“If something happens to me . . .” His face is grave and so serious I realize that he thinks it a strong possibility.
“Do not even speak of it. That’s nonsense and I will not have it.”
He leans forward and kisses me, his lips gentle and tender against mine. Something slides over my gloved ring finger and I draw back to look down. Finn’s ring with the family crest of two trees intertwined sits, heavy and gleaming, over the black satin.
“Finn, I—”
“It’s a promise,” he says. “From me to you. You needn’t promise me anything back, not yet.” His sly smile sneaks into place. “Though soon would be nice.”
I push my fingers through his hair, matching his smile. “You will need a good deal more charm to persuade me.”
He stands so abruptly I nearly fall on my side.
“What is it? What’s wrong?”
“I find myself in sudden dire need to increase the potency of my charm spelling.”
I laugh, and he offers me a hand to help me stand. We walk, arm in arm, back to the library, where Eleanor startles and tries to act as though she hadn’t been leaning against the door, listening.
“I thought you’d given up listening at doors. Do we need to update you, or have you heard enough?” I ask, sitting next to her with a smile.
“I haven’t any idea what you are referring to, Jessamin. I was merely checking for a nasty draft. You may feel free to tell me all about Lord Downpike’s plan for an aggressive military takeover of the entire continent, aided by the Hallin magic he thinks Lord Ackerly has, but that Lord Ackerly insists he does not. I will be very surprised to hear it. And then you can add to my shock by taking me aside and whispering that Lord Ackerly has given you his golden ring with the family crest, and I can promise you that it means much more than you think it does, and he is being sneaky by pretending it is merely a promise.”
“Eleanor,” Finn says, a single eyebrow raised. “Would you be a dear and check the pantry to see whether we need to order more groceries?”
“Oh, fie on you, Lord Ackerly.” She flounces to a love seat, lying on her stomach with her chin on her hands. “I will do no such thing. You two are going to discuss your plans to defeat Lord Downpike’s nefarious machinations, and spirits take me if I will be anywhere but here.”
“You can start with some of your marvelous letter-writing skills,” I say. “Ask whether it is worth the risk to make a power grab on the continent, implying heavily that you have information it’s in the works. Ponder what will happen when those of you with less magical ability are called upon by the queen to go on the offensive against vastly more skilled Hallin practitioners. And then comment on the ghastly new dress that Arabella Crawford was seen in, just for good measure. You can check the pulse of noble opinion and see what direction they are leaning—whether there is a real risk of their following Lord Downpike down this mad path.”
“You are the cleverest girl I know.” She stands and go
es to her writing desk, dumping off a stack of books without ceremony. “I’m so pleased my lifelong cultivation of gossiping skills will be essential in saving the world. And to think, my mother said it would get me in trouble.”
“Do you have everything you need for the spellwork?” Finn asks.
Eleanor stops, pen poised midair. “Whatever do you mean?”
“I mean the way you’re so drained after writing. I know what it feels like to expend a great deal of energy on magic, Eleanor. Your letters are not ordinary missives.”
She turns and smiles demurely at us. “I have no idea what you are speaking of.”
“Hmm,” Finn says. “I think you do. And I find myself very, very glad you are on our side. You frighten me.”
“A well-wielded pen is a woman’s best weapon.” Laughing to herself, she turns back to her letter writing. I look at Finn but he shrugs.
“And as for us,” I ask, “what should we do?”
He shakes his head. “I really can’t say. Everything I think of is either too dangerous or too inadequate. If I outright attack Downpike, someone will end up dead. I fear we’ll have to spread the word and wait for it to settle, see who falls on which side. I know how much you hate being locked up in here, but this is a political game, and until—”
A bell rings, and Finn frowns.
“What is it?”
“The door chime for my official front door. No one ever calls on me.”
It rings again, insistent pealing as though someone is doing nothing but tugging on the line. Taking his cane, Finn walks out into the hall. I follow. He opens a door I haven’t been through, which leads us to a gleaming foyer, marble floors, and white pillars around a large oaken door.
“Stay behind me.” He opens the door.