Valery winces, but taking a deep breath, she turns to me. “He was a refugee. We met fleeing Arras, and I helped secure his place here. I made a mistake.”

Mistake hardly seems to cover it. If Deniel fled Arras at the same time as Valery, he was sent here for some purpose and I have the scratches on my shoulder to prove it. She led him straight to his prize without hesitation. Without thought. But my ire softens when I meet her eyes. Valery helped him because that’s who she is—even if her graciousness no longer extends to me.

“You were trying to help him, darling,” Kincaid says, placing an arm around her waist and pulling her close. “It was a lapse in judgment. Now go to bed.”

He kisses her full on the lips, and I see it: whereas Valery melts and simpers into Kincaid’s arms during dining times, she’s stiff during this act. Unyielding. She doesn’t want his attention. Not now.

And still she goes to his bed, with the slightest glance at Deniel as she passes.

“Hold on,” Kincaid says. He gestures for Dante to come over, which he does reluctantly. “Will you do the honors?”

Dante’s eyes flicker to mine, and I know that whatever punishment Kincaid has in mind, I don’t want to see it. Is it too late to excuse myself? Beside me Jost takes my arm and pulls me close to him. Dante’s attention turns back to his boss and he shakes his head.

“I’m not playing your games, Kincaid.”

“Games?” Kincaid echoes with a guffaw. “My interest in your daughter should please you.”

Dante’s shoulders stay set, his lips a firm line of refusal.

“No?” Kincaid asks, but he sounds indifferent. He wags a finger at a burly guard, who steps forward. “Show Adelice that we will protect her. Show her what I do to those who would betray her.”

The guard nods, and Deniel is lifted to his feet. The guard’s eyes stay on Deniel’s chest, but Deniel remains passive and remote. Then he gives a loud groan as the guard’s fingers reach toward him.

My pulse leaps, pounding against my veins, and as the guard reaches forward, Deniel’s strands glimmer to life again.

I can see them so clearly now, more so than I did when he attacked me. His strands are thin, well worn, patched with newer strands. Some grafted in seamlessly and others barely attached. Whoever Deniel is, he’s endured a fair amount of alteration. Who did this to him?

Through the center of his jumbled weave runs a slender golden strand. The last pure thread remaining within the man. Another set of strands moves within Deniel, pushing apart the threads and patches, making straight for the man’s core. With a great wrench, the guard rends apart Deniel’s threads, below the tear that I gave him. For a moment my concentration is broken and I can only see the crimson that drips thin across the guard’s hands, but then the golden strand pulls slowly from Deniel and he starts to melt away. I am fastened to the sight, unable to turn my head.

First, Deniel’s skin shrivels. The blood stops flowing from his chest until only a seeping puddle remains on his shirt. His eyes sink into his skull and his head lolls back, and I know he’s dead, but it isn’t over. The golden strand pulls cleanly from him, and the shriveled skin cracks and falls away. Deniel’s bones follow, until the only thing that remains is a pile of dust at the feet of the guards.

Kincaid steps forward, surveying the guard’s work. His face is grim, but there’s a gleam in his eyes he can’t quite hide. And then, without a smile, he says quietly, “Dust to dust.”

SIXTEEN

THE NEXT MORNING, A KNOCK ON THE door to my quarters startles me. I’ve been sitting at the desk, absently brushing my hair. When I open the door, a younger valet is waiting with a silver tray perched on his fingers. A small ivory card with my name penned in elegant writing rests on it. I take the card and nod a thank-you to the valet.

“My instructions are to wait for your response, miss,” he says in a clipped tone.

“Okay, give me a moment.” I turn into my room, and after some hesitation, shut the door. I can’t stand the thought of him waiting there, watching me. I’m not fond of the idea of shutting the door in his face either, but, well, choices.

I unfold the card:

Adelice,

Please accept my sincere apologies for yesterday’s unfortunate interlude. I want you to feel secure here, but I don’t wish you to think ill of me. To relieve the tension from last evening, I’ve arranged a small play for you and your friends’ amusement in the theater. I hope it will show you the positives of having Tailors available for our use. Please let me know if you are available for the presentation at three o’clock.

Most sincerely yours,

Kincaid

My eyes flick to the ticking clock on my nightstand. It’s already noon. I scrawl my acceptance across the bottom, trying to sound enthusiastic and failing miserably.

I don’t want to go, but this isn’t so much an invitation as a summons. I traipse back to the door, nearly tripping over my dressing gown, and give the card to the valet, who does a good job of not looking too annoyed at having had the door shut in his face.

“Thank you,” I say, but he merely tilts his head in acknowledgment, pivots to the right, and moves down the hall.

I’ve barely shut the door when another knock forces me to open it again. On the other side I find Jost standing there with two large turquoise boxes. Another valet is walking hurriedly down the hall, carrying more of the same boxes. I raise an eyebrow at Jost.

“A gift from our amiable host,” Jost says, nodding to be let in.