Ink, Iron, and Glass (Ink, Iron, and Glass #1)(74)

Faraz’s eyes went wide. “You mean Montaigne created a homunculus of his own? That just might be possible. He’d need an excellent alchemist, though—faces are a challenge.”

Elsa sat back in her chair and shook her head, disappointed in herself. “The body was positioned facedown, and the house being on fire was rather a distraction. A shoddy likeness wouldn’t have fooled Garibaldi himself, but his ex-Carbonari followers wouldn’t have thought to look for the signs. I certainly didn’t, and I’m a pazzerellone.”

Porzia frowned thoughtfully. “Is that the sort of thing Montaigne would do? He was a scriptologist, after all, not an alchemist.”

“Tricking someone using their own brand of subterfuge?” Elsa said. “Absolutely. He always loved proving how much smarter he was than everyone else.”

Faraz tapped the table. “We need to establish whether he’s truly dead.”

“Who’s dead?” Leo said groggily from the doorway. His hair was a mess, he squinted as if the sunlight through the window pained him, and he was still dressed in yesterday’s clothes, now wrinkled in addition to wine-stained. At the sight of him, Elsa felt as if there were a hand around her heart, squeezing.

With some effort Leo pushed away from the doorframe and joined them, flopping down in the chair beside Faraz. “Or who’s potentially not dead, rather?”

Porzia explained, “Montaigne may have faked his death.”

The more Elsa considered this possibility, the angrier she became. If Montaigne was alive, was he also complicit in the burning of his library? Had he set the fire himself, knowing full well that it might mean the destruction of Veldana? Her home, her legacy, her people—all potentially destroyed. “That bastard! If he’s alive, he’s going to wish he wasn’t.”

Leo folded his arms on the tabletop and rested his head on them. “I don’t suppose you could all whisper? My skull’s about to explode.”

Elsa clenched her teeth. “I need to know. I need to know for certain who’s responsible for that fire.”

“Fantastic,” Porzia said, heavy on the sarcasm. “What are we supposed to do? Go to Paris and dig up his corpse?”

Faraz brightened. “Actually, I don’t think that will be much of a problem. I’ve got this machine—”

“You have a grave-robbing machine?” Porzia screeched. Leo winced.

Faraz held up his hands. “It’s not mine! I don’t work on people, remember? It’s something the previous occupant left behind in my lab—looks like it’s been under a tarpaulin for forty years. I’m not even sure it still works.”

“Oh, it works,” said Leo.

Everyone turned to stare at him.

“What?” he said defensively. “There was a mysterious machine cluttering up Faraz’s lab. I’m naturally curious.”

After an awkward pause, Faraz cleared his throat. “The larger problem is how to find Montaigne’s grave. It’s not as if we can show up in Paris advertising our intent to exhume a corpse. There are laws about such things.”

Porzia said, “If only one of us knew a revolutionary with a network of spies all across southern Europe. Do you think the Carbonari might have someone in Paris who could help?”

“Wonderful plan. After a little nap, I think,” said Leo.

“Now.” Porzia grabbed his arm and dragged him from the chair. “You need to call on a friend.”

*

Rosalinda met him at the door with a penetrating scowl. “Are you hungover?”

Leo squinted against the afternoon sunlight, which seemed to be stabbing right through his eyes into his pounding skull. “We need a favor. Do you have an agent in Paris?”

Rosalinda let him inside but commanded him to sit while she prepared a pot of calendula tea. Cradling the warm cup in both hands, Leo realized this was her way of caring for him. She was a warrior—she understood the needs of the body. Her ministrations might be brusque, but this was how she expressed affection. How she always had.

By the time he was done explaining everything that had happened—even the conversation with Aris, which he’d kept to himself so far—the tea had eased his headache and settled his stomach.

Rosalinda tapped her long, dexterous fingers against the arm of her chair and watched him speculatively. “So do you believe Aris would side with you against your father, or do you only wish to believe it?”

“Ugh, I don’t know.” Leo set down his empty cup and rubbed at his eyes. “He could just as easily have been manipulating me at Father’s request.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line, Rosalinda seemed to arrive at a decision. “Very well, I’ll reach out to my contacts in Paris regarding the gravesite. But you must do something for me: think carefully about how you’ll proceed. Aris may prove unworthy of your trust, but that doesn’t necessarily mean he’s wrong about Ricciotti’s interest in Elsa.”

Leo gave her a rueful smile. “As Gia would say, even a broken clock tells the time twice a day.”

She nodded. “Just so.”

As much as he blamed his father, Leo desperately wanted to trust in Aris. Aris, who had teased his brothers mercilessly, but would not suffer a single word spoken against them by anyone else. He’d once broken the stable boy’s arm in three places for making fun of Pasca. Leo remembered that day with perfect clarity, because it was the day when he thought, Nothing can ever hurt me, because Aris will protect us.