said. “Do you know what I am?”
“Angry?” he tried, with a weak smile.
Laila was not amused. “I’m an instrument. I know that. You know that.”
“Don’t call yourself that—” he started.
But Laila spoke over him. “And yet you refuse to use me even when I ask it of you. So, it would seem likeyou’re in need of reminding.”
Her hand darted forward, reaching for his wrist.
“Laila—” he warned.
“You spilled your box of cloves on your sleeves this morning. You hid one of Zofia’s incendiary devices in Hypnos’s hall. You stared at the bone clock in your office for nearly an hour. Want more? Because I can do more,” said Laila, her voice nearly breaking. “This suit was made by a woman whosobbed into the cloth upon finding that she was pregnant out of wedlock. This suit—”
“ Stop ,” he said, standing so fast that his chair smacked the glass behind him.
He looked down to where her fingers still touched his wrist. Neither of them moved. He could hear her breath, shallow and fast, from across the table. Not once since they had agreed to work together three years ago had she read hisobjects. At her touch, he felt dangerously exposed. He had to leave. Now.
“You’re not an instrument. Not to me,” he said, not looking at her. “But if you’re so insistent, then put yourself to use. Get me on that guest list to the Palais des R ê ves.”
----
AS EVENING APPROACHED, S é verin heard commotions outside his office. This was nothing new. He ignored it and focused on the papers before him. Forsome reason, he thought he could smell sugar and rosewater in the air. The perfume Laila kept in a rose quartz bottle. Morning and night, she’d swipe the crystal stopper across her wrists, down the line of her bronze throat. It was a faint scent … one he’d only caught when his lips had skimmed down her neck.
S é verin pinched the bridge of his nose.
Get the hell out of my head.
To one side ofhis desk lay the blueprints of House Kore’s palatial layout. To the other side lay Zofia’s mock-up of a Sphinx mask. But then he heard a name called out in the corridor: “L’ É nigme!”
Oh no , thought S é verin.
“Leave us,” said an imperious voice.
Us ?
S é verin pushed back his chair, ready to cross the room and lock the door when Laila—not that anyone recognized her at the moment—entered. S é verinhad never seen her as L’ É nigme. He never went to the cabaret. But he knew the rumors of her effect on the audience. Looking at her now, the rumors were a shadow to the reality. With her peacock headdress and mask, L’ É nigme looked more myth than girl. Jewel-toned plumes swept down her back. Pale silk clung to her legs, Forged to billow as if an unseen wind was her constant companion. Her blousewas little more than a corset of pearls.
Laila took a couple steps forward, pausing long enough to let the growing crowd outside the hall see her hand slide up his arm.
“I wanted to surprise you,” she said silkily. Then she turned to face the open door and the growing crowd of curious faces. “Are we to have an audience?”
Someone pulled the door shut.
The moment the door closed, S é verin steppedout of her reach.He glanced at the closed door. Behind it, gossip had probably infested the halls.
“What?”
He didn’t trust himself to speak more than that.
“You asked me to get you on the guest list. Voil à .”
Laila draped herself in one of the study chairs, then took off the headdress. At her touch, the Forged peacock plumes shrank into a green, silk choker with a resin pendant. Laila pulledher hair to one side as she fiddled with the clasp of her necklace.
“It keeps coming undone,” she said, frowning. “I think Enrique clasped it wrong. Help me?”
Every line of her body seemed relaxed. Their fight had passed. It wasn’t their first clash, and it wouldn’t be their last, and so neither of them bothered to apologize. S é verin moved behind her.
“Explain
“Angry?” he tried, with a weak smile.
Laila was not amused. “I’m an instrument. I know that. You know that.”
“Don’t call yourself that—” he started.
But Laila spoke over him. “And yet you refuse to use me even when I ask it of you. So, it would seem likeyou’re in need of reminding.”
Her hand darted forward, reaching for his wrist.
“Laila—” he warned.
“You spilled your box of cloves on your sleeves this morning. You hid one of Zofia’s incendiary devices in Hypnos’s hall. You stared at the bone clock in your office for nearly an hour. Want more? Because I can do more,” said Laila, her voice nearly breaking. “This suit was made by a woman whosobbed into the cloth upon finding that she was pregnant out of wedlock. This suit—”
“ Stop ,” he said, standing so fast that his chair smacked the glass behind him.
He looked down to where her fingers still touched his wrist. Neither of them moved. He could hear her breath, shallow and fast, from across the table. Not once since they had agreed to work together three years ago had she read hisobjects. At her touch, he felt dangerously exposed. He had to leave. Now.
“You’re not an instrument. Not to me,” he said, not looking at her. “But if you’re so insistent, then put yourself to use. Get me on that guest list to the Palais des R ê ves.”
----
AS EVENING APPROACHED, S é verin heard commotions outside his office. This was nothing new. He ignored it and focused on the papers before him. Forsome reason, he thought he could smell sugar and rosewater in the air. The perfume Laila kept in a rose quartz bottle. Morning and night, she’d swipe the crystal stopper across her wrists, down the line of her bronze throat. It was a faint scent … one he’d only caught when his lips had skimmed down her neck.
S é verin pinched the bridge of his nose.
Get the hell out of my head.
To one side ofhis desk lay the blueprints of House Kore’s palatial layout. To the other side lay Zofia’s mock-up of a Sphinx mask. But then he heard a name called out in the corridor: “L’ É nigme!”
Oh no , thought S é verin.
“Leave us,” said an imperious voice.
Us ?
S é verin pushed back his chair, ready to cross the room and lock the door when Laila—not that anyone recognized her at the moment—entered. S é verinhad never seen her as L’ É nigme. He never went to the cabaret. But he knew the rumors of her effect on the audience. Looking at her now, the rumors were a shadow to the reality. With her peacock headdress and mask, L’ É nigme looked more myth than girl. Jewel-toned plumes swept down her back. Pale silk clung to her legs, Forged to billow as if an unseen wind was her constant companion. Her blousewas little more than a corset of pearls.
Laila took a couple steps forward, pausing long enough to let the growing crowd outside the hall see her hand slide up his arm.
“I wanted to surprise you,” she said silkily. Then she turned to face the open door and the growing crowd of curious faces. “Are we to have an audience?”
Someone pulled the door shut.
The moment the door closed, S é verin steppedout of her reach.He glanced at the closed door. Behind it, gossip had probably infested the halls.
“What?”
He didn’t trust himself to speak more than that.
“You asked me to get you on the guest list. Voil à .”
Laila draped herself in one of the study chairs, then took off the headdress. At her touch, the Forged peacock plumes shrank into a green, silk choker with a resin pendant. Laila pulledher hair to one side as she fiddled with the clasp of her necklace.
“It keeps coming undone,” she said, frowning. “I think Enrique clasped it wrong. Help me?”
Every line of her body seemed relaxed. Their fight had passed. It wasn’t their first clash, and it wouldn’t be their last, and so neither of them bothered to apologize. S é verin moved behind her.
“Explain
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