Cursed spouses. Why reading books online is convenient

“Your world is made up of extremes, lady. And you know absolutely nothing about politics.”

If a lady nowadays knows politics or anything but embroidery or singing or manners, no man will look at her. And so it turns out - you need to be able to support a conversation on any topic, but to be clever - no, no. Is it even possible?

"Oh, Richard, if I were interested in politics, I would be sitting in Parliament right now."

I couldn't help but snort. The book helped to relax, although very relatively. Especially considering yesterday's message: a stupid note from no one knows who did not go out of my head. I never had any admirers, especially those eager to bombard me with self-disappearing love letters. The simplest spell, similar to instant decomposition from necromagic, only many times easier and safer. A special potion is used here: you soak the paper with it, throw on the weave, and as soon as the letter is opened, the addressee has a few seconds to read it.

Where did I stop?

"You are too cheeky for a lady."

“But that’s what you like about me, right?”

Louise drew my attention to the novels by Milles Dusker. Well, as she did, she shoved a bright red paperback book into my hands and said: “Read it until tomorrow.” Then we were just working out the theory of behavior with men. She called it the art of seduction, but I'm glad to know it was a behavioral theory. Calm down somehow.

I read the book overnight, and the next day I asked if Louise had more. At first I hesitated whether to ask - for two whole hours, but then decided that no one would know about it anyway.

"I like everything about you."

Richard took a step towards Miranda and my heart began to beat faster. That is, I wanted to say, her heart, of course.

He grabbed her hands, wrapped in gray-blue satin, and brought them to his lips with all the passion he was capable of. Miranda met his gaze with a challenge, but in the next moment something inside trembled, a blush crimsoned on her cheeks.

Something turned red on mine, too, and something was wrong inside: we should open the window, it was too hot in the living room. I bit my lip and turned the page.

"His lips were so close..."

– Teresa!

Lavinia flew into the room, a bright yellow swirl of dress flashed before my eyes, but I just managed to pick up the weighty volume of The Origins of Welean Spells lying next to it, plop it on top of the novel and turn the page.

– What are you reading? - My sister sat down next to me on the sofa, looked into the book and grimaced. - Ugh, boring stuff. Mother asked for tea, so now she will come here and instruct us about tomorrow. You are ready?

Am I ready for the fact that tomorrow I have to go to the ball and put the theory of behavior with men into practice ... that is, on Alberta? No, Im not ready! And even less ready to discuss it with my mother.

- I'm so worried, so worried, so worried ... Oh!

Lavinia leaned back on the sofa and threw back her head, long chocolate curls hanging almost to the floor. That's really who should not worry, so it's her. Of all of us, only she inherited her mother's appearance. Nature gave Vincent and me a fatherly bluntness, but Lavi is the embodiment of femininity: a smooth line of shoulders, a charming smile, dimples on her cheeks. Soft movements, if laughter, then only from under the fan, if fun, then not too much, now she is a real lady. One glance from under the eyelashes will be enough to line up a line of gentlemen who want to dance with her.

Are you worried too, sister?

When mother did not see, the lady briefly became just a girl. And now she fidgeted, rested her chin on her hands like a child, and leaned forward.

I'll start worrying tomorrow. Now I was much more worried about where to hide the ill-fated Milles Dusker, or rather, her “Proud Miranda”, before the arrival of my mother, and how to do this so that Lavi would not notice anything.

“There will certainly be plenty of gentlemen…attractive. The little sister blushed a little. “And I will dance all night, all night long!” Not with everyone, of course, but ... Ah, it's so exciting! Will you dance, Teresa?

- Maybe.

If I remember how it's done. My appearances ended with the death of my father, since then I have not danced. To be honest, I didn't dance much before. The gentlemen in my life were divided into two camps: the first got burned by the refusal of William de Mortain during the matchmaking, the second lost interest, it was worth talking to them about the theory of magic.

- You must dance! Lavi's green eyes flashed excitedly. - In such and such a dress!

They all got this dress. If it were not for the wineheish, my foot would not be in Ligenburg, not at any ball. For Albert's sake, I risked getting out for the season, for his sake I agreed to emerald silk. The prediction of the Armal, an ancient race endowed with powerful magic, cannot deceive. There is only one story left of their civilization, but their legacy has been tested and re-tested by time, some spells are now even impossible to repeat due to their complexity. In a word, I completely trust the armals, unlike stupid fortune-telling.

- Do you like mine?

How much can you talk about outfits?

I nodded, pretended to straighten the folds on the dress, and imperceptibly pushed the book aside - there was an impressive gap between the skirts and the armrest, where the Miranda had fallen. Just in time: mother floated into the living room, followed by a maid with a tray. I sighed in relief as I slammed the book under the couch cushion.

