Twisted: Belle's Story (Destined Book 3) Page 2

  The driver got out and opened the door, and I slipped out, relief making my knees weak. I kept my stride even as I walked toward the academy’s wide front doors, feeling my father’s eyes on me with every step I took.

  Ella clearly hadn’t seen me yet. She reached the door just before me and opened it.

  “Excuse me,” I said, injecting as much coldness into my voice as I could in case my father’s fomecoach door was still open.

  Ella started and leapt back, then apologized and held the front door for me.

  I swept past her without a word, waving my hand in front of my face as though disgusted by the odor of cinderslick that clung to her every day. I imagined my father smiling as the heavy academy door swung shut behind me and Ella.

  We’re more alike than you know, he’d said. We were indeed. He had no idea just how much alike we truly were. We were both smart, ruthless, and driven. When we wanted something, we wouldn’t stop until we got it. We simply wanted very different things.

  The scent of cinderslick from Ella’s bakery followed me up the stairs as Ella stuck close behind me. Our classmates scrambled to get out of our way.

  Was she anxious about the exam? We all wanted good scores, but as a commoner, Ella had far more riding on this exam than any Procus student did. Should I apologize for my harsh words at the door?

  A word of apology was on my lips when we passed a girl with dark, curly hair leaning against the stairway wall beside a tan, well-groomed boy. He leaned in close and whispered something in her ear. She smiled and bit her lip. Then she caught sight of me, and her smile turned brittle.

  Felix and Alyssa. I held back a laugh. Felix had been seeking to make a conquest of me for years and had finally given up and settled for our classmate, Alyssa. She thought she’d stolen him from me. As if I would ever allow myself to be a conquest of a greedy, young Procus lord. She could have him.

  I couldn’t show weakness by apologizing to Ella now. My reputation was the only thing that kept me safe from my father. As Alyssa watched, I raised my chin, turned around, and shot a glare at Ella for good measure.

  When we finally made it to the classroom, I let out a relieved breath and headed toward my usual seat in the center of the classroom.

  “Miss Stone?”

  I glanced back as Professor Jace waved Ella over to his desk. Something in his tone caught my attention. I looked down and pretended to fiddle with the buckle of my bookbag as he spoke to Ella. His words were almost too soft to catch, but I inched back toward his desk until I could make out their conversation—if one could call it that.

  “—weren’t for the plague, you’d still be holed up in a stinking common kitchen like the servant girl you are.”

  My stomach twisted. He sounded just like my father. Did our professor always talk to Ella like that?

  “And there are those in government who will never allow you to take the place of a deserving Procus candidate for your apprenticeship. So don’t for a moment think you might compete with your betters.”

  I risked a glance over my shoulder. Ella stood with her hand squeezed in the professor’s tight grip, her cheeks flushed red, her mouth pressed into a thin line. She didn’t speak. Perhaps she was used to such treatment from our professors. The sick feeling in my stomach grew worse.

  Professor Jace raised his voice. “Good luck with your exam, Miss Stone.”

  Ella turned and met my eyes, surprise at my attention lighting her face. I looked away, feeling inexplicably ashamed. She walked to her seat at the far edge of the classroom as though nothing had happened.

  I turned back to my seat and paused. Alyssa sat primly in the exact seat I’d claimed all year, her gold pencils lined up neatly on my desk, a smug, satisfied smile on her glossy pink lips. She tossed her dark curls over one shoulder and ran her fingers through the ends, shooting a flirtatious smile at Felix, who sat in the seat beside her. They both avoided looking at me.

  I found one of the last remaining empty seats at the edge of the classroom, doing my very best not to roll my eyes. Ella was being threatened by our professor, and my father had nearly discovered I was a traitor to our family. But Alyssa thought I was worried about her flirtation with an arrogant, young fool like Felix? Right.

  I slid into the empty seat in front of Ella’s desk and pulled my bookbag into my lap, folding my hands over it. Professor Jace made some remarks that I barely heard, and then handed out our final exams. I played with my pencil as I waited for the noise of Ella’s writing to begin, maintaining my charade out of habit, even though it surely no longer mattered on the last day of class.

