, then said: “My uncle is none other than the esteemed headmaster of the Wizarding Guild.”
Her mouth fell open. “Master Emsworth?”
“Indeed. Perhaps you can see the resemblance?”
She leant back to examine him. Now that she knew, it was obvious. They had the same narrow face, strong cheekbones and blue eyes. Finnigan even had the same smile lines, except unlike his uncle, he was clean-shaven. They could have been father and son.
“What was that like? Having the headmaster for an uncle?”
It was strange to imagine the headmaster or any of her teachers of being real people with lives and families outside of the Guild.
Finnigan picked up a small carved elephant from a corner shelf and turned it slowly in his hands.
“The fact that he’s my uncle must remain a secret. I can’t risk anyone linking it back to the identity I left behind.”
“It’s funny that you refer to Finnigan as an identity,” she pointed out.
“Is it?” His brow furrowed. “Well, I suppose it is. I don’t get to be me very often, you see. Except with a few close friends that I trust and, of late, with you. Which is rather refreshing.”
He shrugged, his attention still on the carved sculpture.
“ I thought spies didn’t trust anyone?”
“That’s where you’re wrong. A spy who doesn’t trust anyone won’t last long. It’s who you trust that’s critical.” He turned the elephant one more time before placing it back on the shelf.
A soft knock sounded, and Grace opened the door a fraction.
“Leyna? Seth is here. I invited him to come with us tonight. Is that alright?”
Leyna sprang up. “What?”
The door swung wider, revealing a servant boy the same height as Grace who was peering at them curiously. It took Leyna a moment to recognise Seth in the plain garb, his curly brown hair hidden beneath a woollen cap.
“No, it’s not alright. It’s not a good idea.” It was a stupid idea. Going down to the dungeon with the prince in tow would not only arouse more suspicion, but potentially place Seth in harm’s way. She glanced at Finnigan, but his face revealed nothing but polite curiosity.
“I won’t get in the way, I promise,” said Seth earnestly. “Are you coming with us, Cornelius?”
Finnigan cast a good-natured smile at everyone before his gaze settled on Leyna. “Why, I don’t know. Am I?”
Leyna turned to Grace warily. “This is not what we discussed.”
“Sorry. Of course, it’s up to you—but I’d really like it if Seth could come with us.”
“Why?” she demanded. Was Grace hoping to convince the prince that Quinn was innocent? Did she think Seth would hold some sway over the trial?
She could be right.
“I just want him there,” she said. “He’s my friend as well.”
Without waiting for her answer, Grace retreated and shut the door. Leyna rested her face in her hands.
“Well, that was interesting,” mused Finnigan, pressing his fingertips together. “Why do I get the sense you’re all up to something? Not sneaking off to a party without inviting me, are you?”
Leyna gave Finnigan a summary of their plan to go down to the dungeon. He listened intently, his expression growing more pensive as she spoke.
“And you’re doing all of that just so Grace can visit Quinn?” asked Finnigan.
“Yes.” She glanced down at her hands. “Do you think it foolish?”
Finnigan shook his head with a smile. “No, not foolish. It’s kind-hearted…”
“Thank you.”
“…and kind of pointless.”
She blinked. “Pointless?”
“Yes. If you’re going to all that trouble for someone you believe is innocent, then why not help them escape while you’re at it?”
She shook her head in disbelief. “Not you, too! Look…” She leant forward and lowered her voice. “I don’t know whether Quinn is innocent or guilty. All I know is that he confessed to the crime, and there’s evidence against him. This is my only chance to speak with him before the trial…and it could be Grace’s last chance to see him. And she’s my friend, so…I’m bending the rules to make that happen…but that’s it.”
