Chapter Twenty-Eight Cleodora Finley

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Cleodora Finley

"MY LADY, YOUR carriage is here," a coachman says.

I snap out of my thoughts, turning to look at the waiting horses. "Good. I need to get to the H?tel-Dieu."

Madame blocks my way. "Cleodora, what are you talking about? You can't go to the hospital alone at this hour."

"I have to." I try to push past her. "You wouldn't understand."

"Enlighten me, then." She stares me down, folding her arms across her chest.

I bite into my lip but say nothing.

"Chère, don't pressure her." Renée joins Madame's side. "Are you not feeling well, dear? You look pale."

I start shaking my head but stop. "I am a little faint."

Madame huffs. "Well, in that case, I'm definitely not letting you go on your own."

"Certainly not," Renée says. "We'll go with you."

Before I can protest, Madame turns to the carriage and climbs inside, not waiting for the coachman's help. "Come on, then, we don't have all night!"

Renée puts a gentle hand on my shoulder as we follow her.

"To the H?tel-Dieu," I say to the coachman. "And hurry. "

"Certainly, my lady," the man says.

With both Madame and Renée inside, the carriage feels cramped, our large ball gown dresses dominating the space. They sit close together on the bench opposite mine, their fingers intertwined. Yet while Renée is staring out the window into the night, Madame's eyes rest on me, as if trying to pry the truth out of my lips.

"You didn't have to leave the ball for my sake," I mumble as the carriage shakes under us.

"That party was a bore." Madame brushes me off. "The only interesting thing about this evening was the dramatic ending. And since I don't believe we're truly going to the hospital for you to see a doctor, I have a feeling we'll learn a lot more about it by accompanying you."

"Hélène!" Renée hits Madame's shoulder gently, but she can't fully hide the interest on her face, either.

I should tell them the truth. After all, that was the decision I made—come clean, stop lying. But I also need to be smart. I don't know if the coachman can hear us, and after tonight I don't know who I can trust. If Dahlia finds out . . .

No. I can't even think about that.

I tear my gaze away from Madame and Renée and turn to look out the window, the silver shadows rolling on the dark road as the horses trudge forward. The H?tel-Dieu is the largest hospital in the city, situated right in the center of L'?le de Lutèce.

Last time I was there, I was called in to identify Father's body. I remember walking down the grim corridors, looking out through the scratched windows at the lashing river that stole his life.

I don't want to relive that. I never want to set foot in that place again.

But Lirone is there, lying in one of those hard beds, facing unimaginable pain. Alone. Scared. Hurt.

I cannot leave him.

A dull ache builds in my chest as the tall buildings of Lutèce close in around us. Soon we are across the river, the massive cathedral towering above as we circle around toward the hospital. The carriage comes to a stop by the wide stairs leading up to the arched entrance.

The coachman opens the door for us, and I take in the large, U-shaped building. A long courtyard runs along the middle, surrounded on both sides by rounded windows and stone archways. In the darkness, the walls seem black, as though stained by the sickness lying within. I should walk straight inside, yet I'm frozen in place, remembering once more Anaella's small hand grabbing mine as we stood at this exact spot, an officer waiting for us to go inside.

"Cleodora?" Madame says.

I push away the image, a stray tear escaping. "I'm okay," I say as I wipe it away with the back of my hand.

Madame's eyes grow wide, and she grabs my wrist before I can bring my arm down. "What happened to your hand?" Her voice is sharp as she stares at the fresh cuts.

I pull my hand away from her, trying to hide it under Father's coat. But that only encourages her. With one strong tug, she pulls the coat away, revealing not only my hand, but the bloodstains and tears on my skirt. Her jaw drops in obvious shock.

"I fell," I say, offering only the half-truth, as I grab my coat back to hide the horror behind it.

Madame and Renée exchange looks but say nothing. Keeping my lips pressed tight, I stride toward the nearest door, both of them following closely behind.

A tired nurse in a white uniform looks up as we enter, blinking rapidly as she takes in our fancy gowns and sparkly jewelry.

"May I help you?"

"I hope so," I say, forcing my voice to remain calm. "A boy was brought here from the Lenoir Manor. I need to see him."

Behind me, Madame and Renée tense, but I don't care. Lirone is all that matters right now.

