Agent of the Crown Read online

  Neatly organized tiny tools filled racks slotted into the bottom of the drawer; small bins contained bits of metal, some glowing, all cut into strange shapes and coils. Sheets of thin metal, silver, copper, and brass, were stacked upright at the back of the drawer, and a pair of metal shears the size of nail scissors hung on a hook next to them. The public had the Princess, her uncle had his agent, but this belonged to her alone. Her family knew she was interested in Devisery, but she’d concealed from them the extent to which she’d taken her interest… why? She had so many secrets already, things she kept hidden for the sake of her agent’s identity. They were like knives she had to tiptoe across. This was a tiny flame nestled close to her heart.

  Telaine cracked open the shell with one hand and studied the watch’s innards. She saw nothing obviously broken, so there was something wrong with the imbued motive force, the piece of metal holding the magical energy that powered all Devices. She used a small screwdriver to remove some of the mechanical parts and exposed the little coil—ah, it was silver, that explained a lot. Digging in her parts bin, she found a coil identical to the damaged one, but made of copper, then used a hook to pop the silver coil out of the watch. The whirring stopped.

  Next she needed to figure out where her source had drifted to. The lines of power that intersected in her dressing room, two of the hundreds of thousands crisscrossing the world, created a strong power source at their nexus, but they kept shifting and the source moved with them. Telaine sniffed. No one could see source any more than they could see the lines of power, but there were other ways to sense it, and to Telaine source always smelled like lilac and mint. There it was, between a couple of winter coats the Princess should have gotten rid of two seasons ago.

  She laid the copper coil on her palm, and the source’s power spiraled up around her hand. Gently, she drew it into the coil, pulling delicately at the source as if spinning out a thread of spider’s silk. After a minute, it began to glow with a pale coppery radiance. She fed it threads of source until it turned into a spiral of white light, released the source before the coil became too bright to look at, and set it on the dressing table.

  Uncle Jeffrey had told her how rare she was, having both inherent magic and the ability to sense and manipulate source. Since she had no intention of becoming an Ascendant and ruling the world with her twinned abilities, she took pleasure, but not pride, from that fact.

  Removing the piece had caused some of the other parts to sag together, leaving little room for the new coil. She dug out tweezers and a pair of snub-nosed pliers with tips the width and thickness of her pinky nail. Funny how the dexterity it took to manipulate the fiddly bits Devices were made of had improved her lock picking skill. Or was it the other way around? She’d been an agent longer than she’d been a Deviser.

  It took her a few tries, but eventually she dropped the coil into place and heard the Devisery begin to whir gently. She reassembled the watch and snapped the case back into place. She’d have to set the time by the clock in the great hall, but it was fixed. The old silver coil she pulled into a straight, fine wire about an inch and a half long; it was too damaged to be used again. She dropped it into the false drawer, another casualty of the Princess’s ongoing quest for beauty.

  Telaine put the drawer and its false contents back in its place. She sat on the floor awkwardly, constrained by her narrow pink skirt, and contemplated the watch. It stared back at her, its tick louder in the silence than her breathing. Here in the privacy of her chambers she could feel sorry for herself. It had been weeks since she’d had time to herself, time to indulge in her passion for Devices. The Princess didn’t care anything for them except for how they made her life easier.

  She threw her head back and sighed. Pity the watch’s current, incorrect time wasn’t right, because she would have time to change her clothes, wipe away all traces of cosmetics, and sneak out of the palace to go into Lower Town to Laura Wright’s Deviser’s shop. She had a good arrangement with the woman: Mistress Wright kept the money she made from selling Telaine’s inventions, and Telaine was free to study and experiment without Mistress Wright poking into her business. She even had a real Deviser’s certificate, though it was under her assumed name of Lainie Bricker; Mistress Wright had no idea who she really was.

  She picked up the Device and pushed the button to make it chime, an imprint of a tinkling cascade of tiny bells. She felt more at ease now, but she could still feel the presence of the Princess at the back of her mind. At what point, she wondered, did I start thinking of myself as two personalities? And as tiresome as the Princess is, is she any less me than the Deviser?

