“It’s not my job to confirm things. You’ll have to wait until the council announces its decision. Good day, Ms. Carpenter.” Lila stepped forward in line, finding herself before the auction house sign. LeBeau’s had been
scrawled in an artsy cursive script. The branding served as a backdrop for photo ops during the event.
Ms. Carpenter made the poor choice of stepping with her, blocking the view of the press behind the stanchions.
“Madam, we need the shot!” a member of the paparazzi yelled, already snapping photos of the pair, not realizing which heir he’d captured on film. “Get out of the way!”
Others clamored at the ropes, shouting at the journalist to move aside. Bright lights flashed around the pair, searing Lila’s eyes. She lifted her hand to block them. Light-shadows danced in her vision.
Ms. Carpenter turned at their continued boos and jeers. “Unless you want a slave’s term and a lifetime suspension of your license, I’d suggest you put down your cameras.”
The paparazzi snuck a peek at Lila, faces falling as they marked her blood-red dress. Most deleted her photos immediately, scared they might post one by accident.
Ms. Carpenter swiveled back to Lila. “My sources tell me that you were instrumental in the capture of Celeste and Patrick Wilson. Is that true?”
“Your sources have interesting imaginations.” Lila didn’t know where the rumor had come from, but it spurred a sense of unease and apprehension among the highborn. Lila enjoyed keeping the matrons and primes on their toes.
“Do you plan on attending their executions?”
Lila steeled her face. Patrick might have hired Peter Kruger to kill her, but he was her best friend’s little brother. “It’s a bit early to talk of executions. The High Council has not even confirmed the sentence yet. If you’ll excuse me, I have my mother’s auction to attend.”
Before Lila turned away, Ms. Carpenter blurted out a last question. “Are you still friends with Alexandra Craft-Wilson? Have you two spoken since her family’s fall?”
The journalist scanned Lila’s face, then smiled at the expression she found.
Lila cleared her throat. “My feelings for Ms. Wilson have never wavered.”
“Have Ms. Wilson’s? After all, it is her mother and brother who will be executed, some say due to your own maneuvering.”
“You’d have to ask Ms. Wilson that, wouldn’t you?”
“I’ve tried to get an interview with Ms. Wilson all week. Your matron has denied it time and time again. I—”
Lila’s jaw locked. “That’s what this is about, isn’t it? You want an interview with Alex.”
Ms. Carpenter took a step back.
The auction house door opened. A short, chubby woman appeared at the top of the stairs, wearing a long silvercoat and a formfitting green dress. Her gaze lingered over the line of highborns, landing on Lila.
“Ah, there you are, Chief Randolph,” Chairwoman Masson called out, crooking her finger. Though only a dozen years Lila’s senior, the chairwoman had dyed her hair silver, coloring it in stages over the years to attain the much-desired look of wisdom, maturity, and experience. Today it hung in thick curls around her calm, serene face.
A little too serene, actually. Lila sometimes wondered if she smoked just enough weed to render her unflappable. It had always been impossible to ruffle the elegant woman, not that Lila hadn’t tried.
“Come,” the matron said, ignoring the journalist. “We have council business to discuss.”
Lila stifled her grin and jogged upstairs in her heels. The heirs on the silver carpet stared at her jealously as she passed, but no one said a word. Grace Masson was a matron, after all.
“I owe you,” Lila whispered as the chairwoman clasped her arm.
“Yes, you do. I thought you might pull a tranq gun from gods know where and shoot her. Not that I would have minded. Dreadful woman, that one.”
“Dreadful is too polite a word.”
“Well, you may pay me back for my kindness this very afternoon. Take my son for the season. He’s beautiful, sweet, and in need of a good match.”
“He’s very beautiful and very sweet, and also barely twenty.”
“Twenty and twenty-eight aren’t that far off. Besides, younger is better. You get stronger genes that way. You’ll care about these things soon.” The chairwoman eyed Lila’s face and broke out into a wide grin. “A mother has to try. I promised. You’ll tell him so?”