- My dears!

At the sound of her voice, Lavinia instantly straightened up and folded her hands in her lap. My mother is the Dowager Duchess. Miniature, deceptively fragile, but the iron rod inside is immediately visible: neither break nor bend; True, in last days she was in a wonderful mood - the youngest daughter will shine at the balls, and what else is needed for happiness?

“Mother, I have everything ready!” Lavinia beamed.

“I never doubted you for a moment, my dear.

“You saw the jewelry that Vincent gave me, didn’t you?” Carnelian is called a sun stone, they say that it banishes any darkness and protects from evil looks!

Lavi will do. She is like the sun herself.

- And another set of Zagorsky crystal. I'll wear it to the ball at the palace!

The maid bustled about, arranging dishes and pouring tea, while I looked around the living room. Vincent's town house is huge, though not comparable to Mortenheim. Louise finds it too gloomy, but I like everything here: the plots of the magical battles of the armals fit perfectly into the maroon tones of the interior. The flame of the fireplace splashes in the gilding, the glow of the lamps enlivens the rare islands of pastel shades. But yellow roses, the buds of which are slightly drooping, I do not like. Mother asked me to make a bouquet, and now there is a small island of death in the house. Except me, no one will see her, for everyone it's easy beautiful flowers. I never understood why they were cut.

The maid went out the door, and the mother raised a cup of tea to her lips. She settled into the chair, regal in her bearing, soft but sure in her movements.

Teresa, are you sure you want to go?

Began.

For the past month, all she has done is ask about it.

“If I wasn’t sure, I wouldn’t be here.

Each question is like a punch in the gut. Since last year, when I first thought about the possibility of conquering Albert, I have no doubts. After all, for the entire time of our acquaintance, he did not mention his interest in me with either a gesture or a look. Polite, invariably courteous and attentive, like a brother next to his sister. And he doesn’t even know how his kisses burn his fingers - even through a glove, and from one glance of dark green eyes, the heart sets.

You don't handle crowds well. You won't feel bad?

Thanks for the reminder.

Mammy fixes her dark hair, the only thing Vincent and I got from her, arranged in a perfect hairstyle. In the mint-colored eyes, a silent question: "Would you like to return to Mortenheim?"

Preferably right now. You'd think she was interested in my well-being! I just didn't fit into the plans, like an extra cup at the table or uninvited guest and she didn't know how to behave.

“I can handle it, Your Grace.

The urge to get up and leave increases every minute. That's what I used to do, but now I'm still sitting. Mostly because of Lavinia: I don't want to spoil my sister's mood before her first ball.

- Fine.

I can see from the pursed lips that it’s not good, but it doesn’t bother me much.

“Lady Lavinia, would you mind bringing me a shawl?” I think I forgot it in the library.

- Certainly!

Lavinia silently placed her cup on the saucer. In the tense silence that reigned, a dress rustled, a closed door quietly clicked.

“Lady Teresa, I would like to see you tomorrow in any outfit other than emerald.

Not a request, an order.

“Now you are afraid that I will be too tight in a corset?” - You can cut metal with my voice. And if you want, even crush the stone.

Your sister is a debutante. You shouldn't draw any more attention.

Well, that's what she said. Finally. No false politeness, no evasions.

“I'm not going to pull the blanket over myself. I just want to look decent...beautiful.

“And what were you thinking before, may I ask?” When did they lock themselves up in Mortenheim for the seasons? When were the gentlemen brought by your brother turned away?

I bit my lips so as not to say too much, and looked anywhere but at my mother.

About nothing. I hadn't thought of anything like this before. Feelings were a mystery to me - something akin to magic for a person who had never seen her even from afar, and then Louise entered her brother's life again. Thanks to them, I realized that things are different: not like my parents, not like it is accepted in society. Not by agreement, not because of good relatives or a significant inheritance. Bright, honest, real. Against all odds. To pain, to clenched hands, if only together.

“I dare to hope,” without waiting for an answer, mother considered the question settled, “that respect for the family will help you make the right choice.”

I threw the book away and jumped up: the colors of the living room faded, the grave cold of the transition to the line between life and death seeped through the pores and poisoned the blood. The vein in his neck thumped wildly. I convulsively squeezed my rapidly growing cold fingers and with a decisive step headed for the door. Calm down. The main thing now is to calm down. Deep breath in and deep breath out...

I turned around: the roses turned to ashes. Gray crumbs fell on the table, floated on the surface of the water and settled on the bottom of a transparent vase. Her ladyship turned as white as an untouched sheet of paper, her hands trembled subtly. How many years have passed, but she is still afraid.

