The Tower of the Forgotten (8 page)

"What
has he done with you two? Lessons? Anything like that?"

The
boy shrugged. "He pays more attention
to her. She has the magic. He says he is saving me for something different."

"Saving
you? What, like a postage stamp?"

Kendrick
shrugged. "Don’t know. But he’s going to burn her out if he isn’t careful. And I can’t let that happen. I
just don’t know how to stop him yet."

"I
can help there, I think."

"If
anyone in the world can, it’s you, Mistress Gyony."

"Oh,
please, call me Portia. Titles are ridiculous."
She smiled but could not banish the worry from her eyes.

"You
should go back to your room," Kendrick whispered. "One of the maids will be up soon to bring your breakfast,
and she’ll report everything back to Lord Alaric.
And our governess will be here to fetch us for lessons soon."

"Governess?"

"Lady
Gelender Edulica. Not at all like Lord Emile. She’s
loathsome, we hate her."

"I’m so sorry, my dear, you’ve gone from one cage
into another. I never thought it would be so."

"At
least I’m awake."

Portia
patted his shoulder. "A silver lining."

"I
swear I won’t tell anyone you spoke
to me, but I can’t guarantee that he won’t find out anyway."

"That’s all right. Thank you."

Back
in the hallway, the household sounds had doubled. Portia hurried back to her
room, where Imogen still lay sleeping with the axe tucked under her arm. Portia
hopped into bed as someone rapped loudly on the door before swinging it open.

The
woman who entered was not Matilda, but a formidable strawberry blonde with a
sewing basket in one hand and bundled fabric in the other.

"I
don’t sew for slatterns!" Her announcement jolted Imogen awake straightaway.

"His
lordship ordered something suitable for you two."
She flung the bundle at the foot of the bed.

Matilda
curtsied. "This is Favrielle. She’s from the City of the Holy Cross. A very famous clothier."

"
The
famous
clothier. Atelier, if you will." She crossed her arms. "Now get your lazy bones
out of bed and put this on. I came all the way here for one thing and one thing
only, to alter these to make you presentable."

Portia stepped out of bed and stretched,
her wings spreading wide. Favrielle did not so much as blink at them.

"He
said you were both tall. All of you angel-folk are tall. Lucky thing I planned
for that."

Lord
Alaric was obviously a man concerned with image, even though he lived quite
secluded from society. Soon, Portia stood before Favrielle’s scrutinizing gaze in her wide-legged trousers and
mandarin-collared tunic over a close-fitting chemise that had the shoulders cut
away in what the atelier called a racer-back style. The loose tunic covered her
wings almost entirely but had deep pleats falling from the shoulders gave her
room to spread them wide without disturbing the garment. Three-quarter-length
sleeves allowed her to handle her axe without much encumbrance. She could not
have designed a better ensemble for herself if she had tried. Although she
thought the crisp, garnet silk was a bit elaborate, she liked the way it moved
and felt. The color bothered her some. Red felt like a target…or a sacrifice.

Imogen
came away with a similar set of trousers that looked much like a divided skirt
in a similar weight of sage green silk, and an ivory shirtwaist that looked
like the sturdy yet feminine garments she had loved in life. Alaric’s canny assessment of their individual styles made Portia
nervous. It was all just another card in his deck of tricks. She wondered to
what end he intended to play his hand.

Alaric
came to their door and smiled appraisingly. "Excellent. Now, please
join me for breakfast. I am eager to introduce you to my wards."

He
led them down the stairs and into the dining room, where Radinka and Kendrick
sat, eyes downcast. Between them sat a slender, stern-faced woman in a severe
woolen gown that buttoned up to her jawline, her once-dark hair swept up into a
greying bouffant.

"This
is my governess, Lady Gelender Edulica." Alaric introduced her
as she stood to bow.

"And
I believe you know Radinka and Kendrick."

The
children stood, looking hopefully at Portia and Imogen. They buffeted Portia
with their mental prodding. They were powerful, whether by nature or by Analise’s machinations, Portia did not know.

