Rook (30 page)

Crammed against the interior of the suitcase were official documents, what Spear had brought back from the forger. She rummaged among them, finding the stack of gate passes and the stick of black wax she had brought for such an occasion. She spread out the documents, carefully melting wax onto the bottom corner of the paper without dripping the tallow of the candle. As soon as she had a tar-like blob she rolled LeBlanc’s signet ring across the soft surface, impressing his seal.

She did it again, and again, and eight more times before there was a soft knock at her door. “Coming!” she said, hoping her voice would carry through the door and no further than Émile. The knocking came again. She rolled the signet ring on the last pass, wondering briefly what the Parisian gossips would think if Uncle Émile were seen sneaking in or out of her bedroom. She suspected he had a reputation that would do hers no good. She flung open the door.

“Spear!” she said, surprised and a bit relieved. “Good, you’ll save me a trip and I’m in a hurry.” She pulled him into the room, shut the door, and locked it again, running to gather up the papers that now bore LeBlanc’s seal. “They got LeBlanc’s ring, the scoundrels. This is for you.” She thrust a gate pass at him, the signet ring on her forefinger, and began to hastily replace the false top in her suitcase.

“I need to talk to you, Sophie.”

“So talk,” she commanded. She was cleaning away any remnants of black wax now, trying to find a place to stash the telltale bits. “And where have you been all nethersun? We didn’t do our last go-over. I know we’ve already done it a thousand times, but …”

“Sophia Bellamy.” He grabbed her arm. “Stop and listen to me!”

She stopped and narrowed her eyes. Spear had yanked her arm, actually yanked it, and the bits of wax were now all over the carpet. She straightened. His perfectly chiseled face was drawn in, as if there were a string pulling too tight from the inside.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“You think you love him.”

Her stomach wrenched once. “Spear, this is not the time to …”

“Answer me. You’re going to marry him anyway, aren’t you? Without the fee.”

She looked up at Spear’s taut face, at the broad shoulders heaving as if he’d sprinted to her door. She owed him honesty at least. “Yes. If he will have me.”

Spear just stared at her, hands in pockets. Then he said, “Sophie, you’re being played.”

She blinked at him, uncomprehending.

“By the Hasards. All of them. You’re being played.”

“Oh, Spear. Listen …”

“No. You are going to listen. For once in your life you’re going to close your mouth and you will listen to what I have to say. Do you really think that Hasard was just pretending to work with LeBlanc, that he had his own interests, and that they just so happened to coincide with coming to Bellamy House to marry you? That Madame just happened to arrange some fool marriage that would bankrupt her family? There is no marriage fee, Sophia.”

“Spear, we both know that. He told me himself …”

“Of course he did. But I mean there never was one. Ever. The Hasard fortune has been dwindling for a long time. Madame arranged a marriage to you for no other reason than to get her son and LeBlanc into Bellamy House. Somebody’s been talking, Sophie. LeBlanc already knew where we’d been landing.”

Sophia was shaking her head. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“How do you think they’re planning on building their fortune back? How have they kept their business through the revolution? Do you really believe they just stole that ring you’re wearing? Or did LeBlanc walk in here tonight and hand it to them? You’re being played. You …”

“Just stop. Stop it!” she yelled. “You’re jealous, Spear, and I’m sorry for it. But I don’t have time for this and I don’t believe a word you’re saying.”

The drawn look on Spear’s face tightened. “I know you don’t believe me,” he said. “I knew you wouldn’t. Because you want to believe what he tells you. You want to believe in him; you have almost from the beginning. I’m no match for his lies, Sophie. It’s taken me time to realize it. I thought you’d come to your senses, but I know I’m no match for him. I’ve had to wait for proof, and now I have it.”

He reached beneath his black jacket and pulled out a crisp piece of paper with the seal of the Sunken City showing through. He offered it to her, and Sophia came and took the paper reluctantly, reading the first few lines before she looked up again, confused.

