Bacchus nodded.
In an abrupt burst of anger, she wheeled on her guard and said, “For heaven’s sake, you could have said something!”
The man shrugged indifferently before heading back inside.
Suddenly weary, Elsie’s knees buckled. She sat on the steps, landing hard. Bacchus, bless him, tried to catch her, but he wasn’t quite quick enough. Instead, he sat beside her.
“I-I don’t believe it.” She rubbed her wrists, studied her hands. Was very aware of Bacchus’s closeness, for that side of her grew almost uncomfortably warm. “Wh-What did you say? I mean, thank you.” She let out a short, heavy breath. “Thank you. But what did you say? Has Ogden . . . ?”
“I haven’t heard from him.” His tone was low and measured, careful. “First, I want to ensure you can easily reach me if anything like this happens again.” He reached into the pocket in the lining of his jacket and pulled out two pencils. As he turned one over in his fingers, the wood glimmered and turned a warm shade of green. He focused on the pencils only for a second before handing the green one to her.
Elsie accepted the strange gift hesitantly. Had he known green was her favorite color? She turned it over in her hands, noting that when she did so, the other pencil jerked in his fingers in a similar fashion.
“They’re connected by a spell,” he explained, carefully returning his pencil to his jacket pocket. Elsie’s shifted slightly as he did so. “Leave it home on a piece of paper. If you need to contact me, whatever you write down will transfer to my end.”
She blinked. “How smart. And much less expensive than a telegram.” She would have to be careful with it so she didn’t accidentally stab Bacchus or scribble graphite all over his clothing. There was something reassuring about the gift, about the connection it gave her to him. She ran her thumb over the tiny blue rune only a spellbreaker could see, and a smile touched her lips.
“Second . . . there were some caveats to your release.”
She straightened. “I’m listening.”
“You’ll be required to register.”
She nodded. “Of course.”
“And train under another spellbreaker.”
Elsie paused. Opened her mouth, closed it. She’d been spellbreaking for ten years. She’d broken spells as they were conjured, even! To submit to training . . .
There was a strain in Bacchus’s eyes, and her resistance immediately evaporated. “Yes, that makes sense.”
Softer, he said, “I convinced the magistrate you discovered your abilities only a month ago. You’ll need to act the part.”
Only a month ago. “I can play along.” A shiver coursed up her spine and tickled her hair. She slouched. “Oh, Bacchus, thank you.” She reached for his hand and squeezed it. “I don’t know . . . I was so afraid.”
His lip quirked in the semblance of a smile, but there was something about his expression that made her uneasy. “What?” she asked, then blanched. “Bacchus, what did you do? Did you pay some unlordly fine?” She would get a second job to pay him back if she had to. Sell anything she had of value . . .
He shook his head and stood, taking her elbow to help her up as well. The delight she felt when he strung her arm through his didn’t fully banish her fear. He still hadn’t answered her. As he began walking through the bailey, toward the exit, she tried again, quieter. “Bacchus?”
“There is . . . one other caveat.” He nodded to a passing guard.
Elsie worried her lip, waiting for him to explain. When he didn’t, she pressed. “What?”
They reached the exterior doors and waited for two guards to open them. They passed through, and an invisible weight lifted from her. Everything felt cleaner and greener and more open. But Bacchus still didn’t answer. He escorted her over the grounds, short bursts of clover and gravel passing under their feet. A carriage Elsie recognized as the Duke of Kent’s waited down at the road, four black horses tethered to it.
Dread filled Elsie like tar. What had Bacchus given up to free her? Money? Lands? His mastership? What could it be?
This was it. Surely his silence was out of anger, or maybe distaste. Perhaps the worst had happened, and Bacchus had discovered her flaw—the quality that made her so distasteful to others—or the system had found it for him. This could be goodbye. She’d be free, but Bacchus . . .
Tears stung her eyes, and she forced them back. Don’t think about it. Just smile and nod, understand. Hold it in until you get home. Then Ogden can erase all of it. You won’t have to feel a thing. Just last a little longer . . .
She bit the inside of her cheek.
Bacchus’s steps slowed, stopped. He dropped her arm. Turned toward her. Elsie tried her best to look cheery and reposed, but found her acting skills had severely waned during her captivity.
He sighed. Gripped her shoulders, his warmth seeping through her sleeves, then suddenly let her go. A feeling of loss seized her. Would that be the last time he ever touched her?
In a voice too weak for her liking, she said, “Bacchus, you’re scaring me.”
He barked a chuckle. “That is my main concern, yes.”
Confused, she waited.
He drew a hand down his face. “I convinced the magistrate that I was a personal witness to your spellbreaking discovery. Because we’ve spent a lot of time together.”
Elsie blinked. “Nothing wrong with that.” It was true.
“Obviously I couldn’t discuss our work arrangement,” he went on. “The witness documents I turned in attest to our . . . courtship. From both the Duke and the Duchess of Kent and Miss Emmeline Pratt.”
She felt the heat work its way up her neck and to her cheeks. She desperately wanted to press her cool fingers to her face, yet such an action would draw Bacchus’s attention to the color. She cleared her throat. “Not so far-fetched.”
He glanced toward the carriage. It wasn’t so far-fetched . . . was it? Or did the idea of a master aspector courting the employee of a stonemason upset him? Her heart gave a quick, unpleasant thud just before he met her eyes once more.
“Elsie.” He looked so uncertain. “I had to sell it, you understand. Convince him of my motivation to be around you. He believes us to be engaged.”
Elsie’s lips parted.
“And.” He hesitated. “Expects to be invited to the wedding.”
She stared at him, again struggling to internalize what he was saying. Engaged? But they weren’t . . . but there was to be a wedding?
She would not faint. Only dramatic damsels fainted.
Bacchus continued, “He led me to believe that his suspicions remain. We must go through with it, Elsie. That is the only way to assuage his doubts.”
Elsie knew she was gawking, but she couldn’t stop herself.
Engaged.
Engaged?
Engaged to Bacchus Kelsey. Master Bacchus Kelsey.
Her numb lips stuttered, “You didn’t . . .” and stopped. You didn’t have to do that, she wanted to say, but he did have to do that if she wanted to walk away from this awful place. And he already had done it. For her.
He was throwing his life away for her.
Oh God, he must hate her.
Her face must have been something to see, for Bacchus notably withdrew into himself. “It won’t be terrible. I’ve already considered . . . We can stay in England, of course.”
“I . . . no. What I mean is . . .” She wrung her hands, searching for words. “I-I’m just surprised, is all. I didn’t expect—”
“Neither did I.”
A laugh escaped her mouth, a nervous sound born of nerves and uncertainty. She tried to reel it back in, but such a thing was impossible. Her stomach growled, and she pressed both hands to it.
“You did it,” she tried, unable to meet his eyes. “You said you’d get me out and you did.” Her organs twisted inside her. “But, Bacchus—”