C
HAPTER
21
R
ecognition jolted through me as we appeared outside the Water Arcs’ House—a sprawling, white-columned mansion hidden behind topiaries. I’d seen it before in a picture Verity had taken while she was living here. I had a quick moment of vertigo. She’d known this house, spent time training here. Made friends, perhaps. I wondered if there was any trace of her left inside.
It’s so strange, the way grief alters you. At first it’s deafening, discordant, obscuring everything else. Nothing makes sense, because nothing can get through. And then the noise shifts to an accompaniment, off-key but not overwhelming. And then it blends into the background, altering the tenor of your life but not the central melody. And then something happens, and you’re back to the beginning, the cacophony of loss blotting out the world again.
Suddenly, desperately, I missed Verity so much my lungs were crushed by it, and I grabbed the fence for support. I needed her here with me. Not because she’d tell me what to do—although she would, because she always did—but because she’d stick by me. She’d understand, and right now, she might have been the only person on earth who would. Everyone else’s perspective was skewed, but Verity would have seen it from my point of view. And she would have stood by me as I figured it out.
Instead, she was gone. I was alone, no matter that Luc’s hand rested on the small of my back, our connection thin but bright. This house was the last place she’d lived. And if it didn’t carry Verity’s imprint, because her time here had been a single summer, it certainly carried Evangeline’s—everything about it had a refined opulence. The lawn lush and perfectly cut, the seashells in the walkways raked smooth. A reflecting pond at one end of the lawn, a fountain at another. Gardenia blossoms, creamy white and rich with scent, covered the shrubs lining the fence.
The pressure of Luc’s hand at my back increased, just the faintest touch. “Go ahead,” he told me. “Open the gate.”
“Isn’t it locked?”
“It’s spelled. But you’re a member of the House, so it’ll let you in. Since we’re bound, I’m your plus one.”
“What about the Quartoren?”
“Special invitation only, because it’s the Succession. Hold on a minute.”
Swiftly, he opened up a pocket of Between and pulled out the cloth-wrapped dagger, offering it to me handle first.
“I need a weapon?”
“Doubtful. But I won’t be able to cast anything once we’re inside, and I don’t much enjoy the notion of not having a weapon at hand.”
“You carry it, then.”
“Walk into another House armed? I wouldn’t be walking out under my own power. You hold on to it, I’ll hold on to you, and everything will go smooth as silk.”
In my experience, those words presaged disaster. Every time. Still, I took the blade from him, loosening the cloth enough to inspect the symbols inscribed along the silver handle. It wasn’t a large weapon, but it was heavy. I’d seen how sharp it was when I used it on Anton.
Very carefully, I rewrapped the blade and held it away from my body. “What now?”
“Open the gate.”
I stretched out my hand, snatched it back, tried again. At the faintest pressure of my fingers against the iron, the magic seemed to thrill, unfurling with a sort of exuberance, and the gate flew open, so hard that it rebounded off the fence and swung back at us.
Luc stopped it with a well-placed foot. “Wouldn’t hurt to dial it down a bit.”
I scowled at him and stepped through. A few feet away, a burbling stream circled the house and grounds, the water crystalline even in the moonlight. “They have a moat,” I said.
He crouched and held a hand over the water. Instantly, it surged up, blue energy swirling at the very edge, and he winced, shaking his fingers as if they stung. “Well, isn’t that fine,” he said caustically.
“You don’t have a moat.” I hid a smile.
“Don’t need a moat. Too show-offy.”
“Totally. You never show off. There’s got to be a way around it, though.” I crouched down, expecting the same reaction he’d gotten. But my hand slipped easily into the cool water, and I let it rush through my fingers, the magic feeling perfectly at ease. “It feels nice.”
He knelt next to me and stuck his hand out—again, the water roiled up. He laced his hand with mine, and it calmed.
“It only lets me touch it if I’m touching you,” he said. “Take off your shoes.”
“Seriously?”
“It’s too wide to jump over, so we can take off our shoes and wade through, or you can ruin a perfectly nice-lookin’ pair of boots.” He tugged off his own shoes—expensive-looking black leather—and tucked them under one arm, then crooked an elbow at me. “Best not to show up late. Doesn’t exactly engender goodwill, you know?”
I pulled off my boots, tucked the dagger inside, and laid a hand on his arm. These days, I needed all the goodwill I could get.
The water was bracingly cold, and the soles of my feet tingled as the magic reacted to the line winding its way through the stream. Three steps later, we were on the other side, putting our shoes back on.
“You want this back now?” I tried to hand him the cloth-wrapped dagger, but he held up his hands in refusal.
“Told you, I can’t carry a weapon here. Just ... put it inside your boot.”
Sure. That would work, right up until the moment I sliced my calf wide open.
But I did it, anyway, feeling the blunted outline of the knife against my leg. Slowly, we made our way across the lawn, past elaborate fountains and a koi pond, up the graceful sweep of the front porch. At Luc’s nod, I rapped on the door, the crystalline door knocker heavy in my hand.
The door swung open. Inside, the Quartoren stood stiffly, each wearing a ceremonial cloak. Only Dominic looked moderately at ease, but even he seemed ever-so-slightly diminished. Still powerful, but in a crafty way, lean and hungry instead of bold and assured.
Across from them stood three other Arcs, all wearing the pale blue of the Marais, the Water Arcs. They glided forward, and the leader—an Asian woman, her hair a straight midnight fall with one cobalt streak, spoke.
“You are the Vessel and her companion.”
“I am,” I said. Every time someone addressed me that way, it was a little easier to answer yes. The title rested just a little more comfortably. I wasn’t sure what that meant—was I growing into the role, or giving up myself? “I’m Maura Fitzgerald.”