“The denouncement of Ministre Bonnard?” she asked.

“Yes. Signed by a citizen of the Sunken City, swearing the Bonnards committed treason against Allemande. The reason the entire family was arrested and nearly executed, right down to their toddling children.”

She read, her eyes glossing over the words until they reached the signature at the bottom. And when they did Sophia stepped back, and then back again until she bumped into the gold-papered wall. She stared at the ink, a hand reaching up to cover her mouth. The name on the bottom was René Hasard, the same looping signature she’d seen on one hundred and thirty-eight engagement-party invitations.

“I was surprised to see your name on my invitation, René. Surprised and pleased, of course. But where is your charming fiancée?” LeBlanc’s grin was a long, thin gash in his face as he tightened his grip on the limp girl beside him; she made the slightest motion of leaning away. “I was so looking forward to seeing her before I go.”

René drained a glass of wine. “But surely you will not go before the entertainment, Monsieur? We have made such special plans, and with you in mind.” LeBlanc glanced toward the windows and their spectacular nighttime views of the Sunken City, where a full, rising moon hung low on the horizon between buildings.

“Yes,” he said, smile becoming contemplative. “Fate has destined a very entertaining night for us.” The girl at his side squeaked slightly as her arm was squeezed. “And the new Festival of Fate is also cause for celebration. Though those who set themselves against the Goddess may not find it so. Do you not agree, René?”

“Oh, yes. When the gates open, that will be very amusing. I noticed the armed men at the street door. You are careful with our assets, Cousin, that they do not receive too much celebration.”

“We worship Fate, René, but we do not tempt her. Your little fiancée should take those words to heart.”

“I am certain she will.”

S
ophia
slid down the wall, crouching on the floor, staring at the handwriting on the parchment until her eyes watered, aching to blink. The name on the page pierced straight through her chest. She could have countered Spear’s arguments, every single one of them, disputed his interpretation of events. Except for the document in her hand. How could this be? And why? Someone knocked at the door, but she ignored it. She looked up at Spear, questioning.

“They’re smugglers,” he said simply, “and Bonnard was Ministre of Trade. He was going to shut them down.”

The knocking came again. “Mademoiselle?” It was Émile.

Spear whispered quickly, “Tom was looking into Hasard’s background before he ever got to Bellamy House. He made me swear to look out for you, to find the proof, and I promised him I would. But Hasard has been reeling you in like a fish on a hook ever since. He wants the Red Rook, Sophie, and he and LeBlanc, they know it’s not Tom. They’ve known for a while now. They want you, and they want you in the Sunken City, with your hands dirty with prison filth. It’s a … it’s like a religious thing with LeBlanc, but the Hasards just want their fortune. Hasard convinced you to wait until La Toussaint because LeBlanc wants to make a ritual out of you. LeBlanc took Madame to the Tombs for insurance, and the price for getting her out was to bring you to the city. And little by little, Hasard convinced you to tell him everything …”

Some part of her mind registered that Émile was still knocking. “Mademoiselle? Are you there?”

She sat all the way down on the thick carpet, staring at the huge, looping
R
. She was stunned, blindsided, hit so hard she couldn’t think. No matter what Spear said, no matter how she untangled truth from lies, the reality was that the man she knew as René Hasard and the man who had signed the paper in her hand could not coexist. He wasn’t real. Nothing was real. This moment was unreal. And she’d known he was good at the game, known she was an easy target. She’d seen the danger and even guarded herself against it. And what had she done in the end? Chased him down. Offered herself up. He wasn’t just good, he was a master. She’d known deep down that it didn’t make sense. She had been incredibly stupid. Because she’d wanted to be. She’d wanted to believe. Because she’d wanted him.

“Did you send the hotelier?” she whispered.

Spear didn’t answer. The room sat quiet, the knocking on the door long stopped. She discovered Spear’s hand near her head.

