Glittering Shadows (9 page)

“I know of it,” he said.

“Freddy came in one night, and when I touched him, I saw a vision of the moment he brought my father back from the dead.”

Sebastian nodded. “You have a connection to your parents’ connection. And Freddy had a connection, too. Magic is like that. Why was Freddy in the club to begin with? I’m
surprised they let him out.”

“I think his guardian felt bad that Freddy was so restricted.” Thea’s cheeks warmed, recalling her shame when she discovered that Freddy was supposed to find a girl to bear his
children and pass on his magic. She wouldn’t tell Sebastian that. “He wanted him to have a little fun. That’s where I came in. I wanted to know what was going on so I could save
my parents. We went underground and…” Her mind resisted going back there.
Don’t think. You’re safe now
.

“You don’t have any magic, correct?” Sebastian asked.

“No, just an ordinary girl.”

“I’m not sure that’s true.”

“I don’t know much about you, either. Where are you from? I can’t place your accent.”

“My father is a baron in Irminau.”

“Royalty? Oh dear. Should I have curtsied?”

He laughed. “Please don’t. I’m hardly royalty. It’s a tiny, tiny remote scrap of land, and my older brothers are free to squabble over it.”

“Older brothers? I really would’ve thought you were the oldest.”

“Do I seem bossy?” His dark eyes danced. The room seemed too warm, and her stomach twisted. She kept trying to think of Freddy, and a terrible part of her wanted to forget him,
forget the kiss, forget everything.

“Potentially. You must’ve gotten yourself into this position somehow.”

“Much of it is thanks to Ingrid, really. She has the power, but no interest in being a leader. She says it is her job to steer us, not to rule.”

“So Ingrid appointed you the leader?”

“Well—boy, you ask a lot of questions, don’t you? With such a penetrating expression, too. Have you thought of becoming a reporter?”

“No.” She smiled—no one had ever really told her she should
become
anything.

“Or a spy. I might have use for a spy-reporter. I hope you’ll be sticking around.”

“I’m sure I will. I like it here.” The bouncing ditty the musicians had been playing ended, and they started up a more romantic tune: “I’m Thinking of
Her.”

I’m thinking of her…while I’m dancing with you…I’m sorry my kisses are not ringing true…

Maybe it wasn’t that romantic after all. Thea and Sebastian both stepped back from each other at once.

“I should find my friends,” she said, patting her hair even though everything seemed in place. She felt disheveled.

“Of course,” he said. “Get a good night’s rest. I’m sure tomorrow will be another big day. I’d better turn in myself.” He lifted a hand as final
acknowledgment and then started talking to one of the other men as if nothing had happened.

Nothing
had
happened. She was just having a fickle moment. Sebastian was very attractive—so what? Freddy was her silvery sorcerer boy, though he hadn’t been much fun today. He
seemed worried about something. Why worry, when they were finally safe? She couldn’t seem to worry right now if she tried.

And it wasn’t like I told Freddy I’d marry him
. She had kissed him, however. Or did he kiss her? She was having trouble remembering what had even occurred.

It wouldn’t seem so confusing in the morning. Shadows and rhythms just had a way of turning things upside down.

T
hea woke up abruptly, disoriented. She rubbed her hands together—the left one still didn’t feel normal. Ingrid could probably fix it,
but she had an inexplicable resistance to approaching Ingrid.

She slid her palms together for a few moments, then her mind wandered back to dancing with Sebastian and her hands no longer seemed important. He seemed even more intriguing after a
night’s sleep.

She dressed and fixed her hair as best she could. Her curls were starting to fall out, and her winter dresses seemed so drab.

Freddy knocked on the door, and she slapped on a smile. “I’m sorry,” she said, “I know I slept for ages.”

“You needed it, I’m sure.” He frowned. “I just wanted to check on you.”

“That’s sweet. I’m fine, thanks.”

He lingered silently in the doorway, watching her button her shoes, and her hands felt clumsy under his gaze. “I’m fine,” she repeated.

“Do you want to go check on your mother this afternoon? Maybe we could bring her some food.”

“You can’t go anywhere. It’s dangerous.”

“I’ll leave if I have reason to leave,” he said. “We should at least send word.”

Pain twinged down her wrist. She couldn’t think of Mother—it hurt to try. All those awful things were in the past, and she had to focus on the future. She could tell Freddy was
already worked up about it, and she didn’t need him worrying over her. “You’re right. I’ll talk to Sebastian.”

“Did you end up talking to him last night?” Freddy asked, walking beside her down the hall.

“A little.”

“I’d like to know more about him, such as why men twice his age follow his orders. Is he really who he says he is?” Freddy rubbed his chin. “I sure wish I had access to a
good library. I’d love to see if there is a Sebastian Hirsch in the records.”

She stopped at the top of the stairs. “You don’t need to be so suspicious. He said last night it’s because Ingrid appointed him the leader. And she’s a Norn, so she would
know who ought to run things, wouldn’t she?”

When she stopped, Freddy stopped too, leaving a distance between them. “I hope so,” he said.

Thea remembered the moment she had stood in the tunnels underground with her arms around him. He seemed suddenly like another person, and she wasn’t sure how it had even happened. Or was
she
the different person? She had, once again, the feeling that there was something she wanted to tell Freddy, but she couldn’t grasp it.

Is this how Mother felt when the bound-sickness began?

