“As well as can be expected. We handed out artéfacts to those who still had magic.”
I had thought of that. Besides spending time with Zosa, thinking was all I’d done over the past few days. But mostly, I thought of the future, and what it might look like. “Do you think there are enough suminaires with magic left to perform tricks that could make this place . . . interesting again?”
He gave me a wry look. “What’s going on inside that thick skull of yours?”
“Do you?” I pressed.
He rubbed the space between his brows, considering. “Nothing like Alastair’s ink. But you wouldn’t believe all the astonishing things some of the artéfacts can do.” He took one of my hands and ran his thumb along my wrist. I tried not to tremble and failed miserably. “Why do you ask?”
“Béatrice told me that many—” I took a breath. “Many suminaires have been trapped for so long, they’re not sure they have a home to go back to. Some didn’t even know they were magical before being plucked from the crowd, and many who still have magic want to learn about it.” I looked down at his hand twining mine. “Those without magic . . . Some of them are okay with it, but the majority of them are angry. They want whatever was done to them to be reversed.”
“They told Béatrice that?”
“I’m sure it was the only way to get her to stop fretting over them,” I said, picturing the worried look on Béatrice’s face when she explained everything. “And I plan to do something about it. That’s why I’m here.”
His brow arched, but I didn’t let it bother me. I’d be surprised if he wasn’t a little bit skeptical.
“I want to keep this place up and running like it was. The signet ring might be only a fairy tale right now, but Céleste said herself that there was truth behind stories, and someone in the Société des Suminaires believed in the ring enough to add it to the catalogue of known artéfacts.”
He dropped my hand. “You want to search for that godforsaken ring?” His voice was flat.
“Not just the ring. Even if it doesn’t exist, the world is vast and unimaginable. Who’s to say there isn’t something else out there—another artéfact that might help? Those suminaires have been trapped behind glass for years. I think they’re at least owed a chance to search for something.” Bel opened his mouth, but I held up my hand. “Don’t look at me like that. People died here because of what Alastair did. As long as we’re repairing the hotel, we should at least try to do something.” And I want you to stay by my side and help, I desperately wanted to add, but I couldn’t get the words past my tongue.
His switchblade tapped his lip. “But I had thought you wanted to take Zosa to Aligney.”
I managed a laugh for the first time that day.
“Don’t laugh at me,” he said.
I snorted. “I did want to take Zosa to Aligney, more than anything, but it’s not where we belong. Right now, this place is my home as much as Aligney or Durc ever was. All the people I care about are here. This place . . . I want to make it a home for anyone who wishes to stay.”
Bel didn’t answer. Instead, he lowered his gaze to the pair of artéfacts around my neck. The weighty cosmolabe now hung from Maman’s chain.
After too long a silence, Bel lifted his hand. “Can I?”
I nodded and flinched when his warm fingers grazed my skin to inspect the cosmolabe’s elaborate mechanics. I didn’t brush him off or push him away, even though I could barely breathe.
“I suspect you could get a feel for my key. You could try to use it if you wanted. You might like it.” He looked at me from the corner of his eye. “And if we’re going to search for an artéfact to help all those suminaires, it might be nice to not have to work every single midnight for the foreseeable future.”
He would stay.
“But you wanted to leave so badly. Your family—”
A painful expression crossed his face.
“My mother came from a family with suminaire blood in her lineage, but she never told my father. She didn’t have an artéfact, but she knew enough about première magie to keep my magic from hurting others. It probably would have been fine, but she decided to tell my father what I was when I was still so young—long before my magic ever had a chance to show itself—and my father grew afraid of me. He told me . . .” He swallowed. “He told me that he wished I was never born. My mother had heard about Alastair, that he took on suminaires and helped them. So when the hotel came to town . . .” His words trailed off. A haunted look came over his features.