The Glamourist (The Vine Witch #2)(81)

“He claimed you stole from him,” Yvette said.

“The gold, yes.” Cleo turned to face Yvette with the youthful grace of the dancer she’d once been, her back straight and poised. “He’d encountered a mortal woman whose wealth exceeded his by a thousandfold, her money kept, in part, in solid gold.”

“Oh, I’ll bet she means Madame Chevalier,” Marion said. “Over a million in gold was taken. An absolute scandal.”

“Yes, madame,” said the fairy, and Marion blushed at the attention. “He was quite proud of that one. It was going to set him on a whole new path for squandering wealth he hadn’t earned.”

Tulane joined Cleo at her side. “By then we’d already met and fallen in love.”

“But I had remembered that the woman’s treasure was the result of my father’s generosity. A fairy blessing bestowed on someone who had shown kindness by championing a city rose garden many years prior.” Cleo smiled at Elena. “I believe you still have some of the petals drying in your purse. May they bring you luck.”

“I’m sure they will,” Elena said.

The fairy faced her daughter again. “I’d already bore you into the world when the gold was stolen from the woman, my darling. Marchand knew you were not his, but he refused to release me. He did not approve of divorce, though I was nothing more than a sparkling trinket on his arm to him. But one that he, and no one else, would possess. So, yes, when I learned of the stolen fortune, I saw an opportunity.”

“You took the gold and chose your freedom over me.”

“No!” The fairy’s quick anger at the accusation rattled the frames on the walls. Her halo flashed bright and harsh, sending orbs of light to crash into the walls. “The gold was used to buy our way back into my father’s realm, more than enough for the three of us to live out the rest of our days there in peace. Only . . .”

Cleo took a moment to let her anger recede, letting her inner light return to a shimmer. “Your grandfather is a fair man, but he is also a king. He cannot skirt the law, not even for his own blood.”

King?

“He accepted the gold as our offering,” Tulane said, setting the cat down. “He was pleased to have a fairy blessing returned rather than see it go to a thief, and so he allowed me to join Cleo and live within the realm, even though I carry only witch blood.”

“But he would not allow you to join us, my darling,” said her mother, eyes glistening. Yvette looked anew at the painting of the tears trailing down her mother’s face. “Because you were born here in the mortal world, he would not let us make that choice for you, not until you were old enough to decide for yourself what magic you were willing to give up or to gain. And yet your father and I had already agreed to the pact. We were trapped by fairy law. We had to enter the realm and remain there, but you could not.”

“The law is an ass,” Elena said.

Tulane hid his laughter behind his hand. “I may have said something similar to Oberon,” he said. “Still have the scar to prove it.” He pointed to a spot behind his right ear.

Oberon?

Cleo approached Yvette and took her hand despite her daughter’s initial resistance. “We were given seven days to place you. I could not risk Marchand finding my only daughter and holding her hostage, so I turned to an old acquaintance, one whose path had veered far from the comté’s ambitious social circle. Yes, she was ill prepared to take on a child, let alone one who was a vessel of untapped magic, but Isadora was the best choice I could make with the time I had. And she promised to keep the book safe for you until your sixteenth birthday. According to fairy law, that was the day you would be old enough to decide for yourself.”

“But he did find out,” Yvette said, swallowing back tears of her own. “He sent someone. To find me. To find the book. He knew about the code inside. He knew it would lead to you. And the gold.”

“Yes, he was always clever that way.”

“I killed the man he sent. It’s why I ran. Why I never knew about either of you. Or the book. Or about my scar. Until now. And now you’ve wasted your time. You waited all these years to learn your daughter is a murderer.”

“Oh, no, Yvette, you mustn’t think that.” Tulane stroked her hair as one might calm an upset child.

“But it’s true. They can arrest me at any moment. I’ll go back to prison.”

“Listen carefully,” her father said. “Oberon granted me permission to cast a looking-glass spell on your sixteenth birthday. We wanted to be there when you learned about your legacy and made your choice. We were both watching from the mirror in your room, eager to reveal the message concealed in the book, when the man attacked you.” Tulane took gentle hold of Yvette’s shoulders. “You did not kill that man. It was my spell. I saw him hurt you, and my anger took over. Emotions are more mercurial in the fairy realm. I couldn’t stop myself. I sent those scissors flying into that man’s neck, not you.” Tulane stepped back, pulling his hand down over his mouth as if he could wipe away the shame of admitting what he’d done. “I’m so sorry.”

Yvette slumped down on the velvet bench, as if every truth that had been holding her upright until that moment had been removed. She’d lived with the idea that she was a murderer for three years. She’d believed it. Let it define her life and the shape of her thoughts. Who was she if not the girl who had murdered a man on her sixteenth birthday? The girl who had always been shit at magic? Who had run feral as a cat in the narrow lanes of the butte from the time she could button her own shoes?