They were still dead.

Which, however, does not justify me in the slightest.

I lifted my chin and flew out of the living room. She rushed down the corridor to the stairs, but then stopped, breathing heavily, clenching and unclenching trembling fingers: the door to Vincent's office was ajar, voices were heard from there. If a brother sees me in this state, there will be no questions asked.

“Gill, I need a carriage. It sounded sharp and furious. Looks like I didn't have one evening that didn't work out. - Urgently.

“Yes, your grace.

“Until my return, no one is to know of this… gentleman's visit.

“Of course, Your Grace.

If Vincent's butler didn't say "Your Grace" so often, I might even like him. To some extent, he is devoted to his brother, although he is too arrogant with those whom he does not love.

- Close the door. I need you to send for Hoggart and that by the time I return he will be sitting in this office with papers ...

With what papers the attorney of our family should sit, I no longer heard: the soft knock of the closed door cut me off from continuing the conversation. However, now I have no time for idle curiosity. I quickly got up to my room, locked the door with a key and collapsed exhaustedly on the bed. The ceiling floated before my eyes - this happens when you unconsciously "fall" on the edge, but this happened to me for the first time in many years. This cannot be allowed to happen again.

Marina Eldenbert

Cursed spouses. golden haze

To the Lit-Era readers who have been with me from the prologue to the last point

All normal ladies sleep at night, and I stomp on the tower. Fortunately, I'm far from normality, to a lady - even further.

"For divination, solitude is necessary."

In Mortenheim, you can walk for hours and not meet anyone. Perhaps a bedroom, a green living room or a library would do. There no one will disturb: especially at night, especially me. But I'm used to doing everything honestly.

"We need to get as high as possible."

How much higher, the magazine did not specify, but the North Tower is the highest point of the family castle. Previously, sentinels lived here who warned of the appearance of the enemy, now it is just an appendage to the history of Mortenheim, even servants do not look here.

I wrapped myself tightly in a shawl, considering the steps narrow spiral staircase. The wind beat against the stones, howled in the walls. The servants sincerely believe that this is the spirit of one of the warriors: allegedly he stepped from the tower because of unrequited love for some hard-hearted maiden of our kind. Complete nonsense! Firstly, he fell from drinking at a victorious feast and due to an oversight of his comrades, and secondly, there are no ghosts in this part of the castle. Whether the case of the dungeon, where the ancestors notably had fun with the prisoners.

"Five elements are needed: water, fire, metal, earth and air."

There is enough air here, so the advice “open the window so that the fresh wind touches your hair” is superfluous. The draft climbed under the hem of the nightgown and dressing gown, unpleasantly pinched my feet: I had not put on stockings, so I paid for my haste. Well, at least I had the sense to take an oil lamp, and not a candle: otherwise, one of the elements, that is, fire, I would have lost along the way. The rest were safely buried in the basket.

I wonder how many steps are there? My shadow crawled along the wall, slower with each turn, distorting in patches of mold and crevices. Every now and then dust and cobwebs fell on his head. The stairs ended with a massive rusted door. I pushed her four times, the last one with my feet against the wall, since the corridor here is narrow. Only after that did she give in with a nasty gnashing, letting me through to the spacious round area flooded with moonlight. A flock of crows fell from the stone perches with a loud cawing, a cool spring wind hit in the face, threw up a pile of dry twigs and leaves. If not for the condition on the secret of fortune-telling, I would have forced to clean everything here by my arrival.

"Lay out the four elements as shown in the picture."

I didn’t take my sister’s journal, but in a week I managed to learn the ceremony by heart, so I carefully laid a blanket, knelt down and put the lamp on the floor, lit a candle from it.

"Each element symbolizes a cardinal direction."

A candle to the south, a flask of water to the north, a handful of earth to the west and a pin to the east, and in the middle is a deep earthenware plate.

"You will need a silk handkerchief, on which you need to embroider the initials of the gentleman with whom you are in love with scarlet threads."

In love - too much in my case strong word. Although, maybe in love, I just don’t know exactly how it manifests itself. It is love, not deep sympathy. Someone talks about the desire to fly, someone - about the desire to kiss. I did not want to fly, and at the thought of a kiss, blood rushed to my cheeks. It's too late to retreat anyway. I pulled out the ill-fated white silk from the basket. I did not succeed with embroidery, however, as well as with music-making, singing and painting, but for the sake of fortune-telling I spent a week, exhausted three scarves and still finished two letters.

"Sprinkle the handkerchief with red wine - a symbol of blood."

Yes, if you use blood, you can get in trouble. Magic in blood modern society outlaw. As if most of my contemporaries are capable of sending something stronger than hiccups on a gentleman. I am an exception, but few people know about it.