The nurse checks through a stack of papers on her desk, narrowing her eyes in the dim light of her gas lamp. She stops on a page, running her finger down the lines, and my heart quickens. This must be it. But then she keeps flipping through, wasting my time.

My leg jitters under my skirt. "Well?"

The nurse looks up at me, her watery blue eyes unimpressed by the vision of the entitled lady before her. "Are you related to the boy?"

"Not exactly . . . But I'm the closest thing to a family he has."

"Patient 1002." She sighs. "Gunshot wound to the abdomen. The bullet was extracted successfully by guards on site, and he has already been moved to the recovery ward. No essential organs damaged."

I close my eyes for a second, tears threatening to overflow once again. This time I won't be visiting the morgue. He is going to be okay.

"Can I see him?" My voice trembles.

The nurse's lips press into a hard line. "He needs rest." She turns away from us, walking toward a nearby door.

But I can't accept that.

I reach for her hand before she can leave. "Please."

Her eyes find mine, softening for the first time, as if she finally sees the person behind the mask of glamour. "Do you know his name?" she asks. "We have nothing on the record."

"Lirone," I say. "His name is Lirone."

She nods and I let her hand go. "Follow me."

Our heels echo on the stone floors as we walk along the wide main corridor. Even though it's the middle of the night, the hospital is not quiet. Nurses and doctors enter and leave closed rooms, while patients in thin robes fail to sleep through various pains.

I try to keep my eyes ahead and not let them stray. I do not need to see any more horrors tonight. A movement from a room to my left grabs my attention, but I immediately regret following the instinct to look. A man lies on a hard bed, writhing in pain as a doctor examines a bloody gash on his chest. I shiver, shifting my gaze back to the nurse .

I focus on her short frame, her high blond bun. The way her shoulders rise and fall with each step. But nothing will keep the image of Lirone's wounded body from my mind. The way he fell. His blood dripping onto the grass. The way his closed eyes twitched in pain.

"Would you like us to wait outside?" Madame asks, drawing my attention.

I didn't even realize we'd stopped walking. The nurse stands by a closed door, waiting impatiently. I know Madame and Renée would respect my decision if I asked them to wait for me, even though their curious faces make it clear they wouldn't like that. But this is a chance to tell them the truth . . . and their presence is comforting. I don't want to face this alone.

"No," I say. "Please come with me."

"He might be sleeping," the nurse says. "If he is, don't wake him."

I nod, taking a deep breath as she pushes open the door.

The room is small, overlooking the darkened river from its single window. But this time there's no dead body awaiting me. Just a hard metal bed with a thin mattress. And upon the white sheets is Lirone. Somehow he looks even smaller, younger. Too young to experience such pain.

I take a hesitant step toward him. I just want to see his face, to see his features resting in sweet sleep and not twisted in agonized torment. But as I lean over, he turns, round eyes staring right at me. I jump.

"What are you doing here?" he asks. Though his voice is weak, his glare is as sharp as ever. Accusing.

"I needed to see if you were okay."

"Well, I am. You can leave now." The hurt is written on his face, the sense of betrayal. I'm the reason this happened to him, even if I wasn't the one who pulled the trigger.

"I'm not leaving you." I shake my head. "I'm not like her ."

His lip quivers before he turns his head the other way, refusing to look at me .

"Cleodora." Madame's voice reaches me as if from afar. "How do you know this child?"

I turn back, taking in her wide-eyed stare. How do I even begin to explain it all?

"Lirone is—"

"What in the devil's name are you doing here?" The door is flung open, and I jump.

Nuriel stares at us in bewilderment. He's still wearing his silver waistcoat, but now it's paired with a long jacket, and his bow tie is undone. His hair is messy, and there are drops of sweat on his forehead as if he's been running.

"I could ask you the same thing," I say, lifting up my chin.

"I told you I was heading here," he snaps. "I also told you to go home."

"Will you both shut up?" Lirone groans, the sound weak and painful. "You're giving me a headache."

Nuriel closes his mouth.

"Cleodora knows the child, Nuriel," Renée says softly.

"Don't believe a word that comes out of her mouth." He sneers. "She's a liar."

I flinch at his words, shame and pain hitting me like arrows.

"Stop this." Renée glares at him. "I don't know what went on between you two, but whatever it is, you have to put it aside. This child is more important, and he has already confirmed that he knows Cleodora."

