Ink, Iron, and Glass (Ink, Iron, and Glass #1)(57)
Elsa quickly settled on the contents of the message for de Vries: Ran the experiment you told me not to. Complicated results. How should we proceed? Porzia wrote a message for her mother as well, saying Casa needed maintenance, though of course not mentioning why. It was late, but Faraz agreed to take the notes to the telegraph office first thing in the morning.
What they would do after that, Elsa didn’t know.
*
Leo sprawled on the roof of the veranda below his balcony, staring up at the stars, the terra-cotta roof tiles cool against his back. He ought to try sleeping—oblivion would be a welcome change from the roiling of his emotions—but his thoughts refused to settle.
Soft footsteps shuffled across the floorboards inside the bedroom, and then Faraz’s silhouette appeared over the balcony railing, upside down from Leo’s perspective.
“I thought I might find you here,” said Faraz.
“Why don’t you join me?” Leo joked halfheartedly.
Faraz, who wasn’t fond of heights, said, “I think not.”
“Oh, fine.” Leo picked himself up off the roof tiles and vaulted over the railing to join Faraz on the balcony. “Look at all those stars. They make our problems seem insignificant in the grand scheme of the universe, don’t you think?”
Faraz shrugged. “Our problems don’t have to be significant to the universe—it’s enough that they’re significant to us.” He casually shifted the subject. “I told Elsa about Venezia, by the way.”
“You what?”
Faraz gave him a steady look. “She wanted to know. You expect her to trust us not only with her secrets but with her mother’s life, yet you withhold your own history—your own secrets—from her?”
“Lies can carry as much truth as facts, sometimes.” The words left his mouth, and Leo immediately thought of Rosalinda’s deception. He laughed harshly. “I never thought I’d be on the receiving end of that particular lesson.”
Faraz pursed his lips and chose his words carefully. “I’m glad you know because we need that knowledge right now, but … it’s a terrible thing, to be unwanted. This is one commonality I wish we didn’t share.” Faraz’s own father had sold him into an apprenticeship in Tunis when he was six years old, and Leo knew he had not seen his birth family since.
“Mm,” Leo grunted, not yet ready to voice how he was feeling.
Faraz, patient as ever, allowed a companionable silence to settle over them. Leo was grateful his friend knew him well enough not to pry, and not to ask him if he was all right when he clearly was not. Above, the stars wavered, light bending through atmosphere.
Eventually Leo offered, “I think I hate him.”
“If you’re hoping to be dissuaded from adopting that particular view, I’m afraid I’m not the man for the job.” A rueful smile pulled at the corners of Faraz’s mouth.
“I don’t know what I’m hoping for,” said Leo. “An explanation that will somehow make all of this okay? Doesn’t seem likely I’ll get one.”
“No, it doesn’t,” Faraz said.
What his father had done still didn’t quite seem real in Leo’s mind, as if the cognitive dissonance threatened to erase his memories. “He kidnapped Elsa’s mother. He put an entire passenger train in mortal danger just to, what—test my skills as a mechanic? He sabotaged Casa and sent an assassin into a house full of children!”
“None of that is your fault.”
“Of course it’s not my fault!” Leo snapped.
Faraz raised his eyebrows at Leo’s reaction, and Leo let out a frustrated huff. The truth was, he did feel guilty—he felt guilty because it was his father who’d done all these horrible things. And he felt guilty because there was still a part of himself who loved his father and yearned for his approval, and wanted nothing more than to be reunited.
“You’re a good friend,” he said, by way of apology.
Faraz snorted, then gave Leo’s shoulder a sympathetic squeeze. “Somebody’s got to keep you out of trouble. Now, get some sleep.”
“I’ll try,” Leo agreed. Faraz was right—he would need to be rested, to rally his strength. The knowledge of his abandonment felt like a barb beneath his ribs, a sharp pain making it difficult to breathe.
Now, the anger brewing inside him was about more than Elsa’s mother. Leo needed to face the man who had thrown him away, the man who had shattered his childhood like porcelain hitting the floor. His father.
13
CLARITY OF MIND MEANS CLARITY OF PASSION, TOO; THIS IS WHY A GREAT AND CLEAR MIND LOVES ARDENTLY AND SEES DISTINCTLY WHAT IT LOVES.
—Blaise Pascal
Elsa jerked out of a deep sleep, heart hammering against her ribs, unsure what had awoken her. She fumbled for the matches on the bedside table and lit a candle, then slipped out of bed and pulled a dressing gown on over her chemise.
She paused, ears straining against the silence. The sound came again, muffled and indistinct. A person? Or some function of the house? Elsa couldn’t be sure. Fumbling in the near dark, she retrieved her revolver from the top drawer of the commode and stashed it in the pocket of the dressing gown. After the assassin in the library, she wasn’t about to get caught without a weapon. Then she lifted the candlestick and padded barefoot into the hall.