“Yes. But I doubt any of the shifters of your acquaintance—and they must be few, since they are generally despised by your kind—would be so impolitic as to snack on one of your illusions.”
“My kind? Why, Millicent, you wound me.”
“Perhaps. Even guessing what I am, you still befriended me. But I rather imagine your parents would not approve of me.”
“They are old-fashioned… yes, you are right. And you have made your point. I shall not interrupt you again, and I will keep my skepticism in check. Will that do?”
Millicent really liked this girl. How wonderful it would be to have her as a true friend… But she rather doubted Claire would want to continue the association once she told her story. The girl’s good character could tolerate only so much, after all. Millicent took a deep breath and rejoined Claire, but this time took a seat opposite in an ornate chair carved with gilded cherubs.
Lady Yardley did not protest. But she waved her hand at Millicent’s face, then at the bloody carcass near the window. The bloody remains disappeared, and Millicent assumed her mouth had been cleaned as well, for Claire gave a nod of satisfaction.
Millicent told her story from the beginning: how she had grown up in the Underground; how the duke had used Nell to blackmail her to find the relic for him. She left out the parts about her and Gareth, only indicating that they had developed a sort of friendship. She did not leave out the part about Nell’s death, despite how difficult she found the telling. She had to make Claire understand that the duke was a dangerous man, and had a ruthless side to him within the Underground.
By the time Millicent finished speaking, her voice had grown hoarse and she finally allowed herself a sip of tea. It had grown cold.
Claire continued to stare at her in the ensuing silence. A peacock screamed again. “Well,” she finally said. “It is obvious you believe every word of this. I would think you under a spell, except for your immunity to magic. So I must conclude that you are mad.”
Millicent blinked.
“Willie? Using black magic? Consorting with were-vampires in the Underground? I must admit, it is a little odd that the queen has suddenly developed a fondness for the Duke of Ghoulston, but as he says himself, there is no accounting for the vagaries of love.”
“It has taken effect already?” murmured Millicent.
“Oh, come now! You know perfectly well the queen’s food and drink are tested and tasted by the most gifted magicians—that the royal family themselves possess the strongest magic in all of England. Would you truly have me believe she would partake of a love potion and not know it?”
“Claire… Lady Yardley. I know how outlandish it sounds. But remember. There is no magic in the kingdom that can counter the power of Merlin himself. And that power is contained in the relic. And Gareth—the magic man, has been trapped inside of one for centuries. It is entirely feasible that his blood has become infused with the power of the relic.”
“Yes, but… oh, Millicent. Even if I believe you, who would believe me if I told such a tale?”
“The Master of the Hall of Mages.”
Claire rose, began to pace the floor, her slippers swishing softly against the parquet. “I have met the Duke of Sussex only briefly. He sees me as a young girl who is too flighty to even control her own magic. I’m not even sure he would grant me an audience… you cannot imagine how many difficulties of a magical nature occur in England on a daily basis. And I have no evidence of what you are saying.”
Millicent suppressed a grin of triumph. Claire had quickly gone from concluding Millicent insane to considering the possibility of presenting the story to the master. “I can help on both accounts.”
Lady Yardley paused, her gown twirling about her, a few auburn curls dangling from her coiffure tumbling about her aristocratic cheeks. Even in her agitation, she looked every inch the lady. She found Millicent’s story difficult to believe, because the concept of such evil was foreign to her. The lady radiated a goodness Millicent could never hope to achieve.
Millicent opened her reticule and pulled out the relic. The smile faded from her face as the moonstone within the bracelet caught the sunlight streaming in through the windows and reflected it within the gem, making it swirl and glow and change color. Just as Gareth’s eyes and hair had a tendency to change color in different light.
“If you bring the master this, I believe he will grant you an audience. For weeks, he has been pestering me with his spies to obtain it.”
Claire covered her mouth with her slender hand. “Oh, no. I do not want it. Give it back to Lady Chatterly.”
“It is not hers,” snapped Millicent. “He—it belongs to no one. Not yet.” She gulped a breath. She did not think this would be so difficult. But something inside her chest ached so hard she could barely think. “If anyone could break his curse, Lady Yardley, it would be you. You are goodness and light and elegance. And he must be given the chance to be free. You cannot imagine what it is like to be trapped in a cage not of your own making.”
Claire slowly reached out a hand, as if she could not resist such temptation. “Is it true he makes your every fantasy come true?”
Millicent closed her eyes for a brief moment. “Yes. That, and more. When he comes to you at midnight, he will confirm everything I have said to you. And then… after…” Her voice broke. She could not stop the low growl of her beast that followed. Panthers mated for life. She could not hand over their soul mate to another woman. She could not… “You and Gareth can go to the master, and then he will believe you. And then Ghoulston will get the punishment he deserves.”
Claire stepped forward, her eyes on the bracelet as if entranced, and Millicent had to force herself to hold it out to her. The gem winked and swirled with milky color as Claire slid it on her arm. She held it there for a moment, but it did not tighten.
Millicent’s heart soared, and she fought against the rush of feeling. She thought Claire would surely be the one to break the enchantment… and had hoped she wasn’t. She must stop these conflicting thoughts. If the relic did not choose someone, Gareth would be trapped forever.
“It does not want me,” said Claire.
Millicent tried to keep calm and self-assured. “Then you must give it to another woman after you have convinced Lord Sussex of Ghoulston’s evil plan. When Sir Gareth appears, you can explain to him what I have done. You can tell him the relic must be given a chance to choose another…” But she could not manage it. Her voice broke and she could not utter another foul word.
“Millicent?”
Millicent stood, nearly knocking over the tea tray. “Tell him… tell him I am sorry.” And she fled the room. Her eyes stayed dry—she had resolved never to cry again—but a sort of haze blinded her as she ran through the hall and out the door. The white peacocks that stood sentinel on the portico screeched out their staccato cries behind her as she ran for the carriage, and another flash of tiny wings blurred somewhere off to her left. Millicent did not wait for the coachman to lower the steps. She flung open the door and leaped into the shelter of the dim interior.
The carriage lurched forward; Millicent collapsed against the cushions. She stared blindly at a tear in the upholstery of the seat opposite her. She had done it. She had set Gareth free, or at least, on a path where he could seek his freedom again. She felt happy for him, somewhere deep inside, but her misery at never seeing him again overshadowed it for the moment.
But she had done the right thing. And the Duke of Ghoulston would pay for his crimes. And Millicent would return to the Underground, among the forgotten, where she belonged.
If she had not been so sunk in misery, she might have realized sooner that the path they took back to Lady Roseus’s town home differed greatly from the one they had taken earlier, and perhaps the lady’s frantic waving as she’d departed meant something more. She would have been alert when the coach slowed down in a deserted mew.