  Chapter Two

  Telaine surveyed the Chadwicks’ ballroom and suppressed a yawn. Harroden Manor was small for a Count’s home, and though she knew it was unworthy of her to be critical, she couldn’t help feeling the Count of Harroden was trying to compensate for something.

  Five crystal chandeliers in a space that should have held only three shed their brilliant light over the polished parquet floor, which was a mosaic of intricately carved wood in a pattern no one could make out at floor level. Waist-high pedestals bore vases of pink and white flowers that filled the room with a sweet, almost cloying scent. Telaine had no idea what the flowers were called, but they were showy and overbearing and probably a mistake on Lady Harroden’s part. Telaine guessed she’d intended to bring her famous garden indoors.

  “I need fresh air,” Julia said, hooking her arm through Telaine’s and almost dragging her onto the verandah. It was cooler outside, and the distant scent of roses and honeysuckle was calming rather than nauseating. Julia pulled Telaine away from the promenading couples, down the steps, and into the garden, where she dropped heavily onto a marble bench and took a deep breath.

  “Julia, you shouldn’t have come,” Telaine began.

  “Why, because I’m pregnant? Or because of the scandal?” Her flippant tone covered a much darker emotion. Telaine’s heart ached for her.

  “Because you get dizzy when you stand too long, and I’m not strong enough to carry you out of here if you faint,” she said.

  Julia glanced her way, a faint smile touching her lips. She was widely considered the most beautiful woman in Tremontane, with her dark hair, cornflower blue eyes, and rosy complexion. That she was nearly six feet tall and had a well-rounded figure made her the perfect model of the fashion Imogen North had set for curvy women. It infuriated Telaine that Lucas could have abandoned her for any other woman, let alone the sharp-nosed creature he’d taken up with.

  “It’s not my fault you’re short and scrawny,” Julia said, teasing.

  “Oh, but I’m a Princess. That makes my figure slender instead of scrawny, dear coz, my hair ash blonde instead of mousy, my eyes sparkling hazel, and my height petite instead of just plain short. If not for cosmetics, I’d be completely nondescript.”

  “Cosmetics and your dimple.”

  Telaine touched her cheek. “Ah, yes. I have captivated many a man with my dimple. It has far more power than I do.”

  Julia’s smile widened, then disappeared entirely. “Oh, Lainie, how did I come to this? Pregnant and abandoned and the subject of gossip from Ravensholm to Kingsport?”

  “It’s sympathetic gossip. Everyone hates Lucas on your behalf.”

  “I can’t bring myself to hate him, Lainie. I loved him so much—”

  “And he taunted you about his woman and called you a broodmare. If you don’t want to hate him, do you mind if I do?”

  Julia laughed. “You’re right. About everything.” She stood and ran her hands over her stomach, which at five months’ pregnancy was visibly rounded despite the high-waisted cut of her gown. “And I do feel dizzy. I should leave. Enjoy yourself, Lainie, and don’t worry about me.”

  “Do you want help getting back to your suite?”

  “I think I can manage to walk up two flights of stairs, Telaine. I told you, you don’t have to worry about me.” She hugged Telaine, who followed her as far as
the verandah, then watched her cross the well-lit courtyard to the guest wing of Harroden Manor. At least she’d stopped trying to lie to Telaine about her situation; like her father, she knew about Telaine’s talent, and for her to lie to her cousin regardless was a mark of how miserable she was. Telaine pictured Lucas’s handsome, arrogant face and wished she knew how to wield a sword or shoot a gun, anything to make him feel even half the hurt he’d done her dearest friend and cousin.

  “Don’t tell me you’re hiding from me?”

  Telaine recognized that voice. She put on a smile she knew made her look vapid and turned around fast. “Michael! Of course I’m not hiding from you! Shall we dance?”

  Michael Cosgrove approached her with his hand outstretched, a smile creasing his acne-pitted face. “I was under the impression it was the man’s duty to ask the lady for the pleasure.”

  “We’re too good friends to bow to stuffy old custom.” Telaine linked her arm with his. “I’ve missed you.”

  “More to the point, you missed the Hardaways’ summer gala,” Michael said, escorting her to the center of the ballroom. Golden light from the chandelier spangled the folds of her dark green dress like drops of evening sunlight. “Though I shouldn’t deny Elizabeth d’Arden’s prior claim on your presence.”