“Here, Sophie. Come up here.”

She took his hand and he pulled her to her feet, put his arm around her, guided her to the edge of the bed, where they sat, her face against his chest. He held her, his other hand stroking her back, up and down. Spear was so big you could drown in him. She wished she could drown.

“Here’s what I think we should do, Sophie,” he said quietly. She could feel the words in the chest beneath her ear. “LeBlanc will know exactly what you mean to do. He’ll be expecting you to leave the party and come back, like you planned with Hasard. So let’s go now, as soon as we can. We’ll do what we’ve done before with the coffins, before anyone is the wiser. Did you ever mention the coffins to any of them?”

She wasn’t sure. She didn’t think so.

“LeBlanc knows you’re coming, but he thinks it’s from one direction and not the other. We’ll take the tunnels out, and if something goes wrong, there’s always plan B and the forged passes and the tickets to Spain. We’ll get to the coast, just like we’ve done before.”

No
, Sophia was thinking.
You don’t understand. You don’t know what I was really going to do at the prison. What I thought René was going to help me do at the prison. Plans are in motion that cannot be undone.

Or were they? If they involved René, then perhaps those plans were never going to happen in the first place. Spear had a finger on her cheek now, sliding it down to beneath her chin.

“We’ll get Orla and Bellamy, take Jennifer to her parents, and then you and me and Tom, we’ll all go away together, maybe up west, or to one of the islands, somewhere they won’t bother to look for us.”

She closed her eyes. She could save Tom and Jennifer, but what about the rest of them? How would skulking off to the coast save two out of every three prisoners? Running wouldn’t break the pattern, and it wouldn’t take down LeBlanc.

“Don’t you think we could do that, Sophie?”

She was a burning thing, streaking fire and making thunder across the sky. The finger beneath her chin pushed upward, and Spear leaned down, touching his mouth to hers.

And she woke up. Sophia leapt away like a startled deer, the paper with René’s signature landing softly on the floor. “What are you doing?”

“Sophia. Sophie …” Spear reached for her hand, but she moved it away. He was being incredibly gentle, as if she were a wounded animal. Maybe she was. “This … thing with Hasard. It’s over now. It never was in the first place. You’re free of it.”

A bolt of white-hot pain shot through her middle, making her flinch. She had never wanted to be free of it. She wrapped her arms around her waist.

“And now that you’re free, we can …” He hesitated, and her eyes snapped wide.

“We can what, Spear?”

“We can … be together.”

Sophia felt her mouth open slightly. “Do you really think …” She breathed, searching for her words. “Do you really think that because I have been betrayed, been a fool, been the biggest arse the Bellamy family has ever seen, that because of all that I’m going to suddenly fall into your arms?”

Spear leaned forward from where he sat on the edge of the bed, fists clenched.

“Spear, I don’t love you.”

It was silent in the bedroom, and then all at once Spear exploded, jumping to his feet and kicking the table where she had been forging the passes to the floor. Sophia shrank back.

“Why?” he yelled. “Why the bloody not?”

Sophia watched him, hand hovering near the sword she had strapped to her leg. She’d beaten Tom in a fight, but she had never beaten Spear. She didn’t want to try now. But when he just stood there, waiting, hands hanging loose at his sides, she went to him and put a hand on his heaving chest.

“What I said just then wasn’t true. I do love you. I’ve loved you ever since I can remember. It’s always been Tom, and Father, and Orla, and you. No one else mattered. Just my family. And that is how I love you, Spear. Like my family. I don’t know why it’s different for you than for me. But you need to understand that it’s not going to change.”

She could feel the tension inside him, though whether fury or pain was dominant she could not say. Everything she felt was firmly under lock and key. She was like the firelighter now, moving toward the inevitable explosion, but until then, ticking on and on automatically.

“You’re going to have to let this go, Spear. And if I don’t do what is needed right now, Tom and Jennifer are walking to the scaffold at dawn. You know I’m right.”