“I am Sabine Levaret. This is Iris.” She indicated another woman standing nearby. “And Joshua.” A portly older man nodded his head. All three wore the same sharp, inquisitive expression I’d grown accustomed to seeing on Pascal. “We are the mages of the Marais, and we welcome you.”
Mages were the scholars and scientists of the Arcs. It made sense that they would be the ones presiding over a ceremony to choose the next leader—they had tradition and knowledge on their side, and judging from the hum of energy that came from all three, considerable power, too.
“Thank you,” I murmured, feeling conspicuous and childish in my jeans and cardigan. We’d stopped at home so I could ditch my uniform, but now I wished I’d chosen something a little nicer.
“Lucien.” Sabine greeted Luc with a bland smile, a subtle reminder that his status here was insignificant. Then she turned back to me. “The rest of our members are gathered outside. Are you ready?”
I glanced at Dominic, who gave the merest hint of a nod. “I think so. I don’t have a cloak anymore. Is that a problem?”
“We have one for you.”
Iris stepped forward, holding out a mass of pale blue silk. My old one had been white, and I gave Sabine a questioning look.
She smiled gently. “Here, today, you are a Marais.”
I shook it out, the material weighty even before I put it on. As I slipped it over my shoulders, Luc stepped forward to help me adjust it.
“The clasp,” I said, fumbling with the golden circles.
Luc lifted a hand, a gesture of helplessness. “No magic here,” he reminded me.
Sabine stepped forward. “Allow me.”
At her touch, the two halves of the circles melted together. With one final tug, I managed to straighten the robe.
“How do I look?” I asked Luc.
“Like you’re about to change the world,” he said.
“No robe for you?”
“I’m just a bystander. No need to get dressed up.”
Sabine cleared her throat and extended an arm toward the hallway. “Shall we begin?”
As we walked, she said, “You must stand with us today, not the Quartoren.”
“But we’ll enter together,” Orla said firmly. “We’re trying to send a message, after all.”
Luc murmured, “Stay to the side, Mouse. As close to me as you can.”
Sabine continued as if she couldn’t care less about the Quartoren’s message. Probably she didn’t. I kind of liked that about her. “We will open the ceremony with the traditional invocation, call forward those who wish to be tested, and pronounce them candidates before their people. Your part is fairly small—the standard responses to the spells—but I would imagine people will be paying attention. I was told you’ve been practicing the necessary responses?”
I vowed to myself that if I made it through today’s ceremony without offending most of the people in the room, I’d be much nicer to Niobe.
“I can manage.”
Behind me, Luc made a sound between a snort and a cough.
The mages led us through sitting rooms, a library, and a massive dining room before stopping inside an immense ballroom. The far wall was made entirely of French doors, and through the wavery glass, hundreds of tiny lights glowed, like miniature moons.
In a voice so soft the Quartoren couldn’t overhear, Sabine said, “The Marais’ future rests in the events that begin tonight. Your future resides here as well, to some degree. We do not profess to fully understand your connection to the source of all magic, but we are aware of the power it grants you. Please make sure to use it wisely tonight, for all our sakes.”
I didn’t bother to explain that I couldn’t use it at all. “I’ll do my best.”
She looked dubious, but it was all I could promise. The mages took their places at the central three doors. Luc gave my hand a quick, encouraging squeeze and then followed the Quartoren to another door in the far corner of the room. They slipped outside, leaving me alone with the three Water Arcs.
At some unseen signal, the doors opened, and the mages stepped through in unison. I followed Sabine through the middle door.
The sight outside was almost enough to send me running back through the building. The entire lawn was crammed with Arcs, a sea of blue silk and suspicion. I shrank back, but Sabine turned and caught my eye. Iris and Joshua flanked me, and there was no escape. So I lifted my chin and walked down the veranda steps, to the edge of the crowd, in clear view of Luc.
The mages stopped behind a marble-topped table. In the center rested a glass pen, an inkpot, and a parchment scroll.
I couldn’t read what it said, but I didn’t need to. Thanks to Niobe’s lessons, I already knew it decreed that the names affixed to the sheet were candidates for Matriarch or Patriarch. If selected, they swore to serve the House before all others and be a steward of the magic until their death.
The Houses were hereditary, Niobe had explained—Luc’s had been the House of DeFoudre since the beginning of time, one long, unbroken strand of successions. But if prophecy or death resulted in a new family being elevated, the name of the House changed. After this ceremony, the House of Marais would be no longer. The person who was elevated didn’t change just their own life, but the life of their descendents.
“Welcome,” Sabine called to the crowd. She stretched out her arms, palms up, and began the chant that opened the ceremony. The Arcs responded, and I followed along, the words strange and unwieldy despite all my practice.
I glanced at Luc, who mouthed the words, and I tried to mimic him. But most of the Arcs were concentrating on me, not the ceremony, and the attention made me feel clammy, nearly sick. The only way to cope was to close my eyes, blocking out everyone. I envisioned the words of the invocation written on the blackboards at school, shimmering faintly with power, like stars at twilight. My tongue loosened as I grew more comfortable, and the magic responded by spreading through my body with a soothing warmth.
According to Niobe, these words were a warning about the solemnity of the occasion, the seriousness of the task. It struck me that so little in the Arcs’ world was changeable—Bindings, Covenants, and now Successions—everything they did was permanent and unyielding. Was it because they possessed so much power they couldn’t act lightly? Or because they believed their actions were dictated by fate and therefore infallible?
As I continued chanting, the magic gathering strength within me, someone in the crowd gasped. Murmurs quickly built and crested, like waves at high tide. I broke off mid-sentence and opened my eyes to see what the problem was—and saw my own skin, luminous in the darkness, the brightest light centered painlessly in my palms.