Page 172 of Immortal Rose

“Ah,” Greystone said, his voice heavy with irony. “Then, my lady, I suggest you follow me.”

Viola kept her feet planted. “Where?”

“You asked to discuss a business matter,” Greystone said, “and such negotiations take place in my study—no, Foxcourt, I won’t force you back out into the hall. I don’t need to see you slobbering over her.”

Greystone pressed one corner of a painting’s gold frame, releasing a door in the wall paneling that was so well disguised, it had even passed Hugh’s notice.

Viola met his gaze quickly, to confirm that this was, indeed, what they were doing. At Hugh’s nod, she retrieved her reticule and his gloves, smiling faintly as she passed them back to him. Hugh despaired at the realization he’d shed her cloak somewhere in the hall, and wrapped her instead in his own.

They followed Greystone through a dark corridor Hugh suspected ringed the whole of the floor, taking note of what appeared to be peepholes. Finally, the hidden passage opened to a set of stairs at the edge of the hazard room, alive and gleaming like some fairy palace in the throes of a dissolute revel. It was luxurious, all mahogany and black velvet. The game tables were as pristinely maintained as the glittering chandeliers above. The latter had been draped with garlands of flowers, to celebrate the coming of midsummer, and it gave the usually refined splendor a primitive edge.

Servers spun through the masked crowds, unfazed by the blatant lust and greed on display around them as women and men draped themselves over the gamblers playing deep. Many had left a second, untouched glass of liquor beside their own to invite Fortuna to their side as they flung the dice.

The music plucked at Hugh’s every nerve, scoring the rhythmic movements of the lovers tucked behind statues and into alcoves.

Greystone carried himself like a king through it all; the few servants they encountered vanished back into the shadows once they saw his long, confident strides toward them. But he did not speak again until they met two men guarding the second-floor gallery.

“Search him,” Greystone said to one of the burly porters.

Hugh allowed himself to be submitted to a rough patting down that saw him lose both knives.

“Now what did you plan to use those for, I wonder?” Greystone asked ironically, opening the door to his study. “He stays out here.”

Protest surged in Hugh, but it was Viola who said, “No. He joins us.”

Greystone let the silence stretch uncomfortably, as if testing Viola’s ability to withstand its chill. Finally, he said, “As you wish. But if he speaks, I will take the utmost pleasure in tearing his tongue out at the root.”

Viola looked to Hugh, waiting for his assent. Her eyes were bright, but she didn’t seem afraid. Gritting his teeth, and going against his better judgment, Hugh nodded.

The study gleamed like an emerald in firelight, finer than any in Summerland Palace. Every wall, including the bookshelves, had been painted a shade of green so dark, it was nearly black. Crystals, polished and raw, were scattered among the books and trinkets—fairy relics, no doubt.

Hugh nearly rolled his eyes as the stones seemed to flicker with inner light as Greystone passed them, only to stop when he realized they had done the same as Viola had crossed before them on her way to the massive oak desk.

Greystone slid into his high-backed chair, its frame studded with yet more crystals. When Hugh was certain they were alone, and no other danger was present, he pulled out one of the seats before the desk for Viola and remained standing behind her.

“I’ll come straight to the point,” Viola said with a calmness Hugh most certainly did not feel. “I’m here for the fairy nectar William Rosebourne gave to you.”

“I see,” Greystone said, clearly humoring her. He felt Viola tense at the man’s tone and stroked a soothing finger along her shoulder. “Unfortunately, you see, that was part of a down payment for services rendered. I’m under no obligation to return it just because the man was finally blown to hell.”

“Payment to find me, was it?” Viola said.

“Yes, but for something else as well.” Greystone’s expression darkened. “He needed help procuring what he called sweetfeather.”

Hugh racked his memory for why the name sounded familiar, landing on his and Reddy’s trip to the Rosebourne archive. Sweetfeather had been one of the missing oils—but if it hadn’t been given to Greystone, whom had it gone to?

Viola breathed in, glancing back at Hugh as she confirmed, “True.”

Greystone shook his head. “I’d forgotten that infernal talent of Lily’s.”

“Seeing as you did not, in fact, locate me,” Viola continued, “I am here to reclaim it.”

Something happened to Greystone’s mouth that, on anyone else, might have been a smile. Now, it only gave the impression of a wolf licking its teeth. “You have no ownership of the company, daughter, and cannot act on its behalf. Consider it a blessing.”

Hugh’s attention perked at that. A blessing in what way?

“It will be mine soon enough,” Viola told him.

“Ah,” Greystone continued. “Once you have cleared your name in the small matter of the King’s poisoning? How disappointing you didn’t use something stronger.”