“Maybe she can have a crack at Bastian,” Brigitte said.
Dani rolled her eyes. “You sound just like her. She’s convinced she would make an excellent queen, but my parents are playing it safe. They’re currently in negotiations with Viscount Demonde. Amelia is less than thrilled.”
“Gods, I bet.” Bri scowled. “If I had my sights on Bastian Arceneaux and got ancient Demonde instead, I’d be furious.”
Lore’s smile felt very brittle.
“He’s ancient, but the Demonde line is, too. And he’s rich as sin, and much easier to secure than an Arceneaux heir. If Amelia makes a prestigious match, then my marriage can be just about money.” Dani shrugged. “Luc is the heir to a modest fortune, and making more money on his own, besides.”
Again, a slant of her eyes to Lore, so quick it could’ve been imagined.
“Is he building ships, too?” Alie asked.
“Not quite,” Dani answered. “Apparently, a new company has been hiring men off the docks to do transfer work. Carrying cargo from one place to another, things like that. They pay ridiculously well, and it’s usually only a night or two of labor.” She took a contemplative sip of tea. “It’s not exactly aboveboard, I assume, but if they’re paying the cargo carriers that well, their budget for bribes is probably quite healthy. Not that anyone would dare arrest Luc, once they found out who his father was.”
After hearing from Cecelia where the courtiers got their poison and how thin the rules held when you introduced money, Lore was sure that was true. “What’s the cargo?”
“I don’t know,” Dani said. “And I don’t care, really—it’s a lot of money, enough that Luc could buy a town house in one of the nicer Wards and pay my dowry even before his father dies and leaves him the business.”
Something tugged in Lore’s gut, not sitting quite right. As if this conversation was somehow a continuation of the one she’d been having all week in the Church library.
“Anyway, enough about all that.” Danielle waved a hand, dismissing talk of betrothals. “I believe we were discussing the handsome Duke Remaut and his presence in court, yes?”
“Apollius’s wounds,” Alie muttered, burying her face in her hands.
Lore took another drink of her tea, too quickly, burning the roof of her mouth. Brigitte and Danielle’s eyes fastened on her—clearly, she was supposed to speak next.
“It really is just to escort me,” she said finally. “My parents wanted a relative to help me through the season, and Gabriel was the only option. He wasn’t pleased about it.”
Alie made a small sound from behind her hands.
“I mean,” Lore said quickly, “there were parts he was looking forward to.” She turned to Alie. “I know he was excited to see you again.”
Technically a lie—Gabe had told her no such thing—but it didn’t feel like one.
“Truly?” Alie dropped her hands with a sigh. “Because I feel I made a mess of it all. It’s just been such a shock, seeing him again. Seeing him so… so grown up.”
Bare chest in firelight, the shadow of an eye patch made darker by the brilliant blue staring down at her. Lore swallowed more too-hot tea. Grown-up indeed.
Memories closer at hand were less pleasant. The clench of his jaw as he read another seemingly useless book. The way he’d drawn inward in the past few days, always preoccupied by something he wouldn’t talk to her about.
“He was taken aback, too,” Lore said. “It’s been… complicated for him, I think.”
“More complicated than it would be for anyone else, probably.” Dani shook her head in sympathy. “Some of us thought he was coming back to court for good, at first. But it seems like he’s holding fast to those vows.”
Alie’s cheeks went pinker. “Being one of the Presque Mort is a lifelong appointment. Once you gain the ability to channel Mortem, it’s not like you can give it back.”
“But he could stop, couldn’t he? Stop channeling, leave the Presque Mort. I know they don’t allow such a thing, technically, but he is a duke.” Brigitte looked excitedly to Alienor. “He could get a dispensation from the Priest Exalted—”
“No.” Alie shook her head, firm and final. “No.”
And that was enough to make her friends stop, make them nod like the word carried far more meaning than a syllable should be able to shoulder.
Brigitte took a sip of tea and grimaced. “I wonder if Bastian has any wine stashed around here.”