"How?" Nuriel narrows his eyes.

"She was just about to explain when you burst through the door."

Nuriel's face is radiating anger, hate. Receiving his forgiveness might not even be possible. But I have to try. This is my chance.

"Close the window," I say, lowering my voice. "And make sure there's no one outside in the hall."

They seem confused by my orders but follow them anyway. When the room is secured from any prying eyes or ears, I sit down on the edge of Lirone's bed. He shifts, pulling his leg away from me, but, to my relief, doesn't reject my presence.

"I need you to promise me something," I whisper to him. "You cannot run back and tell her anything about me anymore. I need to be able to trust you."

Renée tries to intervene, "Cleodora, the child clearly—"

"Lirone?" I say, ignoring her.

This is too important.

I take a deep breath and close my eyes for just a moment. "Please, Lirone. I cannot keep working for her. Not after tonight . . . You shouldn't return to her either."

Lirone tenses. I'm not sure if he even knows anything other than life under Dahlia's rule. Did he ever have a family that cared for him? Was there anyone who showed him what family should look like? Unconditional love, safety, warmth?

The tension in the room is so heavy, I feel like I'm suffocating. Then Lirone gives the tiniest nod of agreement. I let out a sigh.

"I'm going to tell you everything," I say, looking straight at Nuriel. "I'm not proud of it, but I beg you to listen until the end before you make any judgment."

"We will," Madame says.

But it's Nuriel's confirmation I'm looking for. " My lord? "

"I make no promises."

I force down the lump rising in my throat. This is not the assurance I wanted, but it will have to do.

I start slowly, telling them about Anaella's sickness, about how we didn't have money. I tell them about Father's Talent, and how it was lost when he fell into the river. About his shop, here in the city. I see their confusion. The way the wheels spin in their heads as I reveal my real name. Father's name. Then I take them back to the first time I saw Lady Adley. I explain how I tried to steal from her, and how I was caught. From there it's a whirlwind of lies, deception, and death, all connected to the woman who has set my world aflame—Dahlia, Lady Sibille, the leader of the illicit trade in Talents. Their faces grow dark, their stares hardening. I can see the shock, the disgust, the pity, the fear.

Lirone stays silent as I talk, but he's no longer turned away from me; he's drinking my words in with the rest of them. It's as though hearing our shared tale somehow brings him strength.

"I'm not sure how many Talents were taken tonight . . . I was only meant to steal yours." I look at Nuriel, and the words are like hot coals on my tongue. "That's why I had your diamond in my hand. But I couldn't do it. I couldn't betray you. And Lirone paid the price." I choke for a moment, fighting back tears. "Pauline, my maid, shot him as punishment."

"Pauline?" Madame speaks for the first time, breaking the flow of my story. "She seemed like such a lovely girl . . ."

"She works for Dahlia." I force the words out. "She hurt my sister, and now they're holding Anaella as collateral. She was the girl you saw me with at the ball, my lord. They were going to kill her, but I convinced Dahlia to give me one last chance."

"What does that mean?" Nuriel's voice is low, almost inaudible, his bright eyes boring into me. I long to see some softness in his gaze, a hint that he understands, even if he might never forgive me. But there is nothing.

I bite my lips before speaking my final words. "I have until the opera premiere to bring her your Talent, or my sister dies."

I expect them to shout at me, to storm out and never want to see me again, but instead they all just stare at me, unmoving, waiting for me to go on.

"Umm . . . that's all of it," I mumble. "I never wanted to hurt any of you . . . I . . . I'm sorry."

"You're sorry ?" Nuriel lets out a breathy laugh and pushes up from his chair. "You're a bloody criminal, and if what you're saying is true, there was an entire lot of them under my roof tonight. "

"Nuriel, calm down." Renée puts a hand on his shoulder. "I'm not sure any of us would have made a different choice in Cleodora's situation."

" You did," he shoots back.

"I had luck." Renée squeezes Madame's hand. "Clearly, Cleodora had none."

I have no idea what they are talking about but, to my surprise, Nuriel relaxes back into his seat. For just a second, the fire in his eyes recedes.

"So you are truly the daughter of Camille Finley?" Madame asks. "He was such a Talented tailor, an artist."

I've never heard Madame praise anyone so freely.

