“They didn’t. The fa?ade of a hotel afforded the perfect disguise. They were easily able to turn people away. A hotel only has so many rooms, you understand.”
“They told people the hotel was full.”
“Yes. But not for us. When we stepped inside, I was still young. I didn’t know I was a suminaire. If I’d been born into a family with a long history of suminaires, perhaps I would have been given an artéfact or schooled in the other ways to use my magic before it hurt others.”
“Première magie?”
She nodded. “But I didn’t know anything about using magic. The society saved my life, as they did for many children. It was spoken of among families with suminaire blood in their lineage. Parents knew that if their child exhibited certain traits, they could send them there to live a long life without the threat of being discovered. I was very fortunate to find it on my own.”
“So you just moved in?”
“Of course. The only other option was going into hiding and trying to contain my magic by myself—something I certainly wasn’t prepared for. The society was the best choice for me at the time. Inside, I was given my artéfact along with a job. I drew maps for them.” Céleste fixed her attention on my cosmolabe.
On instinct, I shoved the metal disk down my pocket.
“If you created maps, what did your brother do?” And please hurry, I almost added.
“What did he not do? My brother is brilliant. The head of the society took a liking to him. He gave Alastair the job clerking along with cataloguing artéfacts. But not initially.” She frowned. “It’s my fault he’s there, you know. I begged for him to stay on because I couldn’t bear the thought of leaving him behind.”
“Surely they would have seen your brother’s potential and brought him on.”
“They didn’t bring him on, or even want him at first.” She leaned forward, suddenly fearful, as if Alastair himself could hear her every word. “You see, only suminaires were allowed past that little lobby, and although he’s done an admirable job convincing the world otherwise, my brother doesn’t have a single drop of magic in his entire body.”
The wooden ring tumbled from my fingers onto the marble. Alastair had no magic. “But he’s the greatest suminaire in all the world.”
“He’s the greatest liar in all the world. Hard to believe, I know.”
But I’d seen him move walls. I’d watched as he crafted flowers from air. He erased minds like plucking overripe peaches. “Your brother has magic.” He had to.
“I assure you that’s not the case,” Céleste said solemnly. “Our parents were dead. I couldn’t leave him in Champilliers by himself, so I talked the society heads into letting him come on with me.” She lifted her teacup, staring at the steaming water like it held futures. “Once inside, Alastair saw suminaires old enough to be his grandfather appear no older than me. And everything was magical. Even the oranges were enchanted.”
The marvelous orange trees. “Your brother said he’d tried to cut the trees down once.”
“He hated them,” she said. “The oranges are quite unique. Did you know their juice tastes like a special food you’ve eaten? For me, the juice always tasted like the fraisier cake from my tenth birthday. When I sipped it, everything I remembered sensing at that birthday party would come alive around me. I could even smell the smoke from freshly blown-out birthday candles.”
A marvelous orange must have been the main ingredient in the juice Yrsa had given me on my first afternoon at the hotel—where she hid the drop of Truth.
“Only suminaires can pick the oranges, you know. After we’d first arrived, Alastair had hated how the trees reminded him of what he wasn’t. In fact, at the mention of anything to do with magic, he would shut down. I couldn’t bear to see him like that, so I began keeping things from him.”
I knew exactly how Céleste felt. Often, I regretted not telling Zosa how sorry I was for bringing her to Durc. Now there were too many things I wanted to tell her and I couldn’t.
Céleste tossed a couple more things in her hatboxes. One of them was nearly full and I still needed answers. “So Alastair was lonely.”
“Not exactly,” she said. “He had a friend, Nicole, a suminaire with barely any hint of power.” She snarled the woman’s name. “Nicole’s artéfact was a copper spoon that could heat water one cup at a time and nothing more.”