Chapter Ten

CHAPTER TEN

H ead and heart pounding, I stood up from my hiding spot and made my way back inside. I snatched a glass off a tray and threw my head back to down the wine quickly, so that the sickly sweet taste of it had less time to linger. Then I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and looked around the room.

I hadn't lied to Agnes about having no plan for any sort of disruptive event this year, which made it harder now that I suddenly found myself in need of one. These are people you would do well to impress , my father had said, but I wanted to do the opposite. I wanted them all to see me at my worst. Then let them decide if I was worth their time at the trials.

Dancing had ceased while the musicians took a break to tune. My eyes settled on the violinist I'd noticed earlier. With effort, I was able to recall going toe-to-toe with her in some sort of musical battle late one night at my favorite bar, though the memory was blurry. I looked now at the violin, resting softly under her chin as she tuned it.

Swaying slightly, I began to walk across the room. My mind was hazier than the one drink could explain. The spell, probably. The fucking curse. That would have been the perfect reveal to warn everyone off me, but I couldn't do that without ruining Grimm's reputation as well.

The violinist looked up as I approached, eyeing me curiously.

"Hello," I said, fixing my most charming smile in place. "Do you remember me?"

She looked me over, taking in my fine clothes and scarlet scriver's sash. "You look a little different, but yes, I remember."

I smiled at her, fingers already toying with the rings on my fingers. "Lovely to see you again. I have an odd request."

The woman's expression turned wary. I could only imagine the sort of "odd requests" she usually received from stumbling party guests. "What is it?"

"I want to borrow your violin."

Her fingers tightened around the instrument reflexively. "What?"

"Only briefly." I had my own, but it either was still in the carriage or had been brought to my room, several floors above. If I took the time to get it, I worried the moment would pass and I'd lose my nerve.

The woman clutched her violin a little closer. "I don't think—"

"I'll be careful with it, I promise. And I'll give you this!" I pulled the largest ring off my hand and held it out to her. It was gold, with a ruby set in the middle. Expensive, probably. It had been given to me as a gift when I entered the Fount.

One of the nearby musicians let out a gasp, quickly muffled.

"It's yours," I said, holding the ring out farther when the violinist didn't take it right away. "Just let me play something."

The violinist still looked confused, but after a moment she took the ring. "I'm not sure what you're getting out of this, but sure." She presented the violin and bow to me. "Have at it."

"Thank you," I said.

Then it was back across the floor to the empty dais, which I climbed onto with more determination than grace. The people standing nearest watched with inquiring eyes, but most of the room's attention was still elsewhere. That simply would not do.

I cleared my throat.

"Esteemed guests!" At the sound of my voice heads began to turn, and even like this, with a bitter taste in my mouth and my temples pounding, I still felt the flutter of excitement that being on a stage always brought. "A night such as this calls for a special kind of entertainment. And I am here to provide!" I allowed my words to slur more than strictly necessary. Let them think my wits were dimmed by drink rather than by magic.

Across the room there was a sudden burst of movement as my father pushed his way to the front of the crowd. He halted there and stared at me, eyes full of warning.

I cradled the violin beneath my chin and sent out a silent prayer that the musician I'd borrowed it from had done a thorough job tuning. Then I raised my bow.

The music that poured from me was different from the pleasant melodies that had filtered through the room all evening. It was a storm of a song, and for a brief stretch of time it swept me up wholly. I threw my body into the playing of it, letting everything except my purpose melt away.

As I played, I began to weave a bit of magic into the notes, improvising a spellsong. I wasn't in a fit state to be casting cantrips, and the magic dragged at me like gravity. The notes didn't want to be played, almost like the unfamiliar violin was fighting me, but I gritted my teeth and ignored the discomfort, just as I'd been doing all evening.

Little sparks began to leap from where my bow touched string, turning into shining winged things that soared over everyone's heads. Not fireworks, but explosive in their own way.

For a moment the only sound in the parlor was the music and the hushed ahhhh of the crowd, as they lifted their faces toward the light. Then the sparks drifted downward, delicate as snowflakes, and the room erupted in chaos.

It was not my intent to cause harm, but I wanted to remind everyone (myself most of all) what they risked by thinking me harmless.

The sparks that drifted low enough to settle in the crowd were immediately put out, but the ones that settled in the curtains and decorative swaths of fabric hanging from the ceiling began to smoke. There was shouting and a few screams as the party guests noticed the beginnings of fire.

Through it all I kept playing, unconcerned. I would not have risked this stunt if I wasn't in a room full of the people most capable of making sure this didn't go terribly wrong.