Alaric
rang for breakfast and sat, motioning everyone else to follow suit. Servants
brought in an array of covered dishes, setting them in front of each guest.
Beneath each dome waited a gold-rimmed plate with puddings and delicately
poached eggs quivering on toast near a crystal bowl of caviar.

Alaric
smiled broadly at his wards and caught Portia’s
gaze. "Just like one big, happy family, don’t you think?"

"I
wouldn’t know."
Portia crossed her arms. "Neither would any one
else here, I’d wager."

"Come
now, you had a family once. You weren’t hatched, Mistress
Gyony."

"Indeed
not. But you are correct, I suppose. I did have what I might call a family,
once. And still do—at least I still have
most of them."

"You
speak of Lady Hester Edulica."

Portia
nodded. Imogen looked up from her untouched plate.

Alaric dipped a crust of bread into an egg
and chewed it loudly. "Did you know," he pointed the bread at them, dripping
vibrant golden yolk onto the tablecloth, "did you know that she was born a
Regalii?" He registered their surprise and continued. "And she married a
mortal
,
can you believe it? Mrs. Hester Sloane, Lady Regalii." He shook his head. "Her
sister was a particular favorite companion of mine in the days of our shared
youth. Pity about Hester, though. But she learned the hard way and paid dearly
for it."

He said no more. And although Portia burned
with curiosity, she did not dare ask him for more information. He leaned on his
elbows and smiled invitingly at her as the eggs began to seize up.

"Was
Lady Hester the one that died?" Radinka spoke up,
breaking the tense silence. "That wasn’t the price she paid, though, was it?" Her sea-glass eyes glittered, and Portia once more felt the
radiant edges of the power Radinka kept under impressive control.

"No,
not all." Alaric conceded to tell them the rest of
the story. "She lost her husband and
her child. For the best, really. What kind of life would they have had?"

Portia
barked with laughter. "A happy one?" Unexpected tears pricked her eyelids as she imagined a
joyful child growing up in the halls of the Penemue chapter house, a delicately
featured daughter that favored her mother’s golden looks and would
outlive her mortal father by at least a hundred years. Portia suddenly
understood the shadows that had danced in Hester’s
smile as she had raised a generation of Nephilim children, training them in the
ways of the Grigori.

In each of us, she saw her own
child.

 From beside her, Portia saw Imogen nod
knowingly. Across the table, Radinka and Kendrick sighed for an experience they
would never have.

"Enough
of this sentimental chatter." Alaric stood and
dropped his napkin over his half-finished breakfast. "Radinka, Kendrick, be sweet and give Imogen a tour of the
gardens. I wish a word with Mistress Portia in private."

Imogen
tensed, but Portia shook her head. "Go on, Imogen, you can
get caught up with your siblings. I’ll be along directly."

Alaric
smiled blandly until he had shut the door to his sitting room, which gleamed
with polished brass and well-oiled leather. A gentleman’s study, to be certain, painted in a rich sage green with
plush, figured carpets thrown across the gleaming hardwood floors; it radiated
privilege. A slender table that held a cut crystal decanter and snifters stood
in the center of the room, within easy reach of the three armchairs situated in
a conversational semi-circle. A warmly crackling fire gave the room a cozy
atmosphere. Still, Portia’s flesh crawled.

"Portia,
I cannot have you speaking out of turn and riling up the little ones. The
Regalii take their lineage seriously, and it is not considered seemly to
disrupt the order of these things. I would hate to influence the young ones in
an unfortunate manner, if you catch my meaning. Hester was an outcast the
moment she took her wedding vows, and I would not like to see Radinka and
Kendrick make the same mistake."

"Are
they Regalii, now?"

Alaric
winked. "No one knows what they are. That’s the beauty of it. Fostered in my home, they might as well
be Regalii. And it would please me, and therefore the Primacy, if that were the
case. We need powerful leadership in these trying times."

Portia
overcame the desire to roll her eyes. There were many reasons she had been
chosen as a Gyony, among whom a general distaste for the fops that thought of
themselves as great men while sending others to fight and die was considered a
highly sought-after trait. She desperately wished that Captain Cadmus were
there with her; he had much more experience dealing with politics than she did.
And he was handy to have at her side in a fight. She did not relish a battle
with the Lord Regalii, but she could not deny that she was keeping a running
catalog of his possible weaknesses, just in case.