  I scanned the questions on the first page as I waited. I could have answered each one in my sleep years ago. I rolled the pencil between my fingers. Paper rustled in the otherwise silent classroom as Ella turned her exam’s first page over. Now, I could begin.

  I finished the first question just as Professor Jace got up and went to the bookcase across the room, beside the closed classroom door. Finally. I slid my hand into my bookbag and drew out Ambrose’s note, then pressed it against the exam so I could read it without drawing attention.

  I slipped the tip of my pencil through the fold of the paper to break the seal, my hands trembling as I scanned the precious words Ambrose had scrawled across the page.

  He’d done it.

  He’d found the first hint of a flaw in the bank’s meticulous record-keeping—the loose thread that would unravel the Bank Argentarius empire. I’d pull this thread, and I wouldn’t stop pulling until I’d taken the whole enterprise apart. I’d destroy my father, and then I’d build an empire of my own.

  Behind me, Ella screamed.

  Heat blasted toward me from the edge of the classroom, flinging me out of my seat. The back of my head cracked on something sharp as I landed, but my mind was locked on the note I’d left out on my desk. I tried to get up, but I couldn’t move. Darkness overtook my vision.

  I was so close. It was all I could think as the pain pulled me into nothingness.

  Chapter 2

  I was sinking. The soft, plush surface wanted to engulf me and smother me until there was nothing left of me. I strained but couldn’t move. The velvety fabric pressing in on me from all sides made my skin itch unbearably. I tried again, but I only seemed to sink deeper into the soft fabric.

  “Why isn’t she waking?”

  The deep, sour male voice frightened me. I opened my eyes, then shut them at the bright light that filled the room. The voice was familiar. But whose was it, and why was I so afraid of him?

  “My lord, only give her some time, please. She just had the sopor removed moments ago. Please, my lord—”

  Crack. A stinging slap on my cheek made my eyes water. I pried them open again. A tan, clean-shaven man leaned over me, his face set in a scowl, his black hair threaded with strands of grey. My father. I had to get away. I whimpered and tried to roll away from him. But my body was too sluggish, and I only managed to flinch.

  He narrowed his eyes. “What’s wrong with her?”

  “She’s not yet in her right mind, my lord, of course. As I said, she suffered extensive damage to her brain in the attack—”

  My father whirled on the man speaking, and from the corner of my eye, I saw him grab the man—the healer’s—shirt with a brutal grip. “Not another word, mage.” My father’s voice was low and controlled. He gave the healer a shake, then released him and shoved him so he stumbled several steps back. “My youngest daughter is a true, pureblood Fenra and the smartest Procus lady in the city, beyond reproach in every way. She has had more than enough time to recover from that cowardly Falconus attack. There will be no more talk of damage or injuries.” He stepped toward the healer, who shuffled backward, shaking and pale. “And if I hear that word of her prior condition has spread beyond this room, you will never work again.”

  The healer nodded rapidly. “Yes, my lord. Of course. If you’ll just allow me to see to—”

  “Get out.” My father waved at the healer in
a dismissive motion. “Belle is fine. You’re no longer needed. Get back to the Mage Division and find yourself a new patron.”

  The healer flinched, nodded, and then retreated, shutting the door on the way out.

  “Sit up, Belle. Call Petrina and get dressed now. It’s Founder’s Day, and our family will be attending the celebration at Adrian’s together tonight. No exceptions.”

  Did he know? Had he seen it? Seen what?

  I struggled into a sitting position as the room swam around me. I was at the edge of a sea of soft, pink bedding with a gauzy, gold canopy hanging down around me. Countless tiny golden lights spilled down from the ceiling above it, and between the long folds of white curtains, tall windows showed glimpses of a deep-blue, twilight sky. A rich, floral scent filled the room and made my eyes water.

  My father lingered at my bedside, watching me reproachfully like I’d done something horribly wrong. I attempted to straighten and project confidence. Somehow, I knew I had to. “It’s Founder’s Day already, Father?” My voice was hoarse.

