Illusions of Fate
Page 39

“You attract trouble. I think you court it. And now you’ve brought her into it all.”
I can feel heat rising in my cheeks as my heart beats even faster, with fear or anger or some unhealthy mix of the two. “I did no such thing. Lord Downpike did this. And you stand here doing nothing while your sister is being threatened.”
“What would you have me do? Set myself against one of the most powerful men in our country?”
“If it is the right thing to do, then yes!”
“It may be the right thing to do. I would make a glorious stand, denounce him as a cruel and barbarous villain. We could bask in my righteousness. And any hopes I have at attaining a seat in the Noble House would be forever dashed. I would lose my future.”
“This isn’t about you!”
“Exactly! It isn’t about me. And so I will stand by and watch my sister in pain because of your friendship. And I will choose to do nothing, knowing that if I play the game right then someday in the near future I will be in a position of actual power, where I can effect real change. Because this isn’t about me, Jessamin. It’s about my country, and all the people I can help if I don’t throw everything away now. I asked you to put my sister’s welfare first because I cannot. I have to work toward being able to help all of Albion. Otherwise, the only voices that matter are the warmongers like Downpike.”
His words strike painfully. I thought he didn’t want me around Eleanor because I am Melenese, not because he was worried for her safety. “None of this is my fault. I’m not even part of this wretched country! I didn’t choose any of this!”
Ernest looks pointedly at my dress. “Didn’t you?” With a small bow he turns and walks stiffly away.
Trembling with the force of conflicting emotions, I nearly spill my drink. Setting it on the tray of a passing server, I am both relieved and more anxious than ever when Finn rejoins me, Eleanor leaning heavily on his arm. Lord Downpike is nowhere to be seen.
“Are you all right?” I ask.
Her eyelids droop and her face is pale, pinched in pain. “I do not have your strength for resisting spells thrown at me. I’m so sorry, Jessamin, he snatched me as soon as the music was over and . . . I can’t remember anything else. I’m so very sorry.” Tears pool in her eyes, and I rush forward to take her hands in mine.
“Never mind any of that. All I care about is that you’re safe.” No thanks to me. Ernest’s words fling themselves around my head, making me question everything I’ve done that has brought me here. I didn’t choose this, but I stubbornly refused to walk away when I became part of a game I didn’t understand.
Eleanor’s expression has none of its usual spark. “Think of the gossip—two lords fighting over me at the concert. I am so fortunate.”
Finn takes her hand from me and tucks it in his arm so she can lean on him. “I’ll call my carriage for you. I think it best if you spend the next few days at your uncle’s home.”
She nods, and I give her the best smile I can manage.
“Do not move,” Finn says to me, his voice stern, and then he walks her out of the grand room.
Eleanor is fine, I reassure myself. But she was put in harm’s way because of me. I had no thought for others’ welfare when I defied Lord Downpike with that silly attempt for power with his book. I should have known—was warned—that this was all much bigger than me. Much bigger than any book, no matter how much magical knowledge it deprived him of. But I thought myself too clever for it all.
There are more ways to hurt me than I had realized. I think of Jacky Boy and Ma’ati with a sick feeling in my stomach. I’ll have to ask Finn to take them on immediately rather than waiting. If they’re on his property, they’ll be safe. But what will I do to make sure no one else is hurt because of me? Not everyone can be carefully shuffled off to other places.
And why should I be a part of any of this? Albion, the continental countries—let them tear each other to pieces. I just want to finish my studies and go home.
I am wilting under the electric lights, coming apart at the edges and unable to hold on to myself or anyone else.
“Drink, milady?”
I reach out without looking, but the same voice says again, this time startled, “Jessa? Is that you?”
Focusing on the servant—had I forgotten to look them in the eyes?—I realize with a shock that he is none other than Kelen.
“What are you doing here?” I gasp, terrified that this, too, is a ploy of Lord Downpike’s. If he’s found out Kelen was a childhood friend, my first kiss, part of my own island . . .
He gives me an odd look. “I’m working. I could ask what you are doing here, though.” He nods down at my dress, raising his eyebrows.
“Oh.” I try to wave my hand, but even the gesture fails me. “I—I’m here with—a friend.”
“A friend.” His flat tone leaves no question as to what he thinks of that. “It appears you’ve made better friends than me in your short time here. I’ve been by to see you.”
“I know, I’m so sorry. Things have been—well, complicated. Insane, actually.”
He nods, one black eyebrow raised in condemnation. “I see.”
I can’t stand the judgment in his face, not after Ernest’s criticisms. “You don’t understand, I—”
He holds up his free hand. “No, I understand. I knew our mothers, too, remember?”