Chapter 39

"Where the hells are we to go?"

Aramis cursed my husband as he packed his few belongings. Jeremiah gathered his things much slower, more reluctantly.

I watched them both from the hallway on the upper floor of the guesthouse, trying to rebuild the fragile bridge that once stood between my families. I told him, "Let me speak with Nico before you go. We still need you to help us get the book back from Felix. You're the only one out of all of us who knows so much about the alchemists."

"Why would I help your bastard husband?" he spat as he shut his suitcase.

Leaning against the doorframe, I winced. "Because you'd be helping me."

His shoulders tensed. "Every time I try to help you, Camilla, you reject it. You tell me how I don't know what I'm doing, or you run off to save the day despite all my efforts." He shook his head. "You don't actually want my help."

"Not when your help puts everyone else at risk! How can you turn on the people that have taken you in?"

He spun around, facing me with icy fury in his blue eyes. "My entire life, I have watched over you, Camilla. When Father died, I was the one who bore the responsibly of your secrets. I was the one he expected to protect you from the evils in this world, not because you have a remnant but because you are my sister. I have sacrificed everything I have truly wanted to make sure nothing happens to you. Friends, jobs, lovers..." He swallowed hard. "I denied myself them all to be here for you."

Some of the ice around my heart began to thaw. I'd assumed he was just a boring person, never wanting to do anything or be anyone other than a Marchese son. Perhaps I hadn't realized just how much he'd given up to remain by my side. Did he regret it now that Sera and our family were all gone? Had I been worth all the missed opportunities?

My eyes burned, but I blinked back the guilty tears his admission collected.

"I never asked you to give up your dreams for me."

"You didn't have to. It was my choice. Father had little faith in me as his eldest son to take on the business. He thought I was too impulsive. When he caught me with the Nine Crowns, I lost his faith for good." He smoothed a hand along his neck, rubbing in the lingering dirt from working in the engine. "I thought I could keep the family together, but I've just been proving him right every step I take."

"Then stop walking alone." I pushed off the doorframe to approach him. "We're all on the same side, Aramis. You can't win a war without allies. Nico—"

"Nico can't see beyond his damn Row," Aramis growled, his irritation returning. "He might call you his wife, but has he promised to protect you for the rest of his life? Does he put you above his family? Has even told you that he loves you?"

"He doesn't have to say any of those things..." I tried to speak with affirmation, but the truth came out weak. Aramis saw through my fa?ade, anyway.

"The difference between your husband and your brother, Camilla, is that I will do whatever it takes to protect you, even if you hate me for it."

"What the hells does that mean?" I asked.

My skin prickled from the thoughts he left unsaid, shaking my question off with the wave of his hand. "We're just going in circles. What's important is that you're safe now. I had news before your deranged bender husband decided to kick us both off the property."

He'd dropped the subject too quickly to be casual, but I let it go for now. The news he mentioned tempted my curiosity, a bait wisely offered and snatched. "Let me talk to him before you leave. I'll deal with it." I crossed my arms and approached the doorway. "What news did you receive?"

He lifted something from his bedside table, unfolding last week's newspaper to show me the headline. "There's a ball next week at the Overseer's mansion. Everyone in the Districts will be invited, as well as the natives in the surrounding area that contribute to the Isle's political agenda, and I've heard from the courtesan who spies on the commanders that while everyone is at the masquerade, there will be meetings behind the scenes."

"What kind of meetings?" I asked.

"The kind that will make sure the Nine isn't just an underground operation, but an entire movement. A nation." He sat on the bed with a sigh. "The Marcheses were once part of the Nine. It wasn't just me and Giles who joined, but our grandparents as well. Did you know that?"

The conversation pulled me into the room to sit beside him on the bed. "I had an idea when you flashed the Niner blade and called it an heirloom." My eyes darted to his suitcase, wondering if he'd gotten rid of it when I asked—and doubtful. "Why did we leave?"

"Because Father wouldn't support a group that was actively working against his favorite daughter, would he?" Aramis shook his head. "After the Attano murders, Gio panicked. He took you straight to the alchemedis when you let your power slip on that train hand. He didn't want the Nine to find out about you. I didn't realize why then, but when I inherited the estate in his will..."

"You learned about my remnant."