She forced a small smile before hurrying off, looking for Sebastian. One of the men from the dance last night—Marco, with the thin mustache—directed her back upstairs to
Sebastian’s office.

“Good morning,” Sebastian said, and then looked at the clock on the desk. “No, never mind. Good afternoon. Can I help you with something?” He was holding papers in one
hand and frowning at a typewriter, then after another second, he looked up.

“Maybe. I…” She couldn’t remember why she’d come here. “I don’t know what to do with myself, honestly. I’d like to help the cause. I was thinking
of what you said last night, about needing a reporter-spy.”

“Yes.” He lifted a finger. “Unfortunately, I don’t need you yet. It’s very chaotic out there. Still, sit down a minute, if you like.” He motioned to a heavy
leather chair. Besides his modern clock with a sleek black plastic case and the paper-strewn desk, the room was obviously still the domain of its former owner Mr. Schiff, with stately-old-gentleman
trappings: dark wood wainscoting, hunting motifs carved into the mantle around the fireplace, paintings of ships at sea, and models of the Schiff zeppelins poised around the room.

When she sat down, Sebastian got up and paced around to the front of the desk, as if only one person was allowed to sit at once. “I know it’s less glamorous, but how are you with
nursing? I don’t mean anything gruesome, of course—that’s Ingrid’s domain. Just bringing around blankets and food, maybe talking to people a little, making them
comfortable.”

“That sounds a lot like waitressing….”

“You don’t sound excited.”

“I’ll do what needs to be done. I just liked the idea of being something more than a caretaker. It wasn’t what I dreamed of when I was a little girl. I had to leave school when
my mother was sick, and options for women are few enough as it is—and without an education…”

“Well, I don’t care if or where you went to school, I promise you that,” said Sebastian. “I’m hoping we’ll have some of the Irminauer refugees soon, and when
we do, it would be useful to have someone attending to them with open ears and a dash of charm so they’ll feel comfortable and willing to lend us their abilities. In the meantime, you could
check on the men who were injured over the past couple of days.”

“I could do that.”

“Ingrid can direct you. She’s probably downstairs.”

“Ingrid?” Thea stood up as something in her froze.

“What’s wrong with Ingrid?” He sounded like he really wanted to know.

She couldn’t speak.
Yggdrasil…washes the pain away….

He took a step closer to her and reached for her left hand. Thea had wanted him to touch her, but now suddenly she was afraid. She pulled her hand back and covered it against her chest,
recalling the pain, gritting her teeth against the memory.

“Thea,” he said.

Do you know what happened? What is this terrible feeling? Why can’t I speak?
She wasn’t breathing as she stood expectantly, feeling his eyes might hold the answers.

“Ingrid,” he said, “knows what needs to be done. You should talk to her.”

She let out her breath. “Yes.”

“She might seem a little strange, but her magic is a gift.”

She let her hands drop to her sides, allowed relief to seep in. “Yes.”

He lowered his gaze and everything was normal again. “If you can just help her out for now, I’ll find you more exciting things to do later. You’ll feel sorry for all those poor
schoolkids stuck behind a desk.” He glanced at his typewriter. “Speaking of…I’d better get back to my half-finished antigovernment screed.”

“Are you the one who writes all those papers I see around town, with the capital letters? ‘DOWN WITH THE ELITE! LONG LIVE THE BROTHERHOOD OF THE WORKING MAN!’” She shook
her fist.

“I try to be a little more subtle than that, though subtlety does
not
work as well as you might hope. You write two thousand words of a well-reasoned argument, and all anyone cares
about is the comic on page three of the Chancellor getting kicked in the tender bits by a worker.”

“So you should’ve been a cartoonist.”

“Evidently.” He smiled and went back to the typewriter while she left to find Ingrid.

A
lthough the attic was cold, Marlis had spent the morning there, her frigid fingers scribbling down what had happened to record in her diary later.
Out the wavy old glass of the attic windows, Marlis could see a sliver of Republic Square past the Chancellery roof, the ground completely covered by a sea of people who hated her father.

Wilhelmina found her sitting against a trunk with her knees pulled up. “Marlis?”

Marlis dropped her legs and brushed her skirt down, suddenly feeling that her posture wasn’t very dignified.

“Do you want luncheon? It’s getting dark up here.”

“Yes, thanks. I just needed quiet.”

After two nights cooped up, Wilhelmina was able to arrange for the women and children to move to the Wachters’ house. It was close to the Chancellery and accessible via old tunnels. A
stone wall surrounded it, providing a natural defense where a guard unit could camp, and the bedrooms were far more numerous and hospitable than the Chancellery’s bunkers. Marlis wasn’t
used to sharing space with so many other people.

“Tired children are too much,” Wilhelmina said, understanding. “I only had one; I don’t know how anyone can handle six or seven. They’ll quiet down and eat with the
nannies. Then again, we’ve got Mrs. Rasp and her opinions at our table. I might prefer to eat with the children.”

The lunch spread was thin for the city’s most prominent wives; mostly things that would spoil if they weren’t used. Marlis guessed Wilhelmina had given the kitchen detailed
instructions on rationing the food in case this dragged on. At least they still had electricity, they still had maids. The danger didn’t feel real, with everyone sitting around all day,
talking and drinking tea and coffee from dainty cups.

Mrs. Rasp was indeed the first to make a barb about the meal, once the pleasantries were out of the way. “Very practical of you to offer such simple fare, Wilhelmina. I know I certainly
don’t have an appetite after that
smell
.”