The Heartless City (26 page)

“Iris, I
can’t
tell you.” He clenched his jaw and turned away, remembering when she said that immortality “went against nature.” What would she say about Andrew and Cam?

“Elliot, you know that you can tell me anything.”

A small laugh escaped his throat. “How could I know that, Iris? You don’t tell
me
everything.”

Her heart froze and he turned around to look at her again, but the movement caused him to sway on his feet. The gin was hitting him―hard.

“I told you,” she said, her blood running cold. “I
will
tell you, in time.”

“But why don’t you trust me now? After everything we’ve been through?” He gripped the bottle, trying as hard as he could to steady himself, but it was no use; he felt control and composure slipping away.

“I do trust you.”

“Sure, you trust me. Just not enough to tell me why you feel so much rage for my father.”

Her stomach sank, but he didn’t turn away or soften his gaze. His tongue felt thick, and he knew the word “father” had come out a little bit slurred, but he found he didn’t care. He was miles off the earth.

“Why did you decide to stay at the palace?” he asked, approaching her. “Why did you feel such rage the first time you met me and Cam? Why, when you speak of your mother, do you feel no grief at all, but when you speak of Lady Cullum, your heart nearly breaks with it?”

She set her jaw and glared at him, but her chest was full of pain. “Yes, I have secrets,” she said, her voice unsteady. “But they aren’t mine to tell. It’s not just me I’m protecting. It’s other people, including you.”

Somehow, the last comment angered Elliot more than anything else. “What is that supposed to mean? You think I’m so weak and helpless that I need you to protect me?”

Iris glanced down at her feet. “I think you were right. We shouldn’t talk now.”

She turned and walked away, heading back toward the door, her pain and revulsion so powerful they penetrated his haze.

“Iris,” he called. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean―”

But then she was gone.

“Damn it,” he muttered, closing his eyes and rubbing his brow. “God
damn it
!”

He hurled the bottle against the wall before he could stop himself. The glass shattered, causing his room to explode with the smell of gin. Raking his hands through his hair, he slumped back down against the floor, his stomach churning with both the alcohol and self-disgust.

“Elliot?”

His heart stopped, and he opened his eyes; his father was in the doorway. How long had he been standing there? How much had he heard?

“What is going on?” he asked, wrinkling his nose as he stepped inside the room. “I thought I heard something break…” He glanced at the wall and saw the shattered bottle. “Elliot―”

“Everything’s fine,” he said, climbing up onto his feet. He could barely feel his legs, and his words were quite slurred now.

“You’re drunk?” his father murmured. “Christ, Elliot. It’s not even noon!”

Even in his stupor, Elliot felt the bite of his fear. “It’s not like you really care,” he said, then a hollow laugh escaped him. “Oh wait―I forgot. You
do
care. It’s just that you don’t
want
to.”

His father parted his lips. “How dare you―”

“Why don’t you just go away and pretend I don’t exist? That’s what you’re good at, and that’s what you really want―to not have a son.”

Pain erupted inside his father’s chest, and he stared at him. Then he glanced at the door, as if he wanted to run after all, but he set his jaw, barreled at Elliot, and gripped his sleeve.

“You will sleep this off and clean yourself up before the ball tonight. I will not lie to your friends for you like I did in the Green Drawing Room.”

“Lie to my―” Elliot furrowed his brow. “You mean about the cadavers?”

He’d assumed his father had lied about the body snatching being a one-time thing for selfish reasons―to keep the Lord Mayor from finding out how weak his son had become. Had he actually lied to
protect
Elliot? To keep Cam, Andrew, and Iris from looking down on him?

“I mean it,” his father said, releasing his sleeve and turning away. “I’ll send a servant to come clean up this mess. Now go to bed.”

Elliot blinked, kneaded his temples, and sat down on the bed. Then, after a moment, he fell backward and closed his eyes, too confused and tired to argue with anyone anymore.

hen Elliot woke, his room was dark and still smelled faintly of gin. He rolled over and squinted at the clock beside his bed. It was half-past eight, which meant the dinner before the ball had begun. His head ached, and his stomach felt sour, but he managed to get up, bathe, and change into his eveningwear. By then, he knew the dinner would be over, so he crept to the kitchen, and after a couple of salmon patties, a hunk of bread, and quite a bit of water, he felt better. Physically, anyway―the fear he’d felt that morning was now joined by shame and regret.

The ballroom was by far the largest space in Buckingham Palace―fourteen meters high, thirty-four long, and eighteen wide―and the massive gold and ivory room was currently filled with people. Still, when Elliot crept through the doors and edged inside the room, he spotted Iris immediately, and his heart stilled.

She must have completed her lesson with Philomena after leaving his room, because she was on the dance floor, waltzing with grace and precision. Her partner was a young man Elliot vaguely recognized, but it didn’t really matter who he was―he only saw Iris. The gown that had been made for her not only fit perfectly but seemed to be fashioned out of pure gold. Her hair was pulled up and styled on top of her head with golden pins, her lips and cheeks were flushed, and her golden eyes were glowing.

“
Notre fée ressemble à un ange ce soir. Une vision de l’or et de lumière
.”

