Page 145 of The Scarlet Veil

He frowns at that, but without another word, he flicks his wrist at my waist. As the scent of the magic engulfs us, he nods for me to continue. Still strangely reluctant to speak at a normal volume, I open my mouth to tell him about our trap, about Beau leading me to the northern balcony, but the words that come out are entirely different. “Do you remember... those last few years of Filippa’s life?”

Whatever Reid had been expecting me to say, clearly, this wasn’t it. His frown deepens as he searches my face, but he nods regardless, his meaning clear.Yes, I remember.

“She was... distant, almost reclusive, and I caught her sneaking out of our nursery more than once, always in the dead of night. I know she treated you differently too.” His hands tighten imperceptibly as they spin me away from him, then back again. Instinctively, I know he’s remembering the same thing I am: the last time the twoof them spoke, Filippa called him a pigheaded soldier and stormed from the house. Before I can reconsider, I blurt, “Reid, I think she was having an affair with the Necromancer.”

He recoils slightly in shock, his eyes narrowing.

“She might not have known he was a necromancer at the time, of course, but the two—they were involved somehow,” I say helplessly. “They—they planned to run away together, and I just can’t— I don’t know how to—” I take a deep, shuddering breath. “I don’t understand how she could’ve associated with such a person. How she could’velovedhim.” Then—because he cannot speak and I can, because there’s nothing either of us can truly say— “You knew her too. Youknewher. Did you ever suspect she could do something like this? Did I just—did I miss it, Reid? Did I even know her at all?”

Too many questions, I realize miserably.He can’t possibly answer them all—

Squeezing my hand, Reid pulls me into a bone-crushing hug, and with it—incredibly—the tension in my entire body releases. I choke on a sob. It has been a... very long time since someone hugged me like this, not as a friend or paramour, but as family. As a sibling, a brother. As someone who knows me, trulyknowsme, and understands my pain and confusion and guilt because he feels it too.

But that isn’t everything.

“You hurt my feelings, you know,” I tell him quietly when we pull apart. “You all did. What I overheard in the counsel room—I didn’t deserve to be treated like that, Reid. No one deserves to be treated like their thoughts and feelings and experiences don’t matter, especially by their closest friends.” Despite the words, myvoice holds no accusation or reprimand, and to my surprise, I no longer feel anger either. Perhaps because this is no longer a confrontation. This is statement of fact. “I am not secondary.”

Reid stops dancing abruptly, right there in the middle of the floor, and clasps my shoulders, bending to look directly in my eyes.I know, he mouths, his expression solemn and full of regret.I’m sorry.

Around us, the other couples continue to sway and spin, but Michal and Lou both track us from the corners of their eyes. The others have finished their discussions too, clearly waiting for Reid and me to move into the second stage of our plan. The trap itself.

Cupping Reid’s cheek, I whisper, “I forgive you. Now... here is what we’re going to do.”

Chapter Forty-Seven

The Trap

Half an hour later, Beau and I stand huddled together against the wind on the northernmost balcony off the ballroom. A quaint courtyard stretches below us, partially hidden by two ancient oak trees, just like Michal said it would be. One of them has grown up and over the stone balustrade, its branches straining toward the castle, while the other conceals the rest of the courtyard from view. The effect is almost total privacy—and thank goodness for that, as Beau seems determined to ruin our plan before it can begin.

“Let me get this straight.” Beau crosses his arms against his chest. Half in spite, probably, but also to shield himself from the miserable cold. “Youhave volunteered as bait for this Necromancer character.”

Rubbing my arms through my sleeves, I whisper, “He needs my blood to do the actual necromancy bit, yes, but can you keep your voice down? You’re supposed to be consoling me.”

“Right.” Our breath puffs between us in little clouds of white as he obliges, grudgingly patting my back. “And because of this rather unfortunate decision, I have also—somehow—been volunteered as bait.” As he speaks, the ever-present clouds of Requiem part to reveal a bright autumn moon, and it bathes the ridiculousspangles of his costume in muted silver light. “Me,” he repeats incredulously, flicking the bell on his hat for emphasis. “The one person here without any means to contribute if the Necromancer does, in fact, reveal himself and attempt toharvest your blood.”

