design—something I could only call stately in appearance, as I was not as familiar with Oriental art as I felt I should be. Heaven knew I’d spent an untenable allotment of time in the Veil’s company.
The door closed behind me, sealing me inside the ornate furnace. I could already feel the bloom of sweat across my back and shoulders. It would not take much to stain the sheer material over my décolletage.
Gowned or not, I felt nude. Never had I come here in my true guise, and certainly never so unprepared as this. A tea gown might be comfortable, almost obscenely so, but I missed the confidence of my collecting corset—that bit of rigid boning that provided London’s only female collector something more than just armor.
Unmasked, I was only a woman.
At least Osoba had not searched me for weapons. The weight of the blade at my thigh was a small reassurance I nevertheless clung to. Though I would never get to it before the Chinese servants reached me, if I were fortunate and minded myself, I might not have to.
I took a silent breath and began my trek across the gleaming hardwood floors.
“That is far enough.”
I halted, my temples straining with the effort it took to keep my teeth sealed together. The voice floating from behind the second of the silk screens was all too familiar, lacking in any hallmarks of masculine or feminine. Sometimes I thought one, and sometimes the other.
I had settled upon
sir
by way of courtesy.
“Good afternoon, sir,” I said, inclining my head towards the silk screen that hid the speaker from my view. The fragrance upon the air was something I did not recognize, lacking in the floral quality and thick spiciness of opium smoke.
A small relief, undercut by a yawning need.
I would be dishonest if I said that I did not hope in some small way to breathe in the incense the Veil burned, made with enough opium to soothe the mind and senses.
I suspected that it made all those who visited somewhat more pliable.
My fingers curled into tight fists at my side.
“Let us dispense with courtesies, Lady Compton.” There was no teasing lilt this time, no slow mockery as the Veil had often displayed. Without a face to gauge the nature, I could not be sure, yet I thought I sensed anger beneath the clipped words.
The name thrown between us was as a white glove tossed to the floor.
I did not rise to the challenge. “I have received kinder invites,” I said, repeating words I had spoken what seemed a lifetime ago.
“You were not invited this time,” said the Veil. “Our whip took matters into his own hands.”
“Then why am I here now?”
“Because we accept his gift.” A sincere enough reason, as far as the Veil cared to explain. I had always found the organization to be arrogant in the extreme; or at least this particular spokesman.
So much for Osoba’s so-called help. I wondered if he’d arranged this betrayal before or after he’d brought me.
I clasped my hands behind my back, fingers tense. I studied the screen as I inquired, “Are you hoping to take my head?”
“Are you so eager to die?” Another simple refrain.
I never would have imagined I’d miss the Veil’s prior mockery.
“I cannot fault you for thinking so,” I admitted, earning a certain amount of silence in return. Perhaps I’d surprised him.
I fought the urge to fidget in place.
Since clearing my mind of the bliss, I found it all at once easier and harder to think. On the one hand, many a thought came to me, details which I might not have paid much attention to in the past.
On the other hand—the other tired, bitter, hungry hand—I did not know what to do with silence anymore. It was empty. Waiting to be filled.
There was no symphony of light or color to fill it.
I cleared my throat. “The peddled children are an unexpected addition.”
The Veil sighed. “Please do not burden us with your hypocrisy, Miss Black. For all your so very British mortification, there is no shortage of those who will
The door closed behind me, sealing me inside the ornate furnace. I could already feel the bloom of sweat across my back and shoulders. It would not take much to stain the sheer material over my décolletage.
Gowned or not, I felt nude. Never had I come here in my true guise, and certainly never so unprepared as this. A tea gown might be comfortable, almost obscenely so, but I missed the confidence of my collecting corset—that bit of rigid boning that provided London’s only female collector something more than just armor.
Unmasked, I was only a woman.
At least Osoba had not searched me for weapons. The weight of the blade at my thigh was a small reassurance I nevertheless clung to. Though I would never get to it before the Chinese servants reached me, if I were fortunate and minded myself, I might not have to.
I took a silent breath and began my trek across the gleaming hardwood floors.
“That is far enough.”
I halted, my temples straining with the effort it took to keep my teeth sealed together. The voice floating from behind the second of the silk screens was all too familiar, lacking in any hallmarks of masculine or feminine. Sometimes I thought one, and sometimes the other.
I had settled upon
sir
by way of courtesy.
“Good afternoon, sir,” I said, inclining my head towards the silk screen that hid the speaker from my view. The fragrance upon the air was something I did not recognize, lacking in the floral quality and thick spiciness of opium smoke.
A small relief, undercut by a yawning need.
I would be dishonest if I said that I did not hope in some small way to breathe in the incense the Veil burned, made with enough opium to soothe the mind and senses.
I suspected that it made all those who visited somewhat more pliable.
My fingers curled into tight fists at my side.
“Let us dispense with courtesies, Lady Compton.” There was no teasing lilt this time, no slow mockery as the Veil had often displayed. Without a face to gauge the nature, I could not be sure, yet I thought I sensed anger beneath the clipped words.
The name thrown between us was as a white glove tossed to the floor.
I did not rise to the challenge. “I have received kinder invites,” I said, repeating words I had spoken what seemed a lifetime ago.
“You were not invited this time,” said the Veil. “Our whip took matters into his own hands.”
“Then why am I here now?”
“Because we accept his gift.” A sincere enough reason, as far as the Veil cared to explain. I had always found the organization to be arrogant in the extreme; or at least this particular spokesman.
So much for Osoba’s so-called help. I wondered if he’d arranged this betrayal before or after he’d brought me.
I clasped my hands behind my back, fingers tense. I studied the screen as I inquired, “Are you hoping to take my head?”
“Are you so eager to die?” Another simple refrain.
I never would have imagined I’d miss the Veil’s prior mockery.
“I cannot fault you for thinking so,” I admitted, earning a certain amount of silence in return. Perhaps I’d surprised him.
I fought the urge to fidget in place.
Since clearing my mind of the bliss, I found it all at once easier and harder to think. On the one hand, many a thought came to me, details which I might not have paid much attention to in the past.
On the other hand—the other tired, bitter, hungry hand—I did not know what to do with silence anymore. It was empty. Waiting to be filled.
There was no symphony of light or color to fill it.
I cleared my throat. “The peddled children are an unexpected addition.”
The Veil sighed. “Please do not burden us with your hypocrisy, Miss Black. For all your so very British mortification, there is no shortage of those who will
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