Page 14 of The City of Stardust

Aleksander swallows nervously as he takes an empty seat by the window, observing the group that has graced Penelope’s study this evening. There’s the stern Verne matriarch Adelia; Katherine Hadley and her wardrobe-sized bodyguard, Magnus; the Matsuda twins, identical in floral suits. Even Roy Quintrell is here, sporting his ridiculous velvet jacket, which by all rights should have been decommissioned into a less offensive cushion cover years ago. He senses their eyes on him, sweeping over his rumpled hair, the awkward hunch to his shoulders. Judgement flashes across their faces, even though none of them have the authority to directly challenge Penelope’s invitation.

Stupidity, though—definitely.

“But this is rather important,” Roy says peevishly. “Surely your assistant should make himself scarce? IfIhad an assistant—”

Penelope’s smile is still in place, but her eyes sparkle dangerously. “What would you have me do with him, then?”

There’s a gleam of panic in Roy’s face as he tries to backtrack. “I wouldn’t dare presume—no, of course not—”

“Then be quiet and take notes,” Adelia says.

The conversation turns to the harvest shortfall—a little worse than the year before, despite the new ingenuities the greenhouse workers have come up with—and what foodstuffs will need to be replenished midwinter by theelsewherelines of supply. Likewise, the ageing water pipes, which will need to be replaced before next year, and the quantities of copper required. Then the intake of new scholars: who amongst the families’ new generations proves the most adept. Rumours of a scholar auctioning stolen artefactselsewhereto the highest bidder.

Penelope listens to them all carefully before dispensing her commands. But Aleksander can’t help note the scholars’ occasional disapproving glances towards him. As if he can’t be trusted with the specifics of Fidelis’ resourcing. Even though these scholars no longer live in Fidelis, and barely travel back from their comfortableelsewherelives. Scholars in little but name—except that the name is, of course, everything.

And Penelope was supposed to be on their side. She was supposed to pick one of the families’ heirs—in this case, Adelia’s insufferable grandson, Caspian—on whom to impart glory, wealth, and most importantly, the secret of longevity that some scholar lines are so blessed with. And no doubt they have all envisioned taking Penelope’s place as head of this room—as if such a thing could even be possible.

Anyone else would be ushered in with welcoming arms, but not Aleksander.Other assistants aren’t hand-picked by Penelope. Other assistants aren’t outsiders chosen by one of the most powerful people across both worlds. Other assistants didn’t fuck up Adelia Verne’s plans.

The sun has long vanished from the sky when the scholars finally say their goodbyes to Penelope and exit through the archway. Aleksander allows himself to raise one satisfied eyebrow at Roy, who shoots him a dirty look as he leaves.

Then it’s just Aleksander. Not awkwardly lingering to ask Penelope’s favour, or to beg advice, or to simply catch a few wayward sparks of glory. But here because he belongs. Which is more than any of those people can say, no matter how much the other scholars dislike him.

Penelope gestures to her cupboards, and Aleksander hastily pulls down a bottle of wine and two glasses. He fills hers first and sets it on the table next to her. He waits until she’s had her first sip before pouring for himself.

Penelope leans back in her chair. “How was she, Aleksander?”

He doesn’t need the name to know who Penelope’s asking about: Violet Everly. In as much detail as possible, he outlines their meeting. How he’d purposely walked into the café, looking for all the world like it was nothing but coincidence that had led him there.

“She seems… normal,” he says.

It had been risky to use reveurite in public, with so many observers. But he had to make sure that Violet would recognise him. And, truth be told, he wasn’t entirely prepared for her response, or the way she’d said his name, like she’d been waiting for him to walk in.

It’s you.

He thought it would take more prompting on his behalf, too, to know the girl from the Everly house. But even before he’d felt her gaze on him, even as she handed him the menu, he could tell it was her. The same burning curiosity, the same wonder when he’d shown her the reveurite bird.

“I’m not sure she knows anything of the scholars or even Fidelis,” he continues cautiously. “She wouldn’t tell me about Marianne.”

“Well, that’s to be expected. It’s only your first time. There’ll be plenty of opportunities to build trust.”

“And Fidelis?”

Penelope shrugs. “Tell her whatever you wish. You said she liked the idea of magic? Use that. Anything it takes to get her to talk about Marianne.”

Aleksander sets his glass down on the table, his heart in his throat. “Mistress, I’ve done everything you’ve asked of me. I’m not—I’m very grateful, always, but—” His hands touch the spot on his arm where his scholar’s tattoo should be.

Willbe, one day. Whatever the other scholars may think.

“You wish to know what the point of all this is.” Penelope taps the arm of her chair. “Aleksander, they may be the best scholars of their families, but they’re human, too. They fear what we all fear: change, old age, irrelevance. Their family names vanishing into obscurity, their wealth and talent diminished. You remind them that, as much as they wish, the world moves on—and they may be left behind.”

Aleksander is pretty sure none of those fears are quite as acute as the thought of failing to gain the scholar’s tattoo, but he says nothing.

“You are an unknown quantity. Not from a family of note—or any family at all, for that matter. Just one more abandoned child, destined to some miserable existence, with nothing to suggest your capability for greatness—except your talent. It’s why I chose you, when I could have had any number of mediocre yet tolerated assistants,” Penelope continues, and Aleksander feels just a hint of smugness at Caspian being described asmediocre. “They will come round to you eventually, given enough time. They just need a little persuasion.”

“Persuasion,” he echoes.

Persuasion means casual threats. Or an offer of something of extraordinary value that coin can’t buy. But Aleksander is no threat to anyone, and if he had anything of value to offer them, he wouldn’t be in this position in the first place.

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