“Decency is not a virtue in a prince.”
She laughed bitterly. “The house in London, is it really surrounded by agents of Atlantis?”
He might have exaggerated the likelihood that Lady Wintervale would speak of her arrival to other Exiles. Lady’s Wintervale was inclined toward secrecy, not confessions.
“Did you also have something to do with the armored chariots at Slough, the ones that sent me scrambling back to you?”
He shrugged.
She laughed again. “So what then, exactly, is the difference between you and Atlantis?”
“I still gave you a choice. You came back here of your own will.”
“No, I came back here because you cornered me. You played fast and loose with my life. You—”
She fell back against the wall, her face contorted by pain.
“Thinking of reneging on the oath already?” He could only imagine the agony that slashed through her.
She looked as if she could scarcely breathe. Her voice was hoarse. “This cannot be a valid pact. Release me now!”
“No.”
Never.
She closed her eyes briefly. When she opened them again, they were full of cold fury. “What kind of person are you, to live without honor or integrity?”
His nails dug into his palm. “Obviously, the kind chosen for what others are too decent to do.”
He wanted to come across as flippant, but instead he sounded harsh and angry.
She clenched her hand. “I liked you much, much better when I didn’t know you.”
It did not matter. He had what he wanted from her. What she thought of him was henceforth irrelevant.
He had to draw a deep breath before he could reply. “Your affection is not required in this endeavor, Fairfax, only your cooperation.”
She stared at him. Suddenly she was right before him. Her fist struck him hard low in the abdomen.
He grunted. The girl knew how to hurt someone.
“You bastard,” she snarled.
An irrelevant thought gripped him: he should have kissed her when he still had the chance.
He straightened with some effort. “Supper is in half an hour, Fairfax. And next time, tell me something I do not already know.”
CHAPTER
EVERY THOUGHT BROUGHT AGONY.
Iolanthe didn’t know when she collapsed on the floor, but it was as good a place as any to suffer.
The pain was unlike any she’d ever known—messy and brutal, dirty, rusty blades scraping along her every nerve ending. She almost prayed for the clean blackness of suffocation.
It took her a long, long time to find ways to think that did not renew the torture. It was painless to picture the prince’s eventual wife cuckolding him with every attendant in the castle. It was also all right to imagine his children detesting him. And most satisfying of all, it did not hurt to envision the entire population of Delamer spitting on his casket, for his funeral to turn into a farce and a riot.
She didn’t need to be a historian to known that the House of Elberon had been in decline. No doubt he wanted to revive its fortunes and make his mark. No doubt he wanted to be the next great prince. She was but a pawn in his plan, just as for the Bane she was but a thing to be sucked dry and discarded.
She felt raw and depleted, as if she’d come through a terrible illness. She almost could not believe that when she’d awakened this day, her biggest concern had been Rosie Oakbluff’s wedding. That seemed years ago, a different lifetime altogether.
Holding on to the edge of the desk, she pulled herself upright.
Somehow this was not too unknown a place, being barely on her feet while the world reeled around her. In fact, there was an eerie familiarity to it: each time Master Haywood had lost his post, she’d thought they’d come to an abyss from which they’d never emerge.
Except this time, it really was the abyss, the end of life as she knew it.
What should she do?
As if to answer her question, her stomach grumbled—she’d been too nervous at tea and too distracted by her thoughts in the inn. She almost laughed. She was still alive, so she must eat—and downstairs supper awaited.
This she was accustomed to: carrying on no matter what; making the best of a terrible situation.
What else was there to do?
Titus knocked on her door and received no answer.
“You do not want supper?”
Still no answer.
He went down by himself. To his surprise, when he arrived outside the dining room, she was already there, deep in conversation with Wintervale. Or rather, Wintervale analyzed the strengths and weaknesses of rival houses’ cricket teams, and she listened attentively.
Wintervale must have said something funny. She threw back her head and laughed. The sight stopped Titus cold: she was terrifyingly pretty. He did not understand how Wintervale could stand so close and not realize a thing.
Wintervale continued talking. She gazed upon him with a frank appreciation. The urge came upon Titus to smash Wintervale into a china cabinet. It was difficult to believe that he’d known her only mere hours: she had already turned his life upside down.
He approached them. She gave him a cursory nod before returning her attention to Wintervale. Kashkari arrived beside Titus, and they spent a minute talking of the liquefaction of oxygen, a new nonmage scientific achievement about which Kashkari had just read in the papers.
The dining room’s door opened. With pushes and shoves, the boys entered, then settled themselves at two long tables, self-segregated by age. Mrs. Dawlish sat down at the head of the senior boys’ table, Mrs. Hancock, the junior boys’ table.
“Will you say grace, Mrs. Hancock?” Mrs. Dawlish asked.
At the mention of Mrs. Hancock’s name, Fairfax, across the table from Titus, tensed. Titus could see that she wanted to turn around and have a good look at Mrs. Hancock, but she was careful enough to imitate the other boys and bow her head instead.
“Our Heavenly Father,” began Mrs. Hancock, “assist us in your boundless mercy as we embark on a new Half in this ancient and splendid school. Guide the boys to be industrious and fruitful in their studies. Keep them strong and healthy in body and mind. And may 1883 be the year you bless them at last with victories upon the cricket pitch—for Almighty Lord, you know how sorely we have been tried in Summer Halves past.”
The boys groaned and snickered. Mrs. Dawlish, half smiling herself, shushed them.
Fairfax raised her head, surprise written all over her face. Did she imagine that the agents of Atlantis could not be perfectly charming individuals? Mrs. Hancock was beloved in this house, almost more so than Mrs. Dawlish.
“We give our thanks for the bounty of this meal, O Lord,” continued Mrs. Hancock. “For Mrs. Dawlish, our stalwart dame. Even for the boys, whom we love dearly but, if history is any indication, will wish to throttle with our bare hands before the week is out.”
More laughter.
“All the same we are overjoyed that all of our boys have returned safely to us, especially Fairfax. May he refrain from climbing trees this Half.”
Fairfax’s hands tightened on the table. She bowed her head again, as if to hide her unease at being singled out by an enemy.
“But above all other things may we attain the knowledge of thee, O Lord, and serve thee with every breath and every deed. For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, for ever and ever. Amen.”
“Amen,” echoed the boys.
Fried smelts, asparagus, and orange jelly were served—what must be strange food to Fairfax. She ate sparingly. Three minutes into supper, she dropped her napkin. She turned in her seat, picked up the napkin, and, as she straightened, finally glanced toward Mrs. Hancock.
Mrs. Hancock was, in Titus’s opinion, a more attractive woman than she let on. She favored shapeless dresses in infinite varieties of dull brown and always kept her hair covered with a large white cap. But it was the buckteeth that really left a lasting impression—teeth that Titus did not believe to be naturally overlarge.