Hotel Magnifique(40)

“And?”

“I only glanced at her.”

“You have to pretend she’s a stranger.”

I pictured that teacup full of not-milk. “But the escape game was my fault. Her eye—”

“You didn’t know it at the time. It’s just what happens when a suminaire is demoted.”

Bel had told me weeks ago Alastair used to demote suminaires the same way he did normal workers, until he erased one particular suminaire’s mind too many times and it snapped. In an instant, the magic coming from that poor suminaire’s artéfact magnified tenfold. A handful of normal staff were killed. Since then, Alastair became fearful about accidentally destroying his suminaires, so he stopped removing more of their memories during demotions.

Now, when a suminaire misbehaved, they were allowed to keep their position. Instead of demotion, Yrsa scooped out one of their eyes and dipped it inside her teacup full of not-milk, turning the eye to solid porcelain. A first warning. But what came next was worse.

Bel had witnessed Yrsa crack a porcelain eye once. The suminaire dropped dead a moment later.

“Did Red notice you watching her?” Bel asked.

“You mean when we danced a jig for everyone to see?”

“Just keep your head down,” he said, unamused. “Here.” He pulled out a bundle from his pocket.

“What’s this?” I unwrapped it. It was a pair of lorgnettes along with a small book stamped with a silver compass rose. An atlas. It startled me. Bel brought me something that he didn’t need to . . . because he knew I wanted it. The thought made me smile.

His mouth twitched.

“Thank you. But why—”

“There was gossip about a kitchen maid perusing library books.”

“Oh god.”

“Next time you’re bored, please let me know.” He straightened his jacket to go. “It’s time I get back to work. It’s nearly midnight.”

“Already?”

“First you can’t stand my company, and now you can’t get enough?”

He was teasing me, but I didn’t take his bait because a dead feeling had settled in my chest. “I’m not going to learn anything else tonight, am I?”

“I’m sorry.”

“So I’m supposed to go back to my room alone and wonder if I’ll ever speak with my sister again?”

“You could try to be patient for a change.”

“You say that every time.”

“Maybe I should stop saying it and tattoo it on your hand.”

“Wouldn’t make a difference. Irritatingly persistent, remember?”

I jolted when Bel took my shoulder. One of his knees crooked, brushing the pleating of my skirt. The skin on my leg tingled. “Can’t you just smile and curtsy when I tell you to do something like any other worker here would?”

“So you’d rather me be a mindless puppet you can pluck to your every whim?”

“Sounds like fun.”

I scowled.

His attention shifted to my mouth. “You know . . . I think I’m growing fond of your scowls,” he said. “Goodnight, Mol.”





After my meeting with Bel, one week went by without any news. I did as he said and kept my head down. But as I stirred soup, my mind would wander to Alastair’s ledger. I liked to imagine myself gleefully shredding everything inside to bits. His power was in those contracts. Because of it, my obsession with them grew into an itch that I wasn’t allowed to scratch.

Soon the days felt like years, and the nights felt like eternities. I’d lie awake, churning through memories of my childhood, because I didn’t know how much longer they would belong to me. The only downside was I would miss Zosa all over again. And the missing hurt, like mourning. I guess I was mourning in a way. She was my sister, but in Durc she was also my best friend. It was painful to not have either one.

Early one morning I passed the staff dining hall, the forêt à manger. The kitchen worker I’d helped with deliveries stood at a tree branch hung with glass dishes. He piled clouds of fluffy brioche on his plate, laughing as the pastry magically replenished.

I pictured Zosa beside him waving me over like she used to at Bézier’s when I was hesitant to join the other girls.

A maid I didn’t recognize tapped my shoulder. “You going in?”

I shook my head and moved out of her way.

In the kitchens, Chef was already in a mood, barking orders beside a row of delivery carts stacked with everything from raspberry mille-feuilles to oysters on ice.

“What’s going on?” I asked a pink-faced, sweating cook.

“Didn’t hear? We’re in Barrogne.”

My blood chilled. Barrogne was a lakeside village in northwesternmost Verdanne, hugging the Skaadan border. Skaadi had staunch laws on magic and still executed suminaires.

Chef stormed by. “Two minutes and all delivery carts head to the lobby.” She pointed at me. “Back of the line for you. I need all delivery workers manning carts. Ma?tre’s orders. Doesn’t want to upset that fancy ambassador.”

“Wait. The Skaadan ambassador is here?” Many in Durc assumed the young ambassador could convince the stodgy ruling party to reverse the Skaadan laws and allow the hotel entrance. It hadn’t happened yet.