A hint of something in his voice. Not irony, but something veiled and biting like it.
“Not just for me, then,” I said.
“No.”
“Aubrey,” I realized.
He looked full at me again. “I can’t join up. You know that. After Aubrey left for the Royal Flying Corps my father pulled every string possible to keep me out the fight and stuck in England, so sod him. I’ll stay here—at least for now—but on my terms. Putting those wounded men in Tranquility will be the best thing that’s ever happened to it. Perhaps it’ll even give the place a soul.”
“I’m glad,” I said simply.
“Good.”
… ood-ood-ood …
“Listen,” he said. “You should learn how to swim.”
“Why?”
“We’ll have to cross the Channel on the way to East Prussia. It’s not an insignificant distance. We don’t know what might happen.”
I raised my brows and cocked my head. “ ‘We’?”
“Yes, we,” he replied, irritated. “Of course we. And I’d appreciate it if you refrained from looking at me like that all the time.”
“Like what?” I snapped.
“Like I’m an irksome fly orbiting about your oh-so-marvelous self. Whether you like it or not, Miss Jones, this is a team endeavor, and you and I together make up the team. We can count Jesse in, too, if you like. If that makes it all so much better for you. Oh, and the mad duke as well, of course! Couldn’t do any of this bloody nonsense without him.”
He walked away from me before I could think of a response. He didn’t just leave me alone there in the cavern, though. He placed his hand on the concealed lever that would open the hidden door, but he didn’t leave.
“You’re not a fly,” I muttered.
“A mosquito, then.”
“Mandy, you’re the only person in the world who’s like me.” I spoke quietly, to defeat the echo. “Perhaps a little too like me. And I—I don’t care to learn how to swim. The sea is cold.”
“Tranquility,” he said, without turning around. “There’s a heated swimming bath inside.”
I paused, astonished. “There is?”
“Yes. And a bowling alley. And a gymnasium. Didn’t you know? Nothing but the wildest extravagances for the mad duke.”
“I never called him that.” Out loud.
“You don’t have to. Everyone else does.”
“What do they know? He’s the only one of us gifted with the future by the stars. The only one Jesse talks to.”
“Yes,” said Armand. “The only one.” He sent me a look. “We should go back up.”
“You first. We don’t want to be caught alone together in some deserted dark hall. Westcliffe’ll use any excuse to keep me from you.”
“She can try,” he said.
We weren’t caught, though. Armand vanished into the warren of tunnels, and about five minutes later I did, too, and I didn’t see him again.
The flood of families exiting the castle had slowed to a trickle. There would be a few girls like me who stayed on another night or so, but most of the student population was already gone. The air was choked with the pong of diesel and perfume and sweat, stale beer (from the servants?) underneath. I stepped outside to escape it, walking past the final few automobiles idling on the drive.
Bored chauffeurs puffing on cigarettes looked me up and down. A seagull slung a high, leisurely loop overhead, wings open wide, a hard white chip against the blue.
The motorcar at the front of the line was bright yellow and huge. It needed to be, I presumed, to hold all the stylish Pemingtons and their liveried driver, who was struggling to tie off the last cord binding the trunks in back.
“There you are!”
Sophia crunched across the gravel to me, holding out both hands to take mine like we were the most devoted of confidantes. Chloe and her mother, already seated inside the auto, eyed me suspiciously, probably expecting me to pick her pockets.
“Smile,” she whispered. “They’re watching, aren’t they? Smile like you’ve just won all my money at whist.”
I did, and Sophia smiled in return, laughing, and drew me into a hug.
“How do they look?” she breathed into my ear.
“Like you’ve shamed them for all eternity.”
“Wonderful!” She made a show of touching her lips to my cheek.
“Time to go, pet.” Lord Pemington ambled up from behind, placing a meaty hand on Sophia’s shoulder.
“Yes, Papa. Oh, have you met Miss Jones? Eleanore, my father, Lord Maurice Pemington, Earl of Shot. Papa, Miss Eleanore Jones. She’s the one who’s going to be with Armand all summer.”
“At the hospital,” I added hastily.
“Of course.” Lord Pemington granted me a cursory nod; clearly he had other things to do besides be introduced to a girl from the ghetto, even with Lord Armand’s name invoked. “How do you do, Miss—er—miss. I’m afraid we really must be going, Sophia. You know how your mother dislikes to travel after sundown.”
“I’ll be right there.” Much softer, as he walked to the auto: “And she’s not my mother.”
Sophia glanced back at me, unsmiling now, her blue eyes pale as glaciers.
“Have a grand summer,” I said, because she’d called me friend before, even if it wasn’t true.
“I hope to,” she replied. “I suppose we’ll just have to see.”
She went to rejoin to her family without another look.
Chapter 9
Three lives shine below me. Of the nearly two billion mortal souls churning and sowing and reaping atop the curve of the planet below, most are muddy, lost to me. Only three shine up this far and high, tenuous as candle flames, bright as stars … which is funny, if you think about it.
I do. Think about it, that is.
I can’t deny that I’m lonely without her. I can’t deny, even a little bit, that I wish we were still together, me there below or her up high here, at my side. I never knew that mortal love could be so binding. That having her blocked from me would be so painful.
I try whispering to her, but she doesn’t hear. I try shouting, but that doesn’t work, either. Her dreams remain closed to me, and I don’t know why.
The other two dragons in my care, males who haven’t even mastered the Turn yet, who’ve come nowhere near her glory or power—they hear me. Even their sire does.
Lora doesn’t.
It breaks my heart. It would, I mean, had I a heart still.
But I’m not going to stop singing to her. I can’t. It would be like ceasing to be myself, or plain ceasing to be.
I tell myself that someday she’ll hear.
Gods grant me this prayer, this one hope beyond our celestial realm: Lora-of-the-moon, stop looking down. Lift your eyes skyward. Turn your ears to me. With all the magic I can summon, I command you to hear this serenade. Feel my love, falling rose petals, white-hot tears, comet-tail sparks. All for you.
I miss you, too.
Chapter 10
Play a game with me. Imagine your most perfect home. Imagine everything you could ever dream for it, anything at all. It’s going to be modern and expensive—because you’re filthy rich—polished and fancy, all imported marble and mahogany and stained glass and hand-stamped copper trimming. It’ll be wired for electricity in every chamber, even the servants’ quarters. Its gardens will be tiered and grandiose, its motor stable as cavernous as a cathedral. It will be as huge as you could hope it to be, almost more rooms than you can count, with spires of limestone and wings that go on and on. It will dominate everything around it, and you yourself will have personally designed and presided over every square inch.