  “Yes, Founder’s Day. Our family will be honored as the first family above all the other families at the celebration tonight, as well we should be.” He curled his lip. “Enough of this injured act. Get yourself together, Belle. No daughter of mine—no heir of mine—will show such common weakness. Understood?” My father frowned and turned away as though unable to bear the sight of me.

  He doesn’t know. Where had that thought come from? Whatever it meant, the thought was followed by a wave of cool, calming relief.

  I cleared my throat. “Yes, Father.”

  What was I so worried about him knowing? And what would happen if he found out?

  He left my room without a backward glance, and I lay back in the bed before rolling onto my side. The back of my head smarted as though the skin was pulled too tight.

  Call Petrina, he’d said. Perhaps she was a maid. I’d start there.

  ~

  I sat beside my father as our fomecoach sped silently through the dark streets of the Procus Quarter. My two elder sisters sat across from us, avoiding eye contact and sitting stiffly on the plush, light-green fomecoach seat.

  I’d called for Petrina to help me prepare for Founder’s Day, and in the hours since I’d awakened from my sopor-induced sleep, I’d regained what seemed to be most of my memory. Unfortunately, none of it was pleasant.

  Luminous streetlamps lit the way through the quarter, illuminating other coaches pulled over to the side of the road to make way for our distinctive fomecoach, with its long, gleaming gold body with the Argentarius insignia on the grill.

  Among Procus families, ours was due extra honor—or perhaps, the other families were simply as frightened of my father as I was.

  “No flirtations, Kaia. Not like last time.” My father sent my middle sister a knowing smirk. “It won’t do to have the other families thinking the three of you are so available. Exclusivity is crucial to your value in my negotiations with your suitors.”

  Kaia flinched, her beautiful face shuttering as she leaned subtly away from my father. “Yes, Father. I understand.” She looked like me, with strong cheekbones, wide, brown eyes, lush lips, and a waterfall of wavy, dark hair spilling over her shoulders. Unfortunately, she also had the tall, statuesque figure of a Kireth woman descended from mages—the kiss of death in fashionable Procus circles and a trait my father despised for what it revealed of our family’s bloodlines.

  The elite Procus families were descended from the city’s founders—the brave, native Fenra heroes who’d rebelled against the invading Kireth mages and built a flourishing, walled city that subjugated mages instead. Procus ladies were supposed to look like our Fenra ancestors—like me. Anything that hinted at intermarriage with Kireth descendants was frowned upon.

  Young Procus men didn’t seem to feel the same way about Kaia, however. While my dark, petite Fenra looks drew twittering praise from the prim, haughty ladies of Procus society, Kaia and Jade drew the admiration of the Procus men.

  My father sat back in the seat and adjusted his black suit jacket. The crisp, white shirt beneath it was perfect and unwrinkled, and he smelled of mint and strong, Draician spirits.

  I held myself upright on the seat next to him and tried not to breathe in through my nose.

  “And Jade … have some coffee, for Theros’s sake, and freshen up when we arrive.” He leaned back in his seat and tapped his fingers on his leg in a controlled rhythm.

  My eldest sister, Jade, kept her gaze on the floor of the coach, her lips twisted in a private smirk. “Yes, Father.”

  Jade was nearly as beautiful—and tall—as Kaia, but a sharp, bitter expression perpetually marred her lovely face. She shut her eyes and swayed in her seat for a moment, as she’d been doing since we gathered in the coach. It seemed she’d begun celebrating on her own well before we’d left for Adrian’s. I couldn’t quite blame her.

  I took a deep breath and exhaled, my lungs straining at the uncomfortable pink dress my father had directed Petrina to dress me in for the evening. The blush-pink gown sparkled with countless tiny mage-craft lights, and delicate twists and folds enhanced my figure even as it clung to my waist and hips, flaring out at the bottom in a long train that flowed to make way for my feet as I walked. The design had no straps, leaving my shoulders bare in the chilly evening air.

  Kaia and Jade wore similar gowns, but theirs were plainer—Kaia’s, a dull, soft pink, though still made of obviously fine, mage-craft fabric, and Jade’s, a pale pink that made her golden-brown skin look sickly.

