Claude’s chest rose with a heavy breath. “Thank you for coming to me, and for your aid. That would be appreciated.”
I nodded, beginning to rise. “Hopefully they were it.”
“Yes,” Claude murmured, squinting as he stared out the window. “Hopefully.”
“I’ll let you know if I find anything.” I started to leave, then stopped. “Would you like something for your headache? I have some peppermint— ”
“No, that won’t be necessary.” His smile turned wry as he looked up at me. “The headaches are deserved.”
They probably were, but I didn’t think that meant he needed to suffer. “You sure?”
“Yes, pet. I am.”
Hesitating for a moment, I then turned. I made it only a few steps.
“Pet?”
I faced him. “Yes?”
He’d picked up the cloth. “Are you happy here?”
“Yes, of course. Why do you ask?” At once, my stomach dropped as my mind went to the worst-case scenario. For him to ask something similar twice in the span of twenty-four hours unnerved me. “Are you not happy with me?”
“No— no. That’s not why I asked,” he was quick to say. “I’m lucky to have you.” He twisted at the waist, toward me. “I just want to make sure you know that.”
“I do,” I whispered.
Claude smiled, but there was something off about it. Tired, even brittle, but I imagined that had more to do with the ache in his head.
“Feel better,” I said, crossing the study. Something struck me then— about this Muriel.
I didn’t know . . . anything about him. Nothing came to me, which could mean only one thing.
Muriel was a Hyhborn.
But that made little sense. Why would a Hyhborn be involved in bone magic?
CHAPTER 8
Sultry music drifted down from the balcony above the solarium, masking some of the sounds radiating from the various couches and nooks. Beneath the music and the clink of glasses, there were thicker, heated sounds mingling with the hum of conversation. Teasing laughter. Low groans. Breathy gasps as bodies moved against one another.
The evening festivities were in full swing— an excess in all forms of lasciviousness, whether it be imbibing too much drink or indulging in the flesh.
I shifted on the couch I sat upon, my chest feeling too tight as my thoughts circled the general sense of unease that had been building since I’d spoken to Grady and had left Claude’s study. The cause of it could be several things. The raids along the border. The shadow market in Archwood. Claude. A Hyhborn potentially being involved in harvesting. Him.
He’s coming.
My skin felt too cold despite the balmy warmth of the solarium, and the sweet-tasting wine I sipped did little to warm me. I knew that whisper was for him— my lord— but what I didn’t understand was why I could sense that and yet nothing else when it came to Hyhborn.
I eyed where Claude was currently holding court with his closest peers— sons and daughters of Archwood’s most elite, those desperate to be close to anything Hyhborn, even a caelestia. They laughed and carried on while Claude held Allyson in his lap.
The Baron had disappeared more than once to step outside, and I feared he’d also been indulging in the Midnight Oil— a powder derived from poppies grown in the Lowlands and often smoked. Caelestias had a higher tolerance, but they didn’t seem to know exactly when they exceeded that tolerance. He had that unsteady way about him that always followed smoking the drug. Had he reached out to Prince Rainer?
I didn’t know, but I’d spent a good part of the day strolling near the wall, peeking into the thoughts of the guards who were on duty. Thankfully none of them had sent up any red flags, but then again, they would have to have been thinking about the shadow market for me to pick up on it.
However, I did learn that Hendrick, one of the guards, was thinking about proposing to the girl he’d been seeing.
Not sure what I could do with that piece of information.
I took another drink of the wine as I peeked over at the nearby divan, and nearly choked at the sight of Mrs. Isbill. The wife of a wealthy ship merchant was likely unrecognizable to most, since half her face was obscured by a jewel-encrusted domino mask. She was sprawled across the red cushion, the bodice of her gown exposing one breast. The skirt of her gown was hiked up to her knees, doing very little to hide the fact that it was most definitely not her husband’s head between her thighs. I knew this, because he was currently seated beside her, and whoever was between her legs also had his hand on Mr. Isbill’s cock.