  The violins and cellos struck up the first notes of the dance, and Telaine bowed to her partner. “It doesn’t mean I don’t miss my other friends,” she said, taking his hand and beginning the long, sweeping promenade around the ballroom. It was a fast-moving dance, complicated, and she felt like she was flying as Michael turned her once and then let her fly away again. The pleasure of the dance and the excitement of her clandestine mission combined into a laugh she couldn’t contain. It was a beautiful evening.

  “I say, you are in good spirits tonight,” Michael said. “Dare I hope it’s my company that pleases you so?”

  He was teasing her; he enjoyed dancing with her, but was attracted to men, had a fiancé even, which made him a safe companion whose romantic overtures she didn’t have to fend off. “Of course,” she said, winking at him as she spun past, “that and the moon and the garden and my new gown—you like it, don’t you?” It was lovely, but that wasn’t the point. Her lock picks brushed her thigh from inside one of the gown’s many hidden pockets, and she smiled again. So many secrets.

  “Of course.” Michael smiled. “I wish I could dance more than once with you.”

  “I think Jonathan might be jealous.”

  “He knows us both better than that.”

  They bantered until the dance was over, and Telaine, laughing again, clung to Michael’s hand for a moment, dizzy and over-warm. “Champagne?” he said. “Or are you about to be torn from my side by one of your many swains?”

  She laughed again and swatted him lightly with her green-gloved hand. “Swains?” she exclaimed. “I have no swains. I have admirers.”

  “Your Highness?” Another man, much younger and taller than Michael, with golden curls and an angelic face, held a champagne flute almost in her face. “I took the liberty—that is, I thought you might be thirsty—”

  Telaine gave a wry smile to Michael, who returned it with a bow. “Speak with me again later,” she said in a low voice. He nodded and raised her gloved hand to his lips before backing away gracefully.

  She took the champagne from the young man’s hand, which gripped the glass tightly enough that she almost had to pull it away from him. “I thank you, Mister—I beg your pardon, I don’t recall your name.”

  “We haven’t been introduced, your Highness. I’m Roger Chadwick. The Count is my father.” He blushed. “I apologize… perhaps I should not have been so bold…but I thought…”

  “Not at all, Mister Chadwick—or should I say Lord Harroden?” She laughed a brainless titter. “I’m so silly, I don’t even know your title! Isn’t that foolish of me?”

  “You could never be foolish, your Highness,” young Chadwick said, and blushed again. “I wish you would call me Roger.”

  I bet you do, young one. He couldn’t be more than seventeen. They were so sweet at that age. “Oh, I couldn’t possibly be so informal when we’ve only just met! Perhaps later…” She used the arch of her delicate eyebrow, expertly plucked and shaded, to devastating effect. Chadwick went almost beet red. She sipped her champagne and enjoyed the moment. If the poor boy was going to reach for the high-hanging fruit, he had better be prepared to fall.

  “I believe this is my dance, your Highness,” said someone behind her, a man with an unpleasantly familiar deep voice. Edgar Hussey. Who invited him? She put on her most arch smile and turned to greet him. He bowed oh-so-correctly over her hand. Unlike young Chadwick, he would be hard to get away from.

  “Mister Hussey! I had no idea you would be here. Do you know Mister Chadwick? Or is it Lord Harroden? I’m so scattered tonight.”

  Chadwick bowed stiffly to Hussey. “Her Highness and I were having a conversation,” he said.

  Hussey clapped him on the shoulder; Chadwick winced. “I imagine you were,” he said. “Thank you for entertaining milady until I could claim her for this dance.” He took the champagne flute from Telaine’s hand and passed it off to the sputtering youth. “Your Highness?” He linked his arm with hers and led her onto the floor.

  As she bobbed and swayed down the line of the country dance, she thought furiously. Hussey was one of her most persistent suitors, always trying to get her into dark corners and hinting broadly at his family’s prospects. She needed a distraction. Hussey passed her going up the line as she was going down, and she smiled her most dazzling smile at him and saw him stumble a bit. Good. Having power over him meant having some control.