  The message was clear. We were a matched set—the lovely, wealthy Argentarius daughters—but I was the centerpiece. No wonder my sisters didn’t like me.

  The tight wound on the back of my head throbbed as though to a silent, rhythmic beat. Petrina had pulled my hair tight into an elaborate up-do at my father’s orders, apologizing softly the whole time as I flinched with every adjustment.

  As Petrina had readied me for the celebration, I’d recalled flashes of my time at the Royal Academy and my work at my father’s bank, and a vague image of a thin, balding man who seemed to be urgently important to me.

  Another mysterious image kept pressing at my mind—that of a woman with golden skin and golden hair, sitting across from me in the fomecoach, winking in my direction when my father wasn’t looking.

  I held my head as still as I could and pressed my fingernails into the palm of my right hand to distract myself from the pain in the back of my head, which had steadily worsened since I woke up. The injury must not have been fully healed when my father had ordered the healer to wake me, and the pain was growing unbearable.

  ~

  Soft, warm light spilled down from the inverted tower of luminous lanterns at the center of the main ballroom at Adrian’s. Black-clad servant girls flitted through the crowded dance floor, offering fluted glasses of golden chrysos and delicate winterdrop cakes formed in the miniature shape of Asylia’s city walls.

  Glittering gold banners hung from the walls, declaring the glory of the founders and the beauty of Asylia, the City of Hope.

  I rolled my eyes at the banners and moved subtly away from the Procus lady hanging on my arm, but she only pressed closer.

  “—so fortunate, my dear. My niece would give anything to have such fine, traditional coloring!” The woman beside me patted my forearm and gave me a fawning smile. She grabbed my hand and inspected the small cluster of dark freckles across my knuckles. “A perfect specimen,” she sighed. “A true Fenra daughter. You honor our celebration with your presence tonight, Lady Belle.”

  My head pounded, and the wound on the back of my head felt like it would split open any moment. “It is my honor to attend,” I forced out.

  The woman, whose name I had either forgotten or never bothered to learn, smiled again. “So polite. Such manners! Your mother would be proud.” She scanned the room for a moment, her smile brightening when her gaze landed on my father as he held court with the other Procus lords o
n the far side of the ballroom. “Speaking of your mother, I assure you that we all still mourn her passing.” The woman pressed her face into an almost-comical impression of sorrow. “Still … it has been several years, has it not? Tragic, tragic indeed. And yet … do you think your father might ever find such happiness again?”

  I suppressed a rude laugh. Happiness? He was quite happy tormenting his children and ruling the city with his bank. He didn’t need to rule over another Procus lady. “I only hope so,” I said, blithely pretending I didn’t know the reason for her question.

  The lady squeezed my hand. “You are quite fortunate, my dear. Your father must be the most doting patriarch in the whole city.” She leaned closer and lowered her voice. “I heard he even allows you to drive your own fomecoach.”

  “Doting. Yes,” I choked out, pasting a bland smile on my face. I’d been driving my own fomecoach since I was fourteen, when I wasn’t enduring his threats and lectures as he dropped me off at school. I was certain he’d only wanted to shock the city by letting his spoiled, youngest daughter terrorize the city in her own fomecoach. “I am quite fortunate.”

  The lady pursed her lips and finally gave up on me, making an excuse and moving on to another group of ladies. I sighed. Finally.

  A hand gripped my elbow, the fingers pressing with uncomfortable tightness into my skin. I turned slowly to avoid jarring my head, only to see a thicket of Procus guests all pressed in behind me, their attention on the dance floor.

  I followed the hand to a familiar face at last—the thin man I vaguely remembered. “Who are you?” I blurted out.

  He frowned and pulled harder on my arm. He was tall and aged, with balding dark hair, sallow skin, and deep lines creasing his eyes and forehead. “My lady,” he whispered loudly, “we need to talk.”

  I frowned. Why did he look so out of place?

  Then it hit me. He was the only one in the ballroom not dressed in mage-craft clothes. Even the servants carrying trays of chrysos were better clothed than he was.