"Why
am I here, my Lord?" She could not keep the
contempt out of the honorific.

Ignoring
her tone, he nodded toward the axe. "Do you keep that with
you always? Or are you at unease here?"

"I
always have it."

"At
every meal and every moment, Mistress Portia?"

"Indeed."

The
hairs rose on the back of Portia’s neck as she felt the
presence of something unseen in the room with them. No, not in the room, at
least not in the same space they occupied. She meandered toward the window,
glancing at the built-in bookcases along the walls as she did so, trying to
pinpoint the location of the sensation of menace that refused to leave her be.

"…and
you should be grateful! The Primacy cares a great deal about you." Alaric continued to chatter as if she had been listening
the entire time. "They always have. I want
you to know that."

She glanced back over her shoulder. He had
tipped his hand, not by much, but enough for her to catch the barest glimpse of
his cards. "The Primacy? Cares about
me
? A Gyony?" She hoped she sounded
at least a little star-struck. "I find that difficult to believe. After all, I
have always lived in Nigel’s shadow."

A fleeting tension flickered around his
eyes at the mention of her foster-brother’s name. Portia noted that as well.

"Portia,
dear, you have no idea." He laughed and opened
his arms as if she might fall into his fatherly embrace. When she did not, he
clapped his hands together and interlaced his fingers. "The Primacy has many eyes and ears, all attuned to different
things. Yes, Nigel was a prodigy; there is no doubt of that. But so were you,
of a different sort. And now, of a wholly unique sort, indeed."

She
ran her fingers along the spines of leather-bound books that appeared never to
have been read as she wandered the perimeter of the room. The thrill of being
watched spiked as she neared the servants’ entrance, but faded as
she passed the door.

"So,
what do you intend, then, sir? You cannot deny the very clear danger posed by
the tower in the bay. Something must be done about it. And someone must be
about doing it."

"Do
you volunteer?"

Portia
faced him, her shoulders square. "In fact, I do."

"Delightful!" He clapped his hands once more and looked her up and down,
appraisingly. "But I’m afraid that’s impossible. You are far
too valuable for that sort of foolhardy campaign. The Lady Analise worked hard
to make you what you are and I have no intention of letting her labor go to
waste. Not to mention a certain angel’s soul that you
currently possess, do you not? No, Mistress Gyony, you’ll not be risking any of those things."

Portia
stared at him while she processed his words, laying them alongside Imogen’s account of the night she’d
died. Alaric had played a part in that night. Alaric still kept the demon that
had slain her beloved in this very house, and Portia could feel it watching her
through vellum and leather and wood. It was taking her measure.

And
without a doubt, she knew that Alaric had a hand in Hester’s tragic death.

She
turned her back on the menacing presence behind the bookshelf and put her hands
on her hips. "What do you plan to do
about Nigel and the tower?"

"Nigel,
did you say? Nigel’s dead."

"Don’t play stupid with me."

"And don’t you be coy, you mouthy
little tart. Gyony have no manners, and you are no exception. And if you think
for a moment that I have no power to wield over you, then you are sorely
mistaken,
Fereshte
."

 Hearing the name spoken aloud with such
contempt sent an icy shiver through her. And she knew then, with utter
certainty, what she has suspected all along: the battle that awaited her was
going to be neither easy nor fair.

—
6
—

THE FOLLOWING AFTERNOON FOUND them all pretending at being
good houseguests. They played cards while they surreptitiously planned and
plotted, half in whispers, half in thoughts.

A minute tremor ran through the building.
Portia reached for her axe, letting her cards drop face-up onto the table.
Imogen, Radinka, and Kendrick were already on alert, and she could feel their
senses sharpen and cast about the property.

The
sitting room door opened abruptly, and Gelender strode in. "Get up," she said sternly to
Radinka and Kendrick. "You are both being
confined to your rooms, immediately."

"What’s going on?" Kendrick stepped
protectively in front of Radinka.