Sure enough, it didn't take long for the first spell to be cast. The assembled Coterie members had dealt with far worse than this, although I think they were slowed down by not wanting to destroy my father's beautiful parlor in the process of putting out the fire. In the end no one made rain fall from the ceiling, which I felt was a missed opportunity, but the flames were quickly smothered nonetheless.

I waited until their attention was unoccupied to finish my song, sending my bow gliding along the strings with a flourish, then I stood on the dais, panting slightly.

The remains of my audience looked back at me, murmurs already rising like the wind.

He's drunk, he must be.

What a display.

Careless.

The far reaches of the room appeared oddly blurry to me. Had someone turned the lights down? I couldn't make out my father among the crowd, or Agnes, or my brother. The only face close enough for me to recognize was that of the Coterie captain whom I'd heard on the balcony. He was looking up at me, a frown reminiscent of Grimm creasing his brow.

With great solemnity, I bowed in his direction.

As soon as I straightened, the adrenaline that had carried me this far vanished. I nearly dropped the violin as the room spun. I stumbled getting off the dais, and the only reason I didn't fall was because someone caught my elbow in a bruising grip.

I blinked down at my father, whose face was set in a mask of fury.

With some effort, I managed to speak. "You said to make myself memorable. Did I not?"

Then—in the grand finale of the evening—I listed to the side, arm slipping out of his grasp as I crashed into one of the closest gawkers. Someone swore and a glass broke, shattering on the floor with a merry chime.

"Catch him!" someone shouted, but I wasn't awake to discover if anyone listened.

I came to flat on my back, with pain lancing through the left side of my face. Moving very slowly, I lifted a hand and found that the skin around my eye was tender and puffy. Before I could feel more, my fingers were slapped away.

"Don't," Agnes said sharply. Fluttering my eyes open, I discovered her seated beside me wearing a glum expression. She reached for something just beyond the scope of my still blurry vision, and her hands returned with a cool cloth, which she laid over my aching face.

"Ow," I said weakly. "What happened?"

"You fainted," Agnes said.

I sat up, slowly, holding the cloth so the blessed coolness stayed in place. "I figured that part out, thank you. But why does my face feel like it's been brawling without me?"

"You hit it on the way down. On someone's elbow, I think. You're lucky they caught you before your head hit the floor."

"How chivalrous of them," I said, willing my head to stop spinning. Now that I was upright, I realized we were in the same library where I'd spoken to Rainer earlier. The door had been closed and a fire had been lit in the hearth. I was laid out on the chaise in front of it, with Agnes perched beside me. The comfort of my surroundings suggested that my brother or Agnes had been in charge of my removal from the party. If it had been my father's choice, I might have woken outside the main gate.

Agnes looked down at me, face still very solemn.

"Am I bleeding?" I asked, removing the cloth from over my eye.

"No," she said, after the briefest glance.

"Hm. How ungratifying."

Agnes let out a faint, unamused snort. Then she said, in a sharp-edged sort of voice, "Tell me, Leo, is it your intent to make yourself the center of attention in every room you walk into, or does it just happen by chance?"

An added layer of discomfort settled over me, twisting my insides just as surely as the spell did. Agnes should have been back at the party, collecting admirers and speaking with the same people I'd just done my best to repel—Coterie members she'd be working alongside next year.

Instead, she was here, sitting beside me in an otherwise empty room.

"M'sorry," I mumbled, and reached forward to pat her knee. But the movement caused the room to tilt around me. Leaping from the chaise, I grabbed a vase from the nearby end table, tossed the flowers onto the floor, and then was violently sick into the prettily patterned ceramic.

I crouched on the floor after, sweaty and shaking. The room was dimly lit, but everything looked too bright. My senses felt like glassy, fragile things.

"Exactly how much did you have to drink?" Agnes asked, sounding resigned.

I hugged the vase closer and shot her a shaky grin over its rim. "Would you believe me if I said not very much at all?"

By the time I finished my second round of retching, Agnes was kneeling next to me.

"You can see why that would be hard for me to believe, can't you?" She reached to gather my hair back, and as she did so her fingers brushed against my cheek. She frowned, then laid the back of her hand against my forehead. "Leo, are you ill?"

I hiccuped out a pathetic laugh. "In a manner of speaking."

"You should have said. You're burning up!"

"Am I? That explains a lot."

"Can you stand to make it to your room? You need to be in bed."

She started to rise, but I caught her hand. "Don't," I said. "My bed won't cure this."

Agnes rolled her eyes, obviously assuming I was just feverish and stubborn, but she let herself be pulled back down next to me and tucked a loose curl back from my sweaty face. "What will, then?"

I tilted my head back to rest against the wall rather than look at her. There were no distractions left. All the fight had gone out of me, and there was nothing to do but face the inevitable.

"I need you to take me to Sebastian Grimm," I said.