He nodded. "I've known for a while but kept it to myself. It was safer, the fewer people that knew. Giles and I stayed as nonactive members in the Nine to keep tabs with the group, and the connections they provided were too good to pass up. We would've gone broke a lot sooner without the help of the Nine."

My shoulders slumped. It seemed an impossible task to go against them if that was the case. "If they're so powerful and well-integrated with the city, how are we to take them down?"

He shrugged like it was simple. "We go for the Firenzes. They're the ones with the formulas and the Arcane laws. We just need an opportunity to get inside the Wet District."

My body and mind were tired. It had been a long day preparing for an equally rough night. But the bruises over my ribs were a nagging reminder that our enemies weren't taking their time any longer. They weren't playing defense anymore. If we wanted to run them out of the city, we'd need to get ahead of them again.

"You said this ball is hosted by the High Overseer?" I asked Aramis.

"Yes. Well, his social board, I'm assuming."

A social board I had a hunch was led by none other than the socialite herself—the Overseer's daughter. "Vanya Hartsong," I said the thought out loud. "Vanya will be the one planning the party, which means we have an opportunity with her."

Aramis stood to stretch. "And how will Vanya Hartsong help us?"

I smiled. "What if the Overseer's mansion can no longer host the soiree? What if... I don't know... there's a rat infestation or the plumbing backs up. What if something happens and the Firenzes, the Niners themselves, hosted the party?"

He stared at me with a skeptical look on his face. "How would that help?"

"There will be hundreds of people there. Plenty of distraction to get inside their walls and look for Delilah's book and little time to place intensive security measures. We'll just need to get them to volunteer or—"

"They'll do it," he said, the decided tone in his voice catching me off guard. "I'll... I'll contact Narcissa. She's good friends with the Firenzes. And the Hathoways. And the Caldwells..."

"Yes, I'm sure she's very well-connected with all the rich men in the Districts," I blurted.

Jeremiah lingered just outside the door, listening while puffing on a cigarillo. "Don't mind me. Just want to know if I should be packing or not."

"Not yet," I told him, trying to assure him with a smile that wilted on my lips. I took the opportunity to see myself out. "Anyway, I'm going to head back to the main house, just in case Nico comes back soon. We have... a lot to talk about."

Aramis scoffed. "Yes. You do."

Ignoring him, I made it to the hall before letting one last question turn me back. "Can I ask you something?"

He gestured around himself as if to say he had nowhere else to be.

I licked my lips, unsure how to articulate the unsettled feeling in my stomach. "Can we trust you, Aramis?"

He blinked twice, as if taking the time to process his answer. He stood then and braced a hand on the open door. "You can trust me, Camilla. Everything we do"—his eyes darted to Jeremiah—"is for you. Never forget that."

He shut the door before I could inquire further.

Nico didn't come homelike he promised.

I tossed and turned in our bed, finding it difficult to fall asleep without the weight of him nearby. I'd spent so many nights on the prison floor alone, cold, and in the dark, that his company had become a distraction from the memories that liked to surface when I shut my eyes at night.

And when I was alone—like tonight—I relived every moment in the cell and the trials. Thoughts of all the things I should've done differently nagged at the boundary of my dreams until my eyes were wide-open and staring at the canopy draping above the bed.

My stomach burned, and I shoved off the covers when rest became futile and ventured downstairs for a snack.

There I found an old woman, hunching over the counter and kneading a large mound of fresh dough. "Nonna?"

She glanced up at me, her constant frown evening out some pleasantly. "Belladonna, what are you doing up so early?"

"I could ask you the same." But she only raised a brow, insisting I give her a real answer. I shrugged and sat on a barstool across from her. "I couldn't sleep. Nico left last night and hasn't come back."

She nodded knowingly. "He'll be home soon. I heard what happened last night. Best to let tempers cool down before moving forward."

"Do you think we can?" I asked. "Move forward. He held a gun to my brother's face."

Nonna clicked her tongue. "And he should not have done that. I am not excusing my grandson's actions, but Nicolai does not raise his weapon or his remnant without cause. I am curious to find out what pushed him to such a decision."

My fingers drew circles in the flour dusting the counter. "He doesn't trust my brother. That about sums it up."

She paused her kneading. "Is he wrong in that?"

