wood. Armand couldn’t seem to stop staring at it, even as we talked about the letters. Even though he’d held it in his hands and turned it over and over, searching for the hoax that wasn’t there.
The metal buttercup sang a metal song now, and it was clear both of us heard it. A very pretty song, too, jingling soft as fairy bells beneath our conversation.
I’d definitely remember to slip it into my pocket before I left. Armand probably had mountains of gold stashed away somewhere inside his mansion, anyway.
“I knew it was your mother’s side,” Jesse was saying, perusing one of the letters, “but I didn’t know how far back it went. These are over a hundred years old. That’s, say, four or five generations. Possibly even six. And for each generation, they could have passed through either the matriarchal line or the paternal. It’s astonishing your mother had them at all.”
“But who was the author?” I asked. “Who was Rue?”
“No idea.” Armand ran a hand through his hair. “Reginald hasn’t been too keen to talk about my mum or her family. I do know she was the only child of a baron and that her parents, my grandparents, died right before the marriage. He mentioned once that their estate was sold off, taxes or something. And it seems that Rue was a member of the nobility, whoever she was. It’s signed M. of L. in each. That’s how titles were disguised from the public in the news back then, the dailies and such. So maybe she was still wary enough of this ‘tribe’ to hide her true name.”
“And that of your ancestor.” I tapped my finger to one of the sheets. “Or someone was, since she dictated it. That might be why there are no other proper names besides Kit, and no envelopes.”
“M could only stand for Marchioness. Surely not too difficult to track down. We’ve a copy of Standish’s Peerage of the Empire back at Tranquility. I think it traces lines back past the fifteenth century.”
“Unless your Rue wasn’t of the empire,” Jesse pointed out.
“Or she fabricated it,” I added. “That’s what I would have done, if I’d truly wanted your line kept hidden.”
Armand dropped his head into his hands and made a sound like a groan. “If I wasn’t barmy already, I’m going to be.”
From somewhere in Jesse’s bedroom, a clock gave a single chime.
“It’s half past three,” he said abruptly, standing. “You need to get home, both of you. Louis, I’d like to keep the letters here, if you don’t mind. I want to go over them again.”
I came to my feet. “And ask the stars about them?”
Jesse nodded. Armand only shook his head, gloomy. There were bruises under his eyes that hadn’t been there yesterday.
“Ask the—fine. Splendid. Keep them if you like. Burn them. Turn them to gold or silver or lead. In the morning I’ll wake up and none of this will have happened.”
“No, lordling,” I said to him. “You’re never going to wake like that again, and you’re never going to be able to forget.”
“Bugger you, waif.”
“And you.”
He walked past both of us without another glance or another word, opened the door, and disappeared into the night.
I went to Jesse and wrapped my arms around him. After only a second’s hesitation, his arms lifted to embrace me, too.
“I don’t want to go,” I whispered.
I felt his chest expand beneath my cheek. “This is going to be much more difficult than I anticipated.”
“Which part?”
“All of it.” He brought a hand to my hair, his fingers weaving through. “Things are about to change rapidly now, Lora. He’ll come back to us stronger and stronger. He’s going to crave you more and more, and not having you will eat him raw.”
I frowned up at him. “What do you mean?”
Jesse tucked a strand behind my ear, his eyes emerald dark, his lashes tipped with candlelight. “It will be in his nature. He’ll feel compelled to claim you, and he won’t stop trying to do that. Ever. When that happens—”
“That is not bloody going to happen.”
“When that happens,” he said again resolutely, “I want you to remember two things. One: I’ve loved you since before he even knew you lived. Two: Spare a little pity for him. This isn’t entirely his fault. He was born into his role, just as you and I were. But, Lora-of-the-moon—only a little pity, all right?”
“My pity may reach as deep and wide as the ocean,” I answered. “But my heart is