Page 53 of The Shadows Beyond
“Can I?”
Julien appeared hesitant. “They’re all old designs… but if you really want to.”
Flicking through the pages, Cinn discovered dozens of incredibly detailed drawings of what he could only presume were motecraft inventions, each with numerous scribbled annotations in Julien’s messy French scrawl.
A compass-like object, possibly to guide the user to sources of large quantities of motes. Goggles that appeared to give the wearer the ability to see through solid objects. A cross-section sketch of a pillow, containing five different layers, with doodles coming off a sleeping woman’s head—an illustration of a sun, a book, and a dog. Some sort of happy-dream device? Cinn would kill for that.
“Julien, these are incredible.”
“You don’t even know what you’re looking at. Half of these are impossible. They’re just fantasy.”
Cinn rolled his eyes. “God, you’re so difficult. Just take the compliment.”
“Oh, I did, don’t worry.” Julien drifted across the room to the full-length mirror. “We should head downstairs now.” He combed a hand through his hair and straightened the collar on the smart white shirt he was wearing.
Cinn stood to copy him, hovering behind him. The other day, Darcy had accompanied him into the town to help him buy relatively nice clothes for this weekend. As he’d saved the fanciest shirt for the birthday party the following evening, he was in the cheaper black linen one. It itched his neck.
“Oh shit. Can I leave this here?” Cinn went to pull his hat off his head—it surely wasn’t appropriate to wear it to dinner in this fancy palace. Evenheknew some level of socialetiquette.
Catching his arm, Julien pushed it down, then tugged on his beanie like he’d done the other day. “No, no. Keep it on. You’re all good.”
Cinn opened his mouth to protest, but then shut it. Without the hat, he felt stripped of his shield, as silly as that sounded.
As they traversed the maze of corridors into the main body of the mansion, a ball of nerves bounced in Cinn’s stomach. Just how had he ended up here? “Anything I should know about them? Your dad and step-mother? Do I need to do anything special?”
Julien turned to him. “Just be your normal self.” He flashed him a grin. There was a hint ofsomethingin the smile. Something that doubled Cinn’s anxiety as they turned the final corner to reach the drawing room.
Around a roaring fireplace, a collection of armchairs sat arranged in a perfect semicircle, with figures occupying two of them. Upon their approach, they stood up to greet them. The woman swiftly kissed Julien’s cheeks, while the man shook his hand. His father. He possessed Julien’s wiry frame, but that was where the similarities ended.
It was hard to pinpoint what gave the man the air of authority he exuded. Perhaps it was his short-cropped grey hair and beard, in addition to a sprinkling of fine-line wrinkles. Perhaps it was his reputation. Or perhaps it was the way he moved—like he owned the world.
“Julien,” he said, in a far thicker French accent than Julien’s, then turned to Cinn. At first, Lucien Montaigne squinted at him with a frozen smile, like Cinn was an enigma, a lost stray that wasn’t meant to be there. Then he composed himself, reaching over to firmly shake Cinn’s hand, his gaze scrutinising every inch of him, hovering a few too many seconds on his eyebrow piercing and beanie in turn.
“Lucien Montaigne,” he declared.
Behind his father, Julien wore an infuriating smile. Like he had set the stage and now was ready for the performance to unfold.
For fuck’s sake, Julien. What have you done this time?
The woman—at least a decade Lucien’s junior, but surely his wife, Carrie—seemed far less fazed, reaching out next for his hand. Dressed in a long purple evening gown, her bright red lipstick reminded Cinn of the shade his mother used to wear on the nights she went out and left him with their crazy cat lady neighbour.
“English, yes? Who do we have here, then?” Carrie’s light, musical voice didn’t fool him; her eyes were as calculating as a poker player holding a winning hand.
Cinn’s head snapped straight to Julien, heart rate spiking. Had he not even told them hisname? Did they even know he was staying here?
“I was promised that Julien was bringing home a date, but it’s always delightful to meet new friends. Especially after that lastfriendhe introduced us to.”
Elliot? It had to be.
“Cinn Saunders,” Cinn said, cringing at the waver in his voice.It’s just one dinner. You can get through one dinner.
Carrie smiled, but a shadow darkened Lucien’s face. Did he know about him?Whatdid he know about him?
“Well,” Lucien drawled, his fingers elegantly navigating his perfectly groomed beard. “Quelle surprise. I didn’t expect to be meeting the infamous shadowslipper so soon. You’ll forgive us, Cinnamon, for not being adequately prepared. My son seems to have a penchant for forgetfulness amidst the brilliance of his mind.”
At the use of his real name, Cinn grimaced, biting his lip for a millisecond before remembering everyone was focused on him.Don’t give them an inch, Cinn.
“Actually, his name is Cinn,” stated Julien, moving to stand near him. “He doesn’t go by Cinnamon at all.”