"Yes," I say, my voice ringing strong. And as I say the word, I feel taller, filled with pride. Warmth spreads inside me. Father's work spoke for him—each gown he made was a combination of hard labor and heart. It wasn't just skill or magic that made him the perfect dressmaker. He had vision, and so much love to share through his creations. Yet the memory of him was washed away quickly, just like his gem—borne away by the river, never to be seen again.

I should never have forsaken Father's name. I should have held on to it, fought to keep it alive, not cast it aside.

Sour guilt rises up my throat. I will never make that mistake again.

"Well . . . Miss Finley ." Madame nods to me in acknowledgment. "What is your plan now? Why come clean?"

I take a deep breath, the weight of my next words pressing on me. Yet, as insane as my plan may be, I have no other choice. "I have no intention of stealing your Talent, Vicomte Lenoir. I need to take Dahlia's operation down."

"Have you gone mad?" Lirone bursts out, wincing as he tries to push himself higher up the bed. His blanket moves, revealing bloodied bandages and sickly pale skin.

Before I can cover him, Renée shoots forward to his side. She tucks his covers with gentle hands, finishing with a stroke of his messy hair.

Lirone opens and closes his mouth as he stares at her with unblinking eyes. Then he shakes his head and says, "Lady Sibille's operation is too big to mess with. Not to mention she has eyes and ears everywhere. I should know . . . I was one of them."

"Everyone has a weak spot . . ." I say.

"Not Lady Sibille." Lirone shakes his head and winces again. "She knows exactly how to use your weaknesses, but you can never find hers. If you want your sister safe, you can't go against her."

"But—"

"There's no ‘but,' Cleo. Even I don't know most of her methods."

"But you do know some?" Nuriel asks quietly from his chair.

Lirone looks at him with narrowing eyes. "Yes."

"Like what?"

"Like, names of some of her Talent suppliers. Shipment methods. Some guards." Lirone lists them on his fingers. "Dahlia has been working on this operation for years. She has clients overseas. Her men were supposed to collect twenty-three Talents tonight, including yours."

Twenty-three.

I have to applaud Dahlia's initiative. It was the perfect plan—so elegant, so simple. With years between her last heist and this one, society has become complacent. One by one, the Elites dropped their guard, daring to flaunt their gems again like no one could harm them. They danced in the ballroom, laughed and drank, snuck away to the gardens for passionate caresses, suspecting nothing while their gems were stolen under the cover of the most lavish of parties. In one fell swoop Dahlia bested them all. By the time everyone realizes what has happened she'll be long gone, back to her lair of luxury and shadows. I can almost see the perfect smile blooming on her lips as she revels in the chaos left in her wake.

Another image enters my mind. An unlikely couple, standing close together in a dark corridor.

"Miss Garnier." Her name slips off my lips. "She's working for her too, isn't she? "

It makes such perfect sense, I don't know how I didn't see it before. Her strange behavior. Her avid interest in social events. The secret passage in her store. Her rise from unknown modiste to household name within mere months.

I remember the newspapers claiming that she inherited her Talent from a long-lost aunt across the sea. I never had any reason to doubt it. But now I know better.

There was never an aunt. Just Dahlia.

Lirone nods. "Yes."

Renée puts a hand on her chest. "Oh my . . ."

"I always loathed that woman." Madame grabs Renée's shoulders.

That's when I remember the conversation I overheard in their salon. Renée and Josephine used to be lovers. But that's not all that was said that evening. The women also spoke about an expansion plan for Josephine's business. Something about overseas shipments.

"I don't think Miss Garnier is stealing Talents . . ." My voice sounds hollow as the realization dawns on me. "I think she's shipping them."

Lirone's body stiffens beside me, and that's all the confirmation I need. "You know something." I glare at him.

"Cleo . . . I can't . . ."

"Dahlia walked away from you! She let Pauline shoot you!"

"But . . ." There are tears in his eyes. And for once, he finally looks like the lost child he is. A child who just lost the only motherly figure he's ever known. "You really shouldn't," he mumbles.

"You need not be afraid." Nuriel's voice is softer. "You were found on my grounds, which puts you under my protection. I will place guards outside this room to make sure no harm comes your way."

But Lirone is still looking only at me, unblinking eyes searching mine.

"Please." I rest a hand on his leg. "Tell me."

