Glitter (Glitter Duology #1)(55)

“You know,” Saber says, following me, “you don’t have to talk so formally when we’re alone.”

“Pardon?” I ask, pausing with my hand on the door handle.

“This formal speech,” he says, waving his hand vaguely through the air. “When it’s just the two of us, you don’t have to…” His voice trails off. “Damn. You have no idea what I’m talking about. It’s not an act, is it?”

I simply stare, still uncomprehending.

“You talk all…hoity,” he says, not meeting my eyes again.

“Do I?”

“A bit. Okay, a lot. I guess I thought you relaxed a little when you weren’t on show.”

“On show?” I find myself feeling slighted, though I can’t put my finger on precisely why.

“Around normal people.”

“Oh.” I pause, then say, “No, this is actually how I speak—my apologies if that disappoints you. Though now that you bring it up, I think the problem is going to be the opposite. It’s your vernacular that isn’t quite the thing here in the palace. It’s a bit…vulgar.”

He just grins, apparently not feeling slighted in the least.

I look away from his smile. “You’ll give yourself away in three words. I think it best that you not speak to anyone we encounter at all.”

“Oh, goody,” he grumbles.

“That sort of response is precisely what I mean.”

“So was yours.”

“I suppose it was.” I peer up at him, trying to think. “Most of the board members who have secretaries are endlessly whispering back and forth. Hissing like snakes, in point of fact. That may be the most logical course for us as well. When in doubt, you can simply speak French.”

Saber sighs. “You’re the boss.”

Then why does it feel the other way around?





SABER IS SUITABLY impressed by the organization in my father’s study, and even more so by the lack of M.A.R.I.E. waiting to accommodate our every need.

“It’s my safe place,” I say, then chastise myself for revealing something so personal.

“Where’s your father?” Saber asks when I clear my throat and turn my face away.

“Down the hall in his room,” I say, pointing. “Asleep. I checked on him before I unlocked the desk. He can never know.”

“Certainly not,” Saber agrees grimly.

“He’s no danger, though. Beyond being an addict. Easily mollified and mostly harmless. It’s my mother you have to watch out for.”

“And she lives here?”

“Not in my father’s chambers. She sleeps in my old room.” I run my fingers along the edge of the desk. “I keep everything in here.” I unlock each drawer and explain how I’ve been running things and which duties I’ll need him to take over.

“It’s a pretty slick operation,” he says, and I’m about to thank him for the compliment when he continues. “I doubt that drugging people against their will has ever been so profitable.”

The warm flush of shame—which I’ve grown very good at ignoring—kindles in my chest, hotter and more painful than usual. Though I’d always hoped the business would grow fast, it’s exceeded all my expectations. Which means I have to face the fact that the drug is stronger, more addictive, than I assumed at the outset. That Saber’s warnings were as dire as he said. But it’s too late to change anything, and all I can do is try to fight the guilt and soldier on. I’m halfway into the proverbial woods, and continuing forward seems like the only reasonable choice.

“I don’t understand you,” he says after a long spell of silence. “I was there that night, you know.”

My mind goes instantly to the night the King killed Sierra. He was there? How?

“In the catacombs.”

Oh. That night.

“That very first time. You were…” He pauses, and I’m not certain I want to know what his impression of me was, that awful night. “Desperate,” he finally says. “And you seemed so small, but real. So real. Then, two months ago, you got into the car with me in Paris and you were a different person. Bold and controlling but ultimately—” He cuts himself off and is silent for several seconds. “What happened to her?”

“To who?” I ask, fear a cold block of ice in my throat as I wonder for a moment if he’s referring to Sierra.

“The girl in the catacombs,” he says as he picks up a pot of Glitter rouge and peers at the smooth circle within. “She’s gone.”

“I—”

“I liked her,” Saber finishes, tossing the pot onto the desk with a clatter.

—

AT HIS INSISTENCE that he isn’t tired, I leave Saber in my father’s study to put away our newest batch of supplies and make himself familiar with the microlab. He wanted to start blending the makeup as well, but it’s too risky during the day. My mother might walk in at any moment. At night she’s nearer, but with my light feet and her long history with sleep aids, I actually feel more confident in my ability to avoid detection. Saber rolls his eyes but promises to only organize things, and I hurry out of my parents’ apartments.

I have amends to make.