“Oh, Lara, no.”
She shrugged. “It was a temporary thing, and I got it back, but I think something’s seriously wrong. Maybe with Dad, maybe with the spell. I don’t know what. But he won’t tell me anything, and I still can’t get through that lock of his. I don’t need to worry that my magic’s going to cut out in the middle of a challenge. Or disappear altogether. And you and Sydney are among the few people who haven’t had magic fail.”
“Of course I’ll help,” he said again. “Absolutely.”
“I remember one other thing,” she said. “I remember you bought me Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland while I was grounded, so that I could pretend I was here, having tea parties. You’re a good brother, Ian.”
“What else am I supposed to be?” He slung his arm around her shoulders, and they stood there, together.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Sydney had invited Miranda to meet at House Prospero, but Miranda had declined. “I’m still—I’m sure you think I’m foolish, but I’m still not ready to be back in that House. Even as a visitor. Perhaps especially as a visitor.”
Considering the changes the House had made in its appearance since becoming Sydney’s, Miranda’s decision was probably a blessing. The difference between the two versions of the House was enormous enough to be a distraction, and not one that was likely to be useful. “Of course. We can go out somewhere—you choose.”
“The restaurant at my hotel is a good one, and they’ll seat us somewhere discreet.”
The restaurant reminded Sydney a bit of how House Prospero had been when she had first seen it. It was decorated to give the same impressions: that this was a place that was refined, that there were important traditions that took place within its walls, that the people who were there were special and would be treated like it. Everything was hushed and warm as she followed the server back to Miranda’s table. Even the air felt expensive.
Sydney hadn’t seen Miranda since the night she had lost her magic. She’d expected Miranda to look different, now that her magic was gone, that the sudden absence of something that had been that much a part of her should leave a mark. But if there was a difference, it was hidden. Miranda’s facade was as smooth and unreadable as marble.
Miranda stood, partway out of her chair—as if she might offer an embrace—then sat back down when Sydney made no move to reciprocate.
“You should know that Grace Valentine is staying with me,” Sydney said. She watched as the color drained from Miranda’s face, replaced by absolute blankness.
“Grace . . . Valentine.” Miranda’s voice was as thin as tissue paper.
“Which means I also know why Grey was disinherited. What I don’t know is if you gave Grace to Miles to take to Shadows so you could forget about her and ignore what your son was, or if he came up with that little wrinkle in events all on his own.”
The facade cracked then. “He did what?”
“Took her to Shadows. Gave her to Shara as a sacrifice. To pay a debt, apparently.”
“He told everyone she had died. Sydney, I believed him. I went to her funeral.”
“It’s probably what he hoped would happen. I mean, if she dies in there, no one finds out what he did, and the last person officially connected with her is Grey.”
“I would have tried to help her, had I known.”
“Would you? Like you tried to help me, when you learned I was in there?”
Miranda looked away. In a harsh whisper she asked, “What else have you brought me here to tell me?”
“You should know that it seems very likely that Grey’s gotten better at what he does in the past three years. Or worse. I’m not really sure what the precise phrasing should be.” Sydney sipped from her glass of wine. “Women are being killed, and their finger bones are being taken.
“Some of those bones were found in his apartment.”
Miranda closed her eyes, her lips pressed together, white. “I wish I could say I was surprised. But he never did think he had enough, no matter what he had. He wanted things to be easy. The sort of easy where you don’t have to work, where it just comes to you, and you’re not just adequate, you’re brilliant. He never understood why he didn’t have that, or that hard work might bring him closer to it.
“He also never understood why he shouldn’t try to take it from someone else who did, especially if he thought they were less than he was. I very much wish that I didn’t, but I know what my son is.”
“Well, so does Miles Merlin,” Sydney said. “Though he believes the solution is to let Grey continue to compete in the Turning and for Fortune’s Wheel to sort things out. I have a more direct approach. I’m going to challenge him.”
Miranda’s face went whiter then, but there was no other change in her carefully controlled expression. “I understand. Thank you for telling me in person.”
“I’m glad you appreciate that it’s necessary.” Sydney pushed back her chair.
“Do you have to go?” Miranda asked. “I thought we could at least eat, that for one meal we could be a normal mother and daughter.”
“Normal,” Sydney said. “Because the conversation we just had was exactly normal.”
“You know what I mean,” Miranda said.
“The thing is, I don’t. I don’t know what normal is. I don’t know how to have a mother. I mean, yes, Shara oversees things at Shadows, but the point of Shadows is not raising children. Shadows doesn’t particularly care if the sacrifices even survive, much less whether or not they feel like they have a relationship with a parent while they’re there.”
“I don’t know why you feel like you need to say these things to me,” Miranda said. “I feel guilty enough already.”
“Do you?” Sydney asked. “Be honest: If your magic hadn’t been stripped from you, would you ever have even considered using magic that didn’t come from Shadows? Or would you have kept telling yourself that’s just the way things are?”
“I had agreed to support Ian if House Prospero won.”
“And I certainly appreciate the gesture. But your magic—the House’s magic—all of that still came from Shadows. Even after you knew I was alive, you used that magic to make sure you’d have tea when you wanted it, because it was easier. Because the consequences of its use had already been cut out of people like Grace and me.” She shoved back her sleeves, showing her scars.
Miranda’s calm did break then, the sob that escaped from her loud enough to send heads turning in their direction.
“Exactly. So no, I don’t think we can ever spend time together like a normal mother and daughter. There is nothing about our relationship that is normal.” Sydney stood up and left. There were other people she needed to tell.
? ? ?
Laurent set his fork and knife on his plate. “By the way, I have something to show you.”