Ink, Iron, and Glass (Ink, Iron, and Glass #1)(54)

Leo dropped his head into his hands. Through the web of his fingers, he mumbled the most important question. “Why did they leave me behind?”

“I can’t tell you, my dear boy. I don’t know why.”

In his heart he knew the answer, though. They’d left him behind because he wasn’t good enough, had never been good enough—he was no polymath.

*

Gradually, Elsa managed to once again master the fine arts of sitting and standing. She even successfully downed a cup of chamomile tea brought to her not by a house-bot, but by a girl named Olivia. The girl looked like a younger version of Porzia, pretty with her dark hair and round cheeks, but unlike her sister, Olivia was painfully shy and disappeared as soon as she delivered the tea.

Porzia, on the other hand, strode in like she owned the place. “Where’s Faraz?”

Elsa, seated on the couch, replied, “He went to help sweep for bugs, now that I’m stable enough to be left alone.”

“Mm-hmm.” She leaned in close, squinting at Elsa. “You don’t look nearly as almost-dead as I was led to believe.”

“It seems Faraz does good work. Otherwise, I believe I’d be looking all-the-way dead.” Elsa felt oddly comforted by Porzia’s brisk, unworried manner. It made her brush with death seem not so frightening after all.

“Well, I’m glad you didn’t expire, because there’s simply so much happening and I really need you alive and conscious. While you were resting, a courier arrived from the Order to confiscate anything having to do with Garibaldi.”

“What!” Elsa sat up straighter. “All of Montaigne’s books?”

“No, no—the worldbooks are safe. I gave the courier just the one journal with Garibaldi’s name in it, the one we’ve already read. Everything else I hid before he got here.” Porzia’s mouth curled up into a sly little smile.

“Oh, that’s good.” Relief cooled her veins, though a moment later she had to wonder if Porzia was feigning all that apparent confidence. “But … your parents are in the Order. Won’t you get in trouble?”

“Only if I get caught,” Porzia said, though the lightness of her tone seemed forced. There was tension across her cheeks, as if she was not entirely happy with herself for what she’d done. “Besides, the worldbooks weren’t mine to give. I just did what I thought you would if you weren’t busy being poisoned.”

Elsa gave the other girl a scrutinizing look; a hint of fear and insecurity hid in her eyes. “Well, I know it was a risk, so thank you.”

“Everything in life is a risk. Now,” Porzia declared, changing the subject. She clasped her palms together eagerly. “If you’re feeling well enough for a short walk, I’ve a surprise for you.”

“Sounds ominous,” Elsa grumbled, half joking. She accepted the support of Porzia’s arm when she unsteadily stood.

Porzia led her out of Faraz’s workshop into an unfamiliar hallway, reminding her once again how massive the house was. Elsa almost gave up when she saw the “short walk” was to include climbing a flight of stairs, but she leaned heavily on Porzia and huffed her way up one stair at a time. Each breath was something of a struggle, and the effort made her light-headed.

Finally they arrived at a wide room that looked like a seamstress’s parlor. Heavy bolts of cloth hung from the far wall, and half-finished projects were strewn about on the worktables. Half a dozen mannequins were clustered in one corner, like a grove of pale trees. To Elsa’s right, a pair of open doorways led to two cavernous walk-in closets.

“Here we are,” said Porzia. “I had a few items altered to suit you. I think the tailor bot finished only one outfit before all the bots went haywire, but one’s enough for now.”

Tired from even so short a walk, Elsa let herself down on a low settee beside a stand of full-length mirrors. “An assassin infiltrated your mother’s stronghold, and your response is … clothes?”

Porzia busied herself while she talked, clearing off a table and laying out the items for Elsa to see. “Whether you like it or not, the train incident was your debut into mad society. Someone was watching, and we need to be ready to show that particular someone you’re not to be trifled with.”

Elsa gave her a skeptical look. “And new clothes will accomplish this?”

“You already are a powerful madgirl, a polymath with danger in every pocket. Now if only you would consent to dress like one—”

“Wait, what? How do you know that?” Elsa interrupted.

“Oh, please.” Porzia gave her a frank look. “If Leo had been the one who stopped the train, he would’ve been crowing from the rooftops instead of stalking around in a foul mood. Process of deduction, darling. I may have never met a polymath before, but I can still put two and two together.”

“Oh.”

“Now, as I was saying, if you’d dress like a polymath, perhaps you’d project more confidence in your powers. In my experience, your sartorial choices can have as much effect on how you feel about yourself as they do on how others perceive you.”

Elsa shook her head. “The clothes do not make the monk, Porzia.”

At that Porzia fumbled in surprise, dropping a boot on the floor and then quickly retrieving it. “Why did you choose those exact words?”