A Poison Dark and Drowning (Kingdom on Fire #2)(57)

He looked young and happy.

Even if we ended up in the Tower, it was a sight worth witnessing.





Whitechurch rested his long, blue-veined hands on the alabaster handle of his cane, twirling it steadily. He was seated in a chair by the fireplace. I stood before him, in the center of the rug.

“You disobeyed a direct order.” Whitechurch had come to Blackwood’s house to have this talk with me, and he’d banished Blackwood from the parlor. I’d scrubbed my face and changed into a rose-colored gown with lace at the sleeves—Lilly had been helpful in choosing it.

“The more ladylike you look, the harder it’ll be for the Imperator to punish you,” she’d said sagely. Still, I wished I’d kept the dirt and the blood. Perhaps it would have made my case more compelling.

“I didn’t think it made sense to forget the weapons before they could be proven in a fight.” Hopefully, that sounded respectful as well as bold. “Sir,” I added.

The corners of the Imperator’s mouth tightened, though whether he was suppressing a smile I couldn’t say. “How did you come to make them work?”

“We practiced with Strangewayes’s book whenever we’d a spare moment.” I didn’t lie. I simply left out Mickelmas’s help. But I could swear that Whitechurch glimpsed the truth.

“When you were an Incumbent, your lessons improved miraculously overnight.” Slowly, Whitechurch stood. “You had help in that.” I stayed still beneath his scrutinizing gaze. “But Dee and Magnus and Blackwood have all corroborated that you worked together. Alone. Blackwood in particular was adamant about it,” he said.

I nearly gasped. Of all the boys, he valued the Imperator the most.

“If you did not have their support, I would suspect you of being in league with the magicians.” Whitechurch’s tone made me wonder if he had entirely got over that suspicion. “But the Child Eater ran today. Korozoth was destroyed in a single night. In nearly twelve years of war, we could not do what you have managed in recent months.”

He sounded…pleased.

“Then may we continue using the weapons?” I asked.

“I would be the greatest fool alive to forbid it.” The footman opened the door, and we passed into the hall. “But you must pay for your disobedience to your commanding officer. I’m removing you from Valens’s squadron. For the next month, you are relegated to dawn patrol.”

I’d be out of bed at four in the morning every single day. I wanted to groan just thinking of it, but I’d do it. And if Whitechurch thought that not being under Valens’s thumb any longer was a punishment, I’d gladly take a second round.

“Thank you, sir,” I said, curtsying to him at the door. Whitechurch paused, his sharp black eyes considering.

“Cornelius would be proud of you,” he said, and walked to his carriage.

A lump formed in my throat, as it always did at the mention of Agrippa. Before the door closed, Magnus came barreling up the walk. He’d on a sky-blue coat, looking nothing so much like a drop of pure color on the gray London streets. He bowed quickly to the Imperator. Behind him, Dee and Wolff were carrying bottles of what appeared to be champagne—where the devil had they got it?

Magnus burst through the doorway, snatching me by the waist and whirling me around. “Music!” he cried, before setting me down and rushing along Blackwood’s cavernous halls.

Bottles clinking, Dee and Wolff grinned as they ducked inside. Wolff’s coat collar was upturned, the tips of his ears bright red from the cold. Dee knocked beads of rain from his hat, clumsy as he juggled the champagne.

“Should we leave?” Dee asked me, almost dropping one of the bottles. I caught it just in time.

“Absolutely not,” I said, laughing.

Blackwood appeared at the top of the stairs. “Has the Imperator gone?” He paused, looking baffled by the company. “What are you all doing?”

“Celebrations!” Wolff popped a cork and raised a foaming bottle in a toast. Dee went up the steps and dragged Blackwood down by the arm, and we all followed Magnus. We ended up in the music room, with an elegant, polished pianoforte. Normally, rows of chairs would be set up so that visitors could enjoy private concerts. But most of the furniture had been removed for Eliza’s debut ball, which was now only a few days away. The buffed parquet floor was simply begging to be used.

“Who here plays? Howel?” Magnus called as we entered. I went and plinked two notes. The instrument was very fine, but I’d always been a lackluster player at best. “No, we need an accomplished musician. Dee? You’re good with flutes,” Magnus said.

“Never played this before,” Dee admitted. Magnus shrugged, slapped Dee on the shoulder, and embraced Wolff. If only Lambe could have been here. If only he weren’t still up north, shut away in the Dombrey Priory. There were footsteps in the hall, and a breathless Maria ran into the room.

“You beat him?” she gasped.

Magnus gestured to the instrument. “You don’t know how to play, do you?”

Maria grinned. “No, but if anyone loves to dance…”

While Magnus tried picking out a simple song—not doing a very good job of it—I got some glasses from one of the servants. Dee and Wolff poured champagne, and we all toasted. Wolff even took swigs from the bottle, spluttering as it fizzed down the front of his shirt. Blackwood, meanwhile, looked as if he’d no idea how he’d got here.