Elliot’s pulse leapt as he turned to see Cam beside him. He was smiling, holding a glass of champagne, and he’d said, “Our fairy looks like an angel tonight. A vision of gold and light.”

“She does,” Elliot said, taking a breath and trying to steady himself. He hadn’t spoken to Cam one-on-one since discovering his secret, and suddenly, he was terrified of giving his knowledge away. “How are you feeling?” he asked to cover his fear, nodding at Cam’s injured rib.

“Fit as a fiddle,” he said, taking a sip of his champagne. Then, more seriously, “How about you? You gave us a fright today.”

“Oh, yes, I’m feeling much better. It… must have been something I ate.”

He flushed―the lie sounded unconvincing even to himself―but strangely, Cam let it go. When Elliot glanced at his face and followed his gaze, however, he figured out why. Andrew was out on the dance floor, waltzing with a girl whose name Elliot couldn’t recall. A warm ache flooded Cam’s chest as he watched him move across the floor, as well as a feeling Elliot realized he hadn’t felt from Cam since the night with the Victor:

Joy.

In that moment, the world seemed to shift, and everything suddenly changed. After his initial shock, Elliot had accepted the way that Cam and Andrew felt; how could he not, when he knew their love was no different from his own? Still, he’d been plagued by fear for them and angered at their recklessness, but now, as Cam’s joy washed through his veins, the anger completely dissolved. He was still afraid, of course, and he probably always would be, but the fear seemed inconsequential in the face of such happiness. For once, Cam was full of hope and void of fear and self-hatred, and Elliot simply couldn’t wish for anything else for him.

“Cambrian,” an annoyed voice rang out from behind them, and they turned around to see Philomena letting out a sigh. Her gown was a deep, emerald green, and her caramel hair had been curled into ringlets and piled on top of her head. She looked lovely, and more like a real, grown woman than ever before, but the angry pout on her face slightly ruined the effect.

“I need you to dance with me,” she said. “So my mother will get off my back.”

Cam pressed his hand to his heart. “Why, Miss Blackwell, that’s the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

“Oh, shut it,” she said, swiping his glass and setting it down. “Let’s go.”

She seized his hand and led him away, and Elliot stifled a laugh. Once they were out on the floor, he returned his gaze to Iris. He needed to get her alone so he could apologize for that morning. As soon as the current song ended, however, another man approached her for a dance, and she accepted. Elliot let out a breath and edged a bit closer to the dance floor, determined to catch her the next time. While he waited, he looked to see if Cam or Andrew were free, but he couldn’t find either of them, and Philomena had a new partner.

Finally, the orchestra finished the song and Elliot started for Iris, but the moment her partner released her, she turned around and walked off the floor. Elliot darted after her, weaving his way through the shifting clusters of people and their feelings. She walked to a door in the back, glanced behind her, and then slipped out, and Elliot picked up his pace and followed her into the empty hallway. He started to call out her name, but she was quite a bit ahead of him, and he didn’t want to frighten her by crying out from the shadows. So instead, he hurried faster, trailing her into the State Dining Room. The vast space was silent and dark, except for the moonlight streaming in through the glass of the tall French windows, and just as Iris stepped into one of their beams, Elliot spoke.

“Iris,” he whispered as softly as he could, but she still jumped. “I’m sorry,” he said as she turned around. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Elliot,” she gasped. “I didn’t think that you were here.”

“I wasn’t until a few minutes ago, and I’m sorry again to have frightened you, but I had to apologize. The way I behaved this morning… there’s simply no excuse for it.”

She let out a breath, and Elliot’s caught in his throat when he felt her forgiveness, which was not only immediate but whole and unrestrained. “It’s not completely your fault,” she said. “You told me to leave you alone; I shouldn’t have pushed you like I―”

“No. You were only trying to help me, and I should have been grateful, not rude. If I could, I would take back all of those terrible things I said. You can tell me whatever you want whenever you choose. Your secrets are yours.” He paused and took a breath. “Also, you look lovely tonight.”

He watched as the blood that burned in his own cheeks rose in Iris’s, and she smiled and glanced at the floor. “Thank you,” she said. “So do you.”

She started to meet his gaze again, but then suddenly she froze, staring out over his shoulder through the glass of the French windows. Her heart stopped, and Elliot spun around to look as well. There, in a shaded corner of the moonlit balcony, were Cam and Andrew―pressed against the wall.

Kissing each other.

Even in the darkness, there was no mistaking the scene. Cam was slowly lacing his fingers through Andrew’s ginger hair, and Andrew was parting his lips with his own, drinking him up like water. They clung to each other, absorbing each other, kindling a fire Elliot felt through the panes of glass, but the ice in Iris’s veins brought him back to reality.

He seized her hand, fighting the bolt of her fear, and dragged her out of the room. When they reached the doors to the Blue Drawing Room, he flung them open, pulled her inside, and quickly shut them again. The room was filled with sofas and chairs, but Iris sank down to the ground, staring straight ahead as her skirt billowed up around her. Silence swelled as the fabric of her dress slowly deflated, and then, after a moment that felt like forever, she finally spoke.