Page 24 of The City of Stardust

Adelia must sense her unease because she pats her on the arm. “I’m not going to spirit you off somewhere. For one, I’m much too old to fight your uncles.”

Despite herself, Violet smiles. The thought of her uncles facing off against diminutive, elderly Adelia is an absurd image. But even as she pictures it, she glances at Adelia, with her steel grip and the quick intelligence behind her eyes, and her uncertainty returns.

“They asked for this invitation, you know. For themselves, that is,” Adelia says conversationally. “And I thought, what better chance than now to meet you? After all, I’ve heard so much about you.”

Violet frowns. “Really?”

“Of course. Marianne is a dear friend of mine.”

Marianne. Violet freezes in a rictus smile to stop herself from reacting to her mother’s name. Adelia says it with pure delight, as though she’s talking about a long-lost family jewel. Violet can’t recall Ambrose and Gabriel ever using that tone when discussing her mother.

“I—I wasn’t aware,” she says.

“No, I wouldn’t think so. Your uncles made it very clear that they didn’t want you involved. But you must forgive an old woman her curiosity.”

They turn into a small reading room, with moonlight falling through a high window on the armchairs below. On any other occasion, Violet would appreciate her surroundings—the perfect hideaway for a book lover—but she can’t stop replaying the conversation in her mind. Her uncles didn’t want her involved. In what?

“How do you know my mother?” Violet asks carefully.

Adelia taps the tattoo on her forearm and smiles. “I was one of her teachers in Fidelis. And after she passed her exams, we were scholars together.”

Violet’s not sure she heard right. “Scholars?”

She guessed her mother would be a part of that world, from the bracelets and everything she’s ever witnessed in the Everly house. But a scholar, like Aleksander—

“Just so,” Adelia says.

A growing suspicion washes over Violet. “Have you seen her recently?”

Adelia’s gaze turns sharp. “That’s not for me to say.” Then she brightens. “But enough of that. I also wished to introduce you to my grandson, Caspian.”

A tall man unfolds from an armchair and stands up. “Caspian Verne.” He holds out his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Violet.”

Violet takes his hand, dazed. “You know my name?”

A flicker of confusion crosses his face. “You’re Marianne Everly’s daughter. Everyone knows who you are.”

Even though Violet knows no one—isno one. And… she’d thought Marianne was the same. She glances back at Adelia desperately; there are too many questions to ask, but the conversation is slipping from her grasp.

Adelia looks over them, and nods to herself. “Well, I will make my excuses and leave you. It’s so hard for young people to make friends these days.”

“Wait, I—” Violet begins.

But Adelia simply leans in for a hug. As she does so, she whispers, “Perhaps it’s time you asked your uncles. Before it’s too late to ask anything at all.”

With that, she clasps Violet’s hand once, and leaves.

The silence in Adelia’s wake is thunderous. Violet desperately wishes she could follow her out, but Caspian smiles at her expectantly, and she has no idea how to extract herself from his company. She starts to put on her café face—an armour of charm against the most difficult customers—but it keeps slipping every time she returns to what Adelia said.

The implications of her words hover threateningly over Violet’s head. Has Marianne been around all this time, and it’s simply that she never wanted to return home? No, that can’t be right. Her uncles have been willing to evade her questions for years, but they wouldn’t lie to her about something as important as this.

They wouldn’t.

Just as she’s about to make her excuses and find her uncles, a crowd of people crash through the reading-room doors. They barely pause to take in Caspian before their gazes snap to Violet. She tries not to flinch as a woman in a deep blue backless dress strides towards her.

The woman does an affected double-take. “Marianne? It can’t be—” She gathers herself. “But of course. You must be her daughter, Violet.”

A man in a lavish velvet jacket pushes Caspian aside to join them. He places a heavy hand on Violet’s shoulder that she tries and fails to surreptitiously shrug off.

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