  She swiftly glanced around the ballroom and saw Count Harroden standing near one of the long windows, talking to a few men. Now was a good time. And there was the distraction she needed.

  The dance ended and Hussey offered her his arm again. “Would you care for a stroll on the verandah? it’s rather warm in here,” he said.

  Telaine flashed her dimple and cast her eyes down, inwardly laughing at the lie that echoed, discordant, in her ears; despite all the people, the room was comfortable enough that anyone, magical talent or no, would have known Hussey was dissembling. “I believe I’d prefer a cool drink,” she said, and steered him gently toward the long table where a white-gloved servitor in a dark brown jacket held a tray of drinks and a trio of elegantly gowned women stood.

  “Why, Stella Murchison, how are you?” she trilled, putting just the right note of surprise and pleasure into her voice. A blonde woman conversing with the other ladies turned, gasped theatrically, and embraced Telaine. “Stella, I haven’t seen you for simply ages. Do introduce me to your friends.”

  “Of course! My dear, this is Lady Patricia Foxton of the Emberton Foxtons, you know the family. And this is Diantha Wemberly, lately made Baroness of Marandis. Ladies, this is her Highness Telaine North Hunter.”

  “Charmed to meet you,” Telaine said, bowing over each lady’s hand in turn. “Oh, I mustn’t forget—this is Edgar Hussey of the Millford Husseys. You know, Lady Arabella’s nephew? He’s the most divine dancer.” She giggled and squeezed Hussey’s arm. “Are you enjoying yourselves? I certainly am! Oh, Mister Hussey, would you mind keeping these ladies company while I freshen up? I promise to be back soon, and maybe we can have that walk on the verandah?” She raised her eyebrow coyly and made her escape before Hussey could protest.

  The facilities at the Chadwick manor were on the floor below the ballroom, not convenient for guests, but perfect for Telaine’s purposes. Telaine descended the well-lit stairs, the ruddy wood paler in the center as if hundreds of guests had walked away with the color, but turned left instead of right, walking casually as if she had a right to be there. With every step, she left the light behind, until she reached another staircase, this one carpeted in dark blue but worn where feet had trodden it over the years. The Chadwicks had never been a wealthy family, but they kept that secret c
oncealed from their many guests.

  Telaine went up two flights of stairs, listening for servants or lost guests wandering the premises, but she met no one. At the second landing, where a many-paned window looked out over Lady Harroden’s garden, she paused and listened again, but everything remained still. The servants were either busy with the ball or taking a welcome rest from their employer’s demands.

  When she was certain she had this floor of the manor to herself, Telaine made her way down the hall, staying alert for the sound of anyone approaching. The Princess would likely not be challenged on roaming the manor freely, but if necessary she would claim she was going to a romantic rendezvous and use her haughtiest manner to overwhelm whoever had the temerity to stop her—a ploy she’d used more than once before. It hadn’t hurt her reputation—or, rather, it hadn’t hurt her cover story—to have the Princess be known as a flirt as well as a frivolous socialite.

  But that ruse wouldn’t be needed tonight; the hall remained silent except for her own quiet movements. In her dark green dress and gloves, she could barely see herself against the walnut paneling, with only her fairer arms and face standing out in the dimness. Her full skirt made the faintest noise as she walked, like the distant whisper of conversation. Unfortunate, but it couldn’t be helped.

  She counted doors, one, two, three, then gently turned the handle of the fourth door. It wasn’t locked. That could mean her intelligence was wrong and the Count didn’t keep anything important in here, or it could mean he was too cocky, or too stupid, to imagine anyone might steal from him. She guessed the latter.

  Telaine silently pushed the door open and entered with a quiet swish of fabric. Closing the door, she removed her gloves and pulled a cubical Device out of one of the skirt’s deep pockets and squeezed it. A thin beam of light illuminated the room. She set it to hover over her right shoulder and began searching.

  The Count’s study was far tidier than her uncle’s, though to be fair there were bird’s nests tidier than her uncle’s study. Two cabinets with glass doors held books that were too uniform to be anything but décor. A locked tallboy proved absurdly easy to open, but held only the Count’s liquor supply; she relocked it and moved on.