Jeweled (24 page)

“The Council has declared today a holiday in honor of the revolution. Every year on this day, from now on, will be a day of rest to celebrate the independence of the masses.”

“Ah.” She looked down at her coffee. For her, this “holiday” would ever remain drenched in blood.

She changed the subject. “Well, I guess we’ll be spending the day together considering Emily had to reschedule our sewing lesson.”

“Yes, I ran into her in the foyer and she told me as much. I thought maybe you and Anatol would like to go with me to the Tinkers’ Guild to see what they’re working on now. Maybe we can even take a ride in a balloon, if that’s what you’d like.”

Her gaze lifted from her cup and her unease was suddenly forgotten. The Tinkers’ Guild had been the organization that had published the book about the inventions that she’d loved so much. They were the ones who had created the stitching machine that Emily was teaching her how to use. They had immediately taken over the building in Milzyr where the Edaeii family had locked up all the in-progress inventions they could find. “Yes! I would love to do that. I’m sure Anatol would like to go, too.” It had been a very long time since she’d ventured any farther than the porch. It was time she left the house. She looked at the sheaf of papers near him. “What is that?”

He picked it up and she could see that it was covered with small black markings. “It’s a newspaper.”

“A newspaper?”

“It reports what’s going on in the city of Milzyr every day.” He held it out to her. “Come and take a look.”

“I’ve never heard of such a thing.” She rose, walked over, and took the paper into her hands. “It’s not hand copied like a book?”

“No, it’s ink, printed by a machine. It allows them to produce hundreds of copies.”

“How do they get the print on there?” She scratched at it with her fingernail and it came away black. “Incredible.”

“It’s called a printing press. The Tinkers’ Guild has all sorts of interesting inventions they’ve been introducing during the last month. Things the Edaeii suppressed for decades. We’re entering a very exciting time.”

“A printing press. How odd.” She laid the paper down on the table, frowning. “Why would the Edaeii have wanted to suppress such a thing?”

“A printing press gives the people power, Evangeline. A daily newspaper, a way to disseminate information, gives the lower and middle classes more power than the Edaeii wanted them to have. It will make it easier to produce books, too.” He grinned. “Subversive books like mine, for example. It would make them more affordable and far more widely read.”

She still didn’t want to believe that the Edaeii had done anything like that. “The middle class, maybe, but most of the lower class can’t read. This newspaper is useless to them.”

“No.” He shook his head. “All it takes is for information to travel into the right channels. From there it spreads easily enough by mouth. Even now there are town criers stationed through the slums of Milzyr, yelling out the headlines for the benefit of all. The press is printing books now, too.”

“Yours?”

“Yes.”

“I haven’t read your books yet.” She looked away when she said it. She’d meant the words to sting, but she couldn’t quite mean it. Not now.

“That’s all right. I hope one day you will. I think you’ll like them.”

She wasn’t so sure about that.

 

 

Anatol declined the trip to the Tinkers’ Guild because he needed to break arrangements for the storefront rental. After admonishing Anatol to be careful on the streets by himself, she climbed into Gregorio’s carriage. It was uncomfortable, as most of the day was destined to be without Anatol by her side.

The inside of the carriage smelled like Gregorio—tobacco and leather. She was probably the first female to enter his carriage in Joshui only knew how long. Maybe ever.

She’d worn one of the gorgeous gowns that Gregorio had had created for her. Made of peach and cream silk, it set off her complexion, hair, and eyes to perfection. The bodice was drawn tight, pushing her breasts up pleasingly at the top. The skirts were heavy and belled out wide in the latest fashion—a fashion, she supposed, that the middle class embraced now that there was no more royalty left.

Her hair was done up on the top of her head, leaving a few tendrils to curl becomingly around her face. She wore a pair of white gloves and clutched a matching purse, but wore no jewelry—since she had none. That was fine. She’d been assured more than once that the length of her neck and the shape of her face were adornment enough. She hoped so, since she had no other valuables but her looks to fall back on these days.

She was trying very hard not to examine why she’d taken so much care with her appearance today.

Gregorio sat on the seat opposite her, his huge body taking up almost all the space in the small area. His gaze swept over her in clear male admiration, though with him it was always a touch more feral than with other men. Gregorio knew all there was to know about the world, it seemed, yet there was a brutishness to him that didn’t fit with the bookishness and intelligence. He defied every stereotype Evangeline knew.

When Gregorio looked at her now, she could see—almost feel—him thinking about how her body had felt the night before when he’d taken her up against the wall. It was clear he was replaying the event in his mind and wondering how soon he could get this gown off her.

At least in this way Gregorio was the same as most other men. It was the only way.

“You are breathtaking,” he murmured.

“Thank you. Your money did this, of course, and I appreciate it.”

“I would have you no other way, Evangeline, but kept in the finery to which you are accustomed. I want the same for all the J’Edaeii. They deserve nothing less.”

She almost called him on that statement, accusing him again of treating her like a kept woman: buying her clothes, feeding her—in exchange for sex. But she didn’t actually believe he meant it that way. And she believed he meant what he said about the J’Edaeii. That seemed to be Gregorio’s way. Never in her life had she met a stronger idealist than him.

He rapped on the outside of the carriage and they set off with a lurch, the hooves of the horses clip-clopping on the cobblestone street.

She peered out the window at the passing shops. Only a small bit of snow still remained on the streets, mostly in the shadows where the sun didn’t reach. Winter was very nearly over.