Spear nodded slowly, his cool blue eyes staring at the floor.

“Then what I need is for you to get those passes to the gates. You know what to do after that, and what to do if we don’t come.”

He nodded again. Sophia left the passes on the bed, picked up the paper with René’s signature from the floor, and left Spear standing by the overturned table, shutting the bedroom door quietly behind her.

The corridor was a tunnel of dim, flickering shadows, only a few sconces lit. She stood still and dry-eyed, watching the light quiver. She hurt. In her chest, in her fingers, the backs of her legs, and behind her eyes. Every inch of her insides bruising and sore. But she knew this was nothing, nothing at all, compared to the pain and humiliation that awaited her when the ticking inside her reached its appointed time.

She took a step toward the water room, toward Jennifer and Tom, and then she paused, wavering like the candlelight. She was thinking of horrid masks and pale eyes and cemeteries full of the dead. Of the red-tipped feathers she had slipped into her bodice, and fighting in the streets, and the Razor, and LeBlanc’s hands. His bloody, bloody hands. Fire replaced her pain. The blessed heat of rage. She was still going to break him. Without René. Or Spear. But there was something to be done before she left.

She folded the paper that had changed everything, shoving it far down into her dress with the feathers, adjusted the dark hair on her head, and slapped her cheeks, once each in case they were drained of color. Then she turned and walked fast down the hall, opening the door onto the gallery and her engagement party, a reckless smile on her face. She needed to see LeBlanc.

And as she was entering the gallery, Benoit slipped out of Madame Hasard’s door. He went fast down the hall, away from the gallery, a crease in his forehead. He needed to find René.

Sophia came down the stairs, blinking in the dazzle after the dim. René’s criminal friends were very cordial, and she smiled back at them, as if she were happy and brilliant and not a walking firestorm. She spotted her quarry—a black-as-death billowing robe and a streak of white hair—held up her skirts, and made her way through the crowd; she’d forgotten her fan somewhere.

“Monsieur LeBlanc,” she said.

His eyes were nearly slits when they turned to her. “Mademoiselle Bellamy,” he said softly. He reached for her hand, and she immediately offered him the other one. She’d forgotten she was wearing his signet ring, now hidden in the clutched fabric of her silver-gray skirt. Some part of her realized she was out of control, and that Tom and Jennifer were depending on her not being so. But she also didn’t seem to be able to help it. LeBlanc’s lips were cold evil on her free hand. “Allow me to introduce Amber,” he said, “my … friend for the night.”

Amber curtsied awkwardly, not looking up from beneath the hanging front curls. She was even younger than she had looked from across the room. Sophia saw Émile over to her left, inching just a little closer. Too bad, Émile, she thought. The ring is on my finger, and this dress does not have a pocket.

“What a pleasure it is to finally have you in the City of Light, Mademoiselle,” LeBlanc was saying. “Now that you are here, I think that you will never leave it.”

Sophia kept her face pleasant.

“It must be agreeable to your brother,” he added, “to finally take credit for all his deeds. Do you not think that it must be very relieving, to give credit where credit is due?”

Amber raised her head a bit at this, but Sophia just stared back into LeBlanc’s pale eyes. It was true, then. He did know she was the Red Rook. Of course he did. How could he not? She could hear René’s laugh somewhere near. She smiled.

“What a strange thought, Monsieur. But I can honestly say that as long as the goal is met, I do not mind in the slightest if no one knows what I am up to. Or if they do.”

LeBlanc’s slow smile curled, and she matched it. He would be in a million tiny slivers by the dawn, and so would his prison. She glanced past his shoulder and saw René, his arm around a rather lovely young woman in a blond wig. Lies, lies, and lies, served up with more lies. Promises whispered in her ear, arms around her on the roof and just that middlesun, in this very room.
I had thought of you living here someday. With me.