“Which is exactly why we chose you and not the others.” I lean into him, anxious and shivering, and sniffle as loudly as possible. Perhaps I shouldn’t have removed my mask so soon; it would’ve at least kept my nose warm. When Reid pretended to insult me at the end of our waltz, however, I’d needed to remove it to pretend to burst into tears, fleeing toward a mutinous Beau, who clearly didn’t like our scheme one bit. “We need to lull the Necromancer into a false sense of security. He’s much more likely to attackusthan he would be if Michal or Lou or even Jean Luc had escorted me out here.Console, please.”

“I’m flattered, truly.” Wrapping a stiff arm around my shoulders, he forces my head into the crook of his neck and pats my ear instead. “There, there.”

“Oh, don’t be like that. You said it yourself—you’re the least threatening person in the group.”

“And suffering for it, apparently. How long is this going totake?” Louder, then— “Don’t cry, Célie darling. My dear brother isclearlyovercompensating for something.”

Ignoring his scowl, I blow warm air into my palms and try valiantly to pluck an emotion from my chest. I just need one—oneemotion deeply felt—to step through the veil and check with Mila, who probably waits for me there already. It shouldn’t be difficult. Until this moment, I’ve been able to slip in and out of the otherworld as I please, yet tonight, my nerves have stretched to the point of snapping, and their frayed ends blow wildly in thewind. I can’t focus on a single emotion. Indeed, I can’t focus onanythingexcept theincessantnoise of Beau’s costume as he shivers. Lifting my head from his shoulder, I hiss, “Can you stopjinglingfor a moment? I’m trying to concentrate.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Is this incredibly frustrating for you?” Rolling his eyes, he seizes his hat and flings it over the balustrade, except instead of vanishing from sight, it catches on a tree limb instead. It dangles there—chiming madly in another gust of wind—until Beau looks likely to leap from the balcony instead. “I’d like it noted,” he says through gritted teeth, “this isnothow I envisioned tonight would go.”

“No?” I press my ear back to his shoulder in an effort to muffle the wretched jingling. Even now, the Necromancer could be hiding below, waiting for his opportunity to strike, tokill, but—no. Teeth chattering, I shake my head. I can’t think like that. Michal is hiding somewhere too, and he won’t let anything happen to us. We simply need to wait. “What part of the evening isn’t living up to your expectations?”

“For starters”—Beau wraps the corner of his satin cape around my shoulders—“I would’ve liked it with a bit less reference to necrophilia. No one said anything about a necromancer when I jumped on that ship. Help you escape a vampire island? Yes, without question.” A muscle in his jaw flexes. “Especially after Lou mentioned compulsion, and Jean Luc convinced us thatmustbe the reason you chose to return to this wretched place.” I recoil instinctively from the image he paints: Jean Luc arguing with the others, desperate to convince them I’d been compelled. Desperate to convince himself. Even admitting that I left would’ve cost him, and I—my mind skitters away from the rest of the thought. “Nowthat we’ve determined you’re most definitelynotbeing compelled, however...”

“You would leave me to the Necromancer?”

It makes sense, of course. Beau isn’t like me; he isn’t even like Reid or Jean Luc. He is royalty—the king of all Belterra—and his people will surely feel his absence while he chases down runaways and murderers.

“Of course not.” Beau sighs in defeat, his shoulders slumping beneath the cape. “It’s just—today was Coco’s birthday. Did you know that? She was born on All Hallows’ Eve.”

“What?” My stomach plunges at the realization, and I jerk upright to gape up at him. Because of course I know Coco’s birthday. How could I possibly have forgotten? Worse still—instead of celebrating, she spent the evening on a ship sailing to her possible demise, and I just might be the worst friend to have ever called herself one. “Oh no,” I whisper in horror. “I didn’t get her a present.”

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