The world appeared back to normal after the time she’d spent behind Gregorio’s walls after the incident with Anatol at Belai. People bustled here and there on the street—women dressed in folds of velvet and silk, belled skirts flouncing as they tugged children behind them, and men dressed in fine suits, hurrying wherever it was they were hurrying to. It was as if the nobles had never existed—never even mattered.

They passed Belai. The gates were thrown open and the flag of Milzyr waved at the entrance. The guillotine was gone. No trace of blood stained the steps. Nothing remained to mark the days of carnage. She understood that the governing council met there now, of which Gregorio was head.

“Have you seen any others?” Her voice held a note of wistfulness. The carriage rumbled past the sprawling palace lawns that were still being well cared for, as far as she could see.

“Any others?” He paused. “Do you mean the Edaeii?”

“The Edaeii, the nobles, and the Jeweled. Do you ever see any but me or Anatol?”

“There aren’t many left in the city, though some nobles have remained to make a go of it here. The magicked have left or are in hiding. The Edaeii that survived have been exiled, so they had no choice but to leave. They’ve traveled to Arabelle and Garhe, mostly.”

“Roane Edaeii?”

He inclined his head for a moment, then looked out the window. “He was given the option to emigrate, but he chose to kill himself instead.”

“Ah.” She gazed back out the window. That wasn’t surprising given the amount of pride Roane possessed. “Do you know any more about the magicked who have left the city or have gone into hiding?”

“Most of them have been reunited with their families. The new government is helping them resettle where they choose, those who have been brave enough to accept our help that is.”

“The new government is doing that?”

He nodded. “The Council saw my reasoning that the J’Edaeii and the adepts were victims of the nobles just as much as the peasantry. They have been made to see that the Jeweled are very special, a unique part of our country’s heritage, and they need to be protected and not slaughtered.”

Victims?
“They’re not afraid of us?”

Gregorio stroked his chin. “There is fear, yes. Fear that the magicked are powerful beings, fear of the unknown. That’s why, for now, the J’Edaeii who have survived are living in secret. Hopefully one day that will not be necessary.”

“Anatol and I aren’t displaying our magick on the street corners, but we’re not living in secret either.”

He leaned forward and his face took on a rigid expression. “Anyone who tried to harm either of you while under my protection would be asking for a lot of hurt.”

She looked away, unwilling to admit that she liked Gregorio’s protectiveness. “The J’Edaeii were not victims, Gregorio. Once an adept proved herself, she was given the world on a platter. Money. A good marriage. Palace life until the day she died. She became the most direct extension of royalty that was possible without pure blood. It was an honor to be J’Edaeii, not a burden.” It felt strange to talk of the J’Edaeii in the past tense.

“I suppose it depends on your perspective. From my perspective, being forcibly taken from your family as a young child, imprisoned, worked to the bone to develop your magick, and then forced into a royal marriage like some stud or broodmare to take advantage of your magicked bloodline hardly seems like a good life to me, Evangeline.”

“And I should have stayed in Cherkhasii, perhaps? Mucking out the pig stalls?”

“You would have had far more control over your life if you had.”

She snorted. “You and Anatol would be in agreement on this. He thought of the J’Edaeii as lapdogs for the royals, performing tricks for table scraps.”

“Not a bad analogy.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Are you familiar with any sciences of the mind?”

She gave him a blank look.

“There is a man in the south, name of Enrich Gaustenburg. He is developing a theory of behavior for the condition of men. He believes there is such a malady of the mind that gives abductees sympathy for their abductors. It’s a phenomenon that can be likened to a reorganization of the victim’s thought processes. It happens over a long period of time, reconstructing the victim’s reality to—”

She bristled, the heavy fabric of her skirts rustling. “And that’s what you think happened to me?”

He shrugged. “Maybe.”

“You think that I’m so weak-minded. So—”

He held up a hand. “Your eyes are flashing, and although you are particularly beautiful when angry, I don’t want to make you that way. And I
don’t
think you’re weak-minded. On the contrary. It’s not a question of weak-mindedness.” The carriage lurched to a stop. “Luckily, we’ve arrived and I can cease enraging you.”

He was amused. She could feel it coming off of him. She had a mind to pluck the emotion from him and toss it into the street at random, trading it for something else—
humility
, maybe—but she resisted. It was tempting to use her magick in such selfish ways, but it wasn’t right.

Thunder crashed outside the carriage and made her jump. A soft pitter-patter of rain began. Gregorio glanced outside. “Cozy. It’s a pity we can’t stay inside and enjoy it a little.”

She gazed outside at the darkening skies. The wind had begun to pick up. She forgot her anger in the face of the thunderstorm; she loved them—even when they came during such cold temperatures. “That will wash away the last of the snow for certain.”

“Spring is on its way. The end of a long, hard winter and the rebirth of a new season.”

“Feels like the rebirth of many things,” she murmured.

“Hopefully good things.”

She glanced at him. “I hope so, too, but then I have no choice but to go forward either way, do I? No sense in living in the past; the past is done with.”

“And the future is full of possibility.”

“Yes.” Her stomach fluttered with fear.
And uncertainty
.
Risk
.

The Tinkers’ Guild was a large gray building on the edge of the city. The driver had deposited the carriage in a large, open area—now soaked with rain—in front of the double doors. The footman opened the door of the carriage as though it weren’t raining cold, fat drops all down his face and soaking his clothes, and opened a rain parasol for her.

Securing her fur-lined cloak tight at the throat, she took the footman’s hand and stepped down into the cobblestone area. The footman escorted her to the door with Gregorio following. They entered the building and Gregorio shook his head like a dog to get the rain off. Apparently he was too much of a man to use a rain parasol—she should have expected no less from him.