Page 87 of The Toymaker's Son

Unless I was truly mad. In which case, none of this mattered and my life was a nightmare I’d never wake from.

I laughed and drank and laughed some more. It was that or cry, and there were no more tears left.

ChapterThirty-Four

Devere

The dinner began as most of Lord Rochefort’s banquets did, with splendid food and an abundance of hospitality. Many from the town were in attendance. There were also faces I did not recognize but sensed I’d seen before. It was an odd sensation to look upon the strangers, as though falling while standing still.

Then there was Valentine.

I hadn’t recognized him at first. I’d last seen him as a scrappy boy who liked to fight, who had kissed me in the graveyard. I’d known he’d be here—this feast was in his honor—but I hadn’t expected him to seem so… together. A man now, clearly, and quite dashing with cropped, sandy hair, intense brown eyes, and lips I distantly recalled smiling, although they hadn’t tonight.

He’d laid his hand on me twice, and each time his touch had unbalanced my heart, knocking it out of rhythm.

The wrongness of his words, the desperation in his eyes, had left me uneasy. Something was wrong with this banquet, and these people, and perhaps even… me. It was a crazy thought, but the more I observed the laughter and admired the overflowing platters of meats and fruit, the more the laughter turned sharp and the food began to spoil.

The guests numbered at least a hundred—strange how they’d arrived in Minerva so quickly. Usually such gatherings had the whole town abuzz for weeks prior.

It was probably nothing—just the sight of Valentine had unsettled me.Made you forget…Forget what? There was no use trying to make sense of a lunatic’s ravings. Still, the more the evening went on, the more peculiar my feelings became, as though I were apart from the revelry, observing it from the outside. I was missing… something. Something I feared. I knew that fear but could not find its source. I’d forgotten something important. Something terrible.

Valentine reappeared a while after our encounter in the entrance hall and made an effort to engage with the crowd, which crooned and awed over him, as though he were Rochefort’s new pet. He despised the attention and was drinking to mask his discomfort. I watched him, as I watched the others, but the strangers soon became distractions, and Val became all I cared to see.

Two strangers approached Valentine, and both men were true beauties. One with skin the color of the darkest night sky, and the other with hair like Rochefort’s gold, but with swirling tattoos that dipped beneath his collar. I studied them closer and watched them crowd Valentine, smiling, charming, laughing. They even had Valentine laughing, and a strange pang of guilt and jealousy tugged my heart.

There was a wrongness in this room. It swirled unseen. A wrongness like the bite of an apple, only to taste its rotten core. The wrongness of a snake in a meadow. Danger lurked here. Danger centered around Valentine.

I had to warn him—

“Ah, Devere.” Rochefort propped himself against the table beside me. His thigh blocked my escape from the chair. “What a delight it is to see you, my dear.”

“If only I could say the same.” I moved to stand, but his knee closed in, sealing me in.

“I thought you might appreciate some new faces tonight. You always seem a little… uptight. Perhaps it’s time to let your hair down, no?” Lust sparkled in Rochefort’s eyes. The lord was insufferable, and so were his endless advances and suffocating attention.

“Excuse me, I fear too much wine has gone to my head.”

“Yet you haven’t touched a drop.”

I looked at my glass, and the glass was full, my lie obvious. I hadn’t drunk the wine or eaten the food. So why did I feel as though the room were spinning? A glance across the table revealed Valentine missing from his seat, along with the two handsome men. Inexplicable jealousy, fear, and rage knotted inside me. None of it should matter. Valentine could leave the table with whomever he desired. His business was none of mine. Yet the wrongness about the room had become so thick I tasted it on my lips, sweet and poisonous. The candelabra flickered too brightly, and the fires roared in their grates.

“Where is he?” I asked, and knew I’d asked it before—could hear myself saying it.

“Enjoying himself? He certainly deserves it after everything you’ve done to him.”

“Me? What have I done?”

Rochefort smiled, rolled his eyes, and eased back, letting me up. “Come to me. Be mine, and I will set Valentine free of all this.”

The lord was delusional. And where was Valentine? The fool was clearly in danger. He’d always had a knack for finding trouble, even as boys…

Rochefort’s hand shot out and grasped my wrist. I tugged, but his grip clamped tighter. When he leaned close, his visage shimmered and the truth of him bled through for a moment. Black hair, porcelain skin, tapered ears, and sharp teeth. Fae. “A gift of truth. You will thank me later.Remember,my dear.This charade is not my game, but yours.”

The truth slammed into me, knocking me back into my chair, and the veil of lies peeled back, like a scab from a wound, revealing its ugliness inside. This was no feast. It was a masquerade. All around, the fae laughed and dined with Minerva’s unsuspecting people, all trapped in a loop of my making. Because I was the puppet master and these poor souls were my subjects, including Val.

Adair swirled the blood-red wine in his glass. “Let us end this eternal dance. You have the power to free him.”

I’d made Valentine dance to my tune, having him perform over and over and over again. For hate, for vengeance on a town that despised me and a boy who had torn out my heart. And when it had ended badly, as it always did, I reset the clock. And my own memories. Over and over again.

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