"Yes," I said at first, but the word tasted like a white lie—one aimed at myself more than Nonna. "Maybe. No. I don't know." Resting my head on the cradle of my arms, I let the tears I'd held back slip free, no longer strong enough to keep them back, a crack in a pipe that burst from too much pressure.

Something had bothered me since the explosion. Nico said the coupler was jammed, but my brother was the one that put the cars together. Why was our car fine and theirs not? Because if he was working against the Attanos his actions were even more sinister in their potential motivations.

There were so many damning coincidences in the past few weeks that pointed to him being associated with the Firenzes. Like how a single guard had incapacitated them both on the train when we were stuck on the bridge. How he knew exactly how to protect me when the watchman used his power in the Salt District. His sheer understanding of the Arcane. There were so many incriminatory signs that Aramis wasn't being entirely honest with me—hells, he'd never been completely transparent a day in his life.

But there were truths to him I couldn't ignore, either. Felix had killed Sera. Why would he help the man that shot his—as he called her—lover? Aramis was family, one of the last blood relatives I had left in this world, besides Jeremiah.

He'd promised I could trust him—and I had to believe it. Any alternative to these truths would break my heart beyond repair, and I had been conditioned to give him the benefit of the doubt. So dominant was that instinct, the choice was made innately by default.

A bony hand smoothed the tension knotting my shoulders as I tried to swallow a guttural sob. "Stop your tears, Belladonna. It will all be fine. Do you think this is the first time an Attano has threatened to shoot an in-law?"

I lifted my head slightly to look at her. "It's not?"

She cackled and went back to her work. "Hells, no. My mother nearly shot my husband when he told her he was taking me across the Narrow Sea. Do you think my family thought it was wise to leave everything behind for an Attano with not a reole to his name? We're all here, aren't we? Well, besides Paolo, saints rest his soul. He died of a big heart, though, not a bullet."

She rolled the dough flat and spread a generous amount of butter across the sticky surface. "I have not had the displeasure of speaking with your brother on a personal level. However, Esme tells me he's a smart man. From what I've gathered, your brother and Nicky are very much alike, and perhaps that's why they butt heads so much. If you want peace between them, they need to be fighting on the same team. Find some common ground."

I scoffed. "What could Nico and Aramis possibly have in common?"

She glanced at me. "You."

"I'm not enough, Nonna." I never had been. That much was clear from the way things were falling apart.

Without warning, she grabbed a handful of flour and tossed it across the counter at me, flinging it in my eyes. The powder burned until more tears cleared my eyes, made me choke as I inhaled the stuff I disturbed trying to dust it out of my hair.

"Speak kinder about yourself." She continued to lecture me above the sounds of my coughing. "The things we whisper to the shadows have a tendency to come true." Without missing another beat, she sprinkled cinnamon sugar across the butter. "Now, if you're quite done crying and moping, make yourself useful and start on the glaze."

"Cinnamon buns?" I said, hopeful.

Her lips fought a smile. "There's no bitter heart a little sugar can't sweeten up. Bad days call for indulging."

Nonna taught me the recipe as we finished up prepping the rolls, and I was given a brief reprieve from my family trouble and the world's problems knocking at my door.

"Mrs. Attano?"

Both Nonna and I turned around to see Grimm, Nico's steward, standing in the kitchen doorway.

He glanced at Nonna briefly before settling onto me. "Sorry to disturb you, miss. A message just came for Mr. Attano. He told me you could take his calls when he was gone, if you wish."

I dusted off my hands on the apron I'd thrown around my waist. "I'll take it for him. Thank you, Grimm. Don't you ever sleep?"

He smiled politely. "I sleep when Mr. Attano sleeps."

I scoffed, understanding all too well. "Take the night off from Mr. Attano, Grimm. I'll look after things from here."

He bowed slightly, shoulders falling an inch. "Don't hesitate to call on me if you need anything."

I debated on what to do with the message after Grimm disappeared down the darkened hall. On one hand, it could be very important. Something Nico would need to respond to quickly. On the other, he might get upset if I opened something addressed explicitly to him. Weighing the consequences of both, I opened the letter.

It was a call for a meeting on the viaduct. Immediately. The sigil of an eagle was pressed into the stationary, making it obvious who'd sent this across the river, having seen this paper before.

"Business calling?" Nonna asked.

Business, indeed. I tossed the note into the fire heating the stove, destroying it, before running to the back door to grab my coat and gun of choice.