A Poison Dark and Drowning (Kingdom on Fire #2)(43)

She was trying to introduce me, but Mickelmas jumped onto her speech. “Ah, my dear Henrietta. The brightest pupil I ever taught.” He sighed dramatically, one hand over his heart. “She’s done such sterling work, infiltrating the monarchy at its highest level. Really, if only I could see her dear, sweet face again.” He produced a handkerchief and wiped his eyes. Maria snorted with laughter.

“Here, Jenkins.” Alice pointed to me. “Look who I found.”

Taking that as my cue, I pushed back my hood and stood. When Mickelmas saw me, it was as though he tried swallowing his own face. I walked over to him, feigning sweetness.

“I’m so happy to see you.” I dug my nails into his hand. He gave a small whine at the back of his throat but didn’t falter. What a professional. “I’m so enjoying my time in the Order.”

There were now some murmurs of interest in the room.

“What am I doing after I infiltrate the Order, exactly?” I whispered to Mickelmas, pulling him close. He put an arm around my shoulders and turned me to face the crowd once more.

“Our own burning rose continues our march toward equality, toward liberty, toward the freedom of English magic.” I could feel everyone’s scrutiny, even the hawk’s. I’d an idea what they saw: a magician’s girl, born like them but still a stranger. Living with the sorcerers. There was no unkindness here, but there was some mistrust. Well, I couldn’t blame them for that.

“Would you mind if I spoke with you for one moment, master dear?” I asked him.

Mickelmas bared his teeth in what might charitably be called a smile. “Oh, to catch up with my prize student. What a balm to my tired soul. But I must turn to fund-raising, my little flytrap. Your army won’t build itself, you know.”

My army. Of all the ridiculous, insane things.

“Not showing her much of a turnout, are we, Jenkins?” the fish man—Gerald—said with a laugh. Jenkins. That gave me an idea. Mickelmas was so careful about hiding his actual identity that very few knew who he really was. And Howard Mickelmas had a terrible reputation.

“Of course I understand, Mr. Hargrove. Wait. It is still Mr. Hargrove, isn’t it?” I gave him my most innocent eyes. His mouth became small. “Since you’ve so many false names—for your safety, of course—I wanted to make sure I didn’t slip and use the wrong one.”

His wide eyes said he didn’t think I would. My expression told him plainly that he was wrong.

“Oh, one moment with my little flower. Privately.” He squeezed my arm so hard it brought tears to my eyes. “A round for my friends, on me!” he called to the barkeep, and the place exploded in true excitement for the first time. Mickelmas pushed me through the room while a few of the magicians shook hands with me. Mickelmas shoved me out the door and around the corner. Finally free, I rubbed my arm.

“That’s no way to handle a lady,” I snapped.

“I’ve seen you eat a pork pie. There’s nothing ladylike about you.” He crossed his arms. “What do you want?”

Was this a joke? “Why are you using my name to start a bloody revolt?”

“You think becoming a sorcerer was enough? I’m laying the groundwork for you to rise higher than ever, you stupid pudding.” There was a passion in his eyes I hadn’t seen before. When we’d worked together in his tiny flat, he told me he’d fought enough for magicians. Now he wanted to plunge back into the fray?

“I thought you went to America.”

“Leave when, after centuries on the outs, the time of magicians is rising once more?” He sounded awed by the very idea of it. “The sorcerers will be on their knees to R’hlem in no time.”

Yes, because I wouldn’t go to him. “We’re doing our best,” I snapped.

“Oh, don’t tell me you actually fancy yourself one of them.” Mickelmas scoffed.

“That’s what you were training me for, wasn’t it?”

“No!” He stamped his foot. “I was training you to become like one of them.” He looked as if he wanted to shake me. “They’ll never accept you. They can never accept anything that isn’t the same as them.”

My life among the sorcerers was not perfect, but it was a damned sight better than I had ever expected after the commendation ball.

“Isn’t that too harsh?” I asked.

“Oh, you’re becoming soft. How disappointing. I thought you had the fire of your father in you.” He paused. “That came out a lot funnier than I meant it to.” He smiled a little. “Eh? Fire? Your father?”

“And speaking of my father”—at this he stiffened—“what the hell did you mean about him not having drowned?” If Mickelmas tried to slip away from me again, I was going to hang on to his neck until he told me.

“Oh, why do we have to harp on things that are past? I’ve said many stupid things to people I never intended to see again.”

“Tell me.” My hands bloomed with flame.

“I don’t know what happened to your father, all right?” He inched away.

“Then how do you know he didn’t drown?” That was what Mickelmas had said, in St. Paul’s on the night of Korozoth’s attack. Your father didn’t drown. And then in an instant he’d gone, leaving me with the echo of those words in my head.