Mandy was waiting. My fingers found the bottom button of my shirt and began to pluck at it nervously.
“I awoke, and you were gone. I found you over the lake, er, spinning.”
“Spinning? Like a top?”
I shook my head. “Like a gale. Like a windstorm that would consume the world.”
“There was the mist,” he said abruptly. “And the funnel of water.”
I glanced back at him. The fierce look hadn’t faded, but now it was directed at me.
“That’s right. And then we—we danced a little.”
“We did?”
I shrugged, embarrassed. I’d never danced with a boy before. All my lessons at Iverson had partnered me with Stella, because we were closest in height, and we’d had to take turns at playing the man. To be granted permission to dance in public was one of the most coveted ambitions of any young woman of any class. But to have your first-ever dance be with a genuine lord, no matter what form we’d had at the time—
I was sorry then that I wouldn’t be able to tell anyone about it. I jolly well would’ve enjoyed the expression on Stella’s face. It might even have made up for all the times she’d trod on my toes.
“Rather a dance,” I amended. “That’s what I’d call it, anyway. You don’t remember flying?”
He sat up, his brows knit. Blots of mud stained the back of his shirt, too. “I remember the pain. I remember tearing about, unable to …”
I tugged and tugged at the button.
“I remember the colors of the stars. How they were every color I’d ever seen, and more. Colors I can’t even name.” That hint of slow wonder crept back into his tone. “How exquisite they were. How they sang, and how I hoped they’d never stop.”
“What did they sing to you?”
“Just come.”
“Oh.”
He looked at me askance from beneath those black lashes. “I remember you as well. Now I do. I remember sensing you below me. Wanting to be with you so badly that I ached. Even more than the pain—more than the songs—I ached. And then it happened. I came down and we …” The crooked smile returned. “As you said, Lora. We danced.”
The button popped free. I cupped it in the heart of my palm.
Armand said, “I suppose I wanted it badly enough, eh? To be with you. To live. That’s what saved me.”
“Yes,” I said. “That must have been it.”
At Blisshaven, at Moor Gate, I used to make bargains with myself all the time. Lonely little if this, then that deals to help me endure.
If I keep my shirtwaist clean all day, I can read an extra chapter of my book tonight.
If I can dodge Billy Patrick’s pinches, I can think about my parents before going to sleep.
If I can snatch a piece of bread at tea, I can pretend it’s cake. White cake, with pink and silver frosting.
If I make it past Lizzie and her lot down the hall, I can imagine I’m the queen. They’ll be my slaves.
If I live through this session with The Machine, I’ll find a way out of here. Tonight I’ll find a way out.
If I don’t mention my pact with the stars to Armand or anyone else, never ever, I can stay a while longer. Exist a while longer.
Perchance we never really outgrow our childhoods. Not the worst of them.
Chapter 26
Mr. Hunter kept a trunk full of spare clothing in the second bedroom. He was a bigger bloke than either of us, but we both got fresh shirts and trousers, and Armand a new leather coat. They were winter clothes, woolens and heavy twills, but I thought that a good thing. The sky was a much colder place than the ground, even in high summer.
Armand had gone through every book in the case searching for clues about where we were and had come up empty-handed.
“Philosophy, agriculture, crime novels. Quite a few monographs on waterfowl and guns.”
“Imagine that,” I said, gnawing at the last strip of venison.
“But this chap hasn’t kept so much as a scrap of newspaper, local or otherwise. We could be anywhere.”
“Anywhere in Germany,” I corrected him.
He was seated by the crystal goblets, a book in each hand. Splintered light from the goblets threw prisms across him, across the pages of the books. He frowned down at them, then up at me.
“Right. Anywhere in Germany. But until we figure out exactly where, we don’t know which way to go to reach Schloss des Mondes.”
“I’ll Turn to smoke and locate the nearest village. Sneak down there, find a daily or a placard, something with a name on it, then come back to you. Will that help?”
“It might,” he said, “except that it won’t be necessary, since I’m coming with you.”
“You can’t. I can’t travel as a dragon in daylight, Armand, and I don’t think either of us is up for another hours-long hike through the woods.”
His brows arched. He looked at me without speaking.
“And you can’t Turn!” I burst out, more strongly than I’d meant to. “I mean, it’s too soon for you,” I added, calmer. “There’s likely to be more pain, isn’t there? And what if you can’t hold it? What if you Turn back in midair? What am I supposed to do then?”
“What if you can’t hold it?” he countered, closing both books.
“I’m better at this than you are!”
“Only more practiced.”
“Precisely.” I folded my arms across my chest. “So I’m the obvious choice to go.”
“No. We’re a pair, remember? We stick together. That’s the way it’s meant to be.”
I laughed, but it was mostly angry. “You can’t stop me from doing what I want.”
“And,” he said quietly, rising to his feet, “you cannot stop me, either, Eleanore. Not any longer.”
Stalemate. This was my thanks for sacrificing my life for his. He’d survived one Turn and was now convinced he was the master of it. Born into wealth, coddled by society, Lord Armand had always been granted power over whatever—or whomever—he desired. How could I have forgotten it?
We glared at each other as the light grew softer and the prisms laid their rainbows long across the empty chair.
“What if you Turn into a dragon?” I asked. “Right there, in the middle of town. What if that happens, your mighty lordship?”
It had taken days after my first Turn into smoke to make myself a dragon. It might be the same for Armand. It might not. I’d thought the world topsy-turvy last night. Today it was positively upside down, inside out, and sideways.
“Then let’s hope I’m as lovely a dragon as you are,” he replied. “I’ll stun them into submission with my overwhelming splendor.”
“You’re cracked.”
“No.” He came forward, took up my hand. I half expected him to kiss it, shake it, something—but he only held on. “Merely stubborn. Heart-kin to you.”
Heart-kin. Kin of the heart.
Was that why I was so afraid for him?
The nearest village seemed very near indeed, especially from the air. It lay approximately ten miles beyond the opposite shore of the lake, an attractive collection of brick buildings and cobblestone lanes. In its middle was a wide, fine square with a statue of a man holding aloft something that might have been a club.
We floated over it, two patches of haze against the blue sky, absolutely unnoticed.
I’d made Armand Turn twice at the lodge before we’d left. He’d been right, of course: Now that he could transform into smoke, I couldn’t truly stop him from following me anywhere, but at least he’d decided to humor me and practice the Turns.