He puffs his cheeks and blows air before rolling his eyes. The familiar gesture is so welcome, I have to stop myself from kissing his head.

"The modiste's store is a front," he says. "Chances are Anaella will be held there too. The shipment is going out in a week. And Vicomte Lenoir's Talent needs to be in it."

Nuriel quiets, his face blank as he reaches for his waistcoat and presses a hand against his chest, marking the spot where his diamond still lies in hiding. "All for this." His voice is charged, strained.

"Your gem won't be there, but as I mentioned . . . she does have your blood already," I say, remorse rippling within me. "But this shipment could be a chance to catch Dahlia in action. If I can somehow get the police to intercept it—"

"And what about your sister?" Nuriel asks.

My eyes shoot up to his, and for a moment I see no anger in them. His stare is intense, but soft, almost resembling the way he looked at me before our kiss. It makes me want to close the distance between us once more, to gather him into my arms, to angle my face up to his. But then he breaks his gaze, shattering the dream.

"If twenty-two Elite Talents were stolen tonight, the police will want to keep this quiet for as long as possible," he says. "Another widespread panic like last time will not make their job any easier. Once the gossip gets started, it will be hard to keep it in check. At least, the fact that it all happened under my roof is in our favor. My family and I will have a fair bit of control over the narrative; and they will do everything to detach themselves from rumors." He is calm, collected, authoritative. It's a side of him I've never seen before. "As for Cleodora's sister, I'm very familiar with the type of building Josephine's shop is located in. If she's there, she'll be held in one of the cellars. We'll need the police—"

"You can't just go to the nearby station," Lirone says, groaning again as he shakes his head. "Dahlia has eyes everywhere. A whisper of any of this and Anaella is as good as dead."

Nuriel nods. "I have some connections I can trust. We'll need officers to go along if we want to contain this. But we'll have to break your sister out before the police raid the operation, or she might get caught in the crossfire. "

"I might be able to help with that," Renée says. "Josephine still has a soft spot for me."

Madame stands as well. "I'm not letting you do this without me."

"You . . . you want to help me?" My voice is barely above a whisper.

Renée exchanges a look with Madame before reaching for my hand. "That ruby on your finger might not genuinely be yours." She circles the Talent with her thumb. "But my gem . . . is not even magical."

"Renée . . ." There's a warning in Nuriel's tone.

She ignores him and takes off her moonstone brooch. "It's just a rock."

My jaw drops as she rests it in my palm. She's not lying . . . It sits inert, not pulsing with any magic. I've seen her wear it every single time we met—how could I have missed it? The gem never glowed, of course, but I thought nothing of it since I never actually saw her painting. I just assumed it was her Talent.

"But how—?"

"I was lucky enough to have Hélène's faith in me." Renée smiles at Madame. "And even luckier that Nuriel fell in love with my paintings. I faked inheriting a Talent and Nuriel spread the word by purchasing my art. The moment people believed I had a Talent, things started falling into place. They were seeing what they wanted to see, and I painted only in the privacy of my studio." She stares at the moonstone with a mixture of love and deep sadness. "I know what it feels like to have no magic. I only wish people could see the value of my work without it."

It all makes sense now—the fact that Renée was older when she started painting, how protective of her Madame seems, her close bond with Nuriel . . . Renée's natural gift is clearly special to have fooled so many. If only her gem had been obtained back when the mines were magical, she could have fed it with her blood, actively endowing it with her own skills and creating a new Talent that could be passed and honed through the generations—just like the original singer who held my ruby. Instead, like me, she was forced to live on the outskirts of society until she found how to cheat her way in .

"I . . . I don't know what to say . . ." My bottom lip starts trembling.

Renée just smiles, wrapping her hands around me in a warm embrace. "I'm sorry you didn't have my luck."

I let myself sink into the protection of her touch, pieces of the weight on my chest lifting with each stroke of her hand on my back. For once, I don't feel so alone.

"From now on, your luck is about to change," Madame says.

"Yes . . ." Nuriel's voice doesn't sound as convinced, but the resolve in his eyes is undeniable. "So let's start planning how we are going to free your sister. Will you help?" he asks Lirone.

Lirone sighs. "I'll . . . tell you what I know."

Renée pulls back from her embrace. "Good. Let's end this nightmare you've been living in. We believe you, Cleodora Finley."