I put the handkerchief on a plate, generously poured wine over it: my hand trembled. Crimson blotches bled across the silk, nothing like blood. I slept all week with a scarf under my pillow, and during the day I wore it on my chest, closer to my heart. Parting with him was even somehow sad, but divination demanded it.

“You need to repeat the phrase three times, and then set fire to the silk.”

I cleared my throat and whispered:

As the handkerchief burns out, I will find out who my destiny is.

I think I began to understand why solitude is necessary for divination. I haven't felt so idiotic in a long time. How can you tell from a piece of burnt silk whether a man will respond to your feelings?

A gust of wind ran across the platform, almost extinguishing the candle, and I moved closer to her.

When the handkerchief burns out, I will find out who my destiny is, I repeated.

Good thing no one sees me. True, it is enough for me that I see myself. Horror. Nightmare. Disgrace.

It's just that this damn Lavi magazine caught my eye at the wrong time. lucky moment. I wondered if I should go to new season- after all, the old maid, even the sister of the duke, is not the most welcome guest at the celebration of life. I needed a good reason to go, and I have only one reason, and it's name is Albert Fry. Best friend my brother and the only man with whom I can get something serious.

"Hold the cloth over the candle, and then collect the ashes in a bowl and examine the contents."

I hope it doesn't occur to my sister to climb up here for the same thing? However, it's incredible. This is fortune-telling for a certain person, and Lavi is very young, she has yet to go out and meet. Besides, she would certainly have chosen a place warmer and cleaner, more worthy of a lady. If only I believed in such nonsense. Who in general believes in them, except for the creators of the magazine?

One idiot named Teresa.

No, if you do stupid things, then do them to the end. I took the handkerchief resolutely and said loudly:

When the handkerchief burns out, I find out who my destiny is, and I set it on fire.

The flame of the candle licked lazily at the fabric, smelled of burnt wool, and the handkerchief slowly began to smolder. Too slow, probably due to too much blood. That is, with wine. Even my fingers are numb from zeal. The silk refused to turn to dust, desperately clung to life, but still went into it, and I threw it into a bowl. The fruits of my heartfelt efforts slowly but surely turned to ashes.

“Two rings mean a quick marriage, one means long troubles with an engagement, a cat is a serious rival, and a cross means death,” the magazine explained. True, it was not specified whose.

"Possibly a combination of signs."

In this case, it may be the death of a serious rival. Depends on the character of the fortuneteller.

Having sated, the flame shrunk to a tiny smoldering fire, which disappeared after a minute. I tried desperately to see any signs of fate in the dark mass, but they were just lumps of burnt tissue. I wonder what a pile of stinking dirt means? Life in oblivion? I swirled the bowl just in case. In vain! It was just me and the moon: no cats, no crosses, no rings. Well, what, in fact, to expect from a stupid fortune teller?

I got up and walked to the edge of the tower, and the wind was not slow in throwing a strand of hair over my face. The brother's possessions stretched over tens of thousands of acres - endless expanses, among which the stone heart beats - Mortenheim. Soon a new mistress will appear in the castle, Lavinia will definitely not stay long in the girls - she will certainly not end up with suitors, and I will stay here as a poor relative, and everyone will feel sorry for me. Everything will start with whispers and lowered eyes of the servants, with attempts to make my life a little sweeter with sweet worthless compliments, a little later it will spread to my mother, to my brother and to everyone else. And then - sooner or later - this pity will kill me.

I spun around and kicked the bowl of ashes against the wall. With a pitiful tinkle, it rolled over, its contents scattered in the wind. There he is dear! A candle flew behind her, the lamp splashed glass chips with hot oil on the stones - and went out.

To the demons of divination! All I need is true magic. Earth, stone and blood. Necromage's blood, that is mine.

I knelt down again, shook off a handful of earth from the bedspread right onto the platform and stuck a pin in my finger. The air thickened, it got noticeably colder - but in fact, I just went beyond the brink of life. The colors faded, dissolved, all sounds subsided, the blood that appeared on the finger was light gray. Magic flowed, flowed through me and inside with every dull beat of my heart, which was filled with rapture. How rarely can I afford it!

I drew on a stone around the earth a pattern of the armal spell - vineheish, which allows you to look into the future and see the sign. Even the rulers of antiquity were afraid to get involved with the power of the prophetic inscription - it took away strength immeasurably, and bestowed not always pleasant predictions. It is difficult to look into the future, but it is much more difficult to dispose of this knowledge. Maybe I won't be able to do anything at all.

I threw away the cowardly thought with disgust, like a dead mouse.

It was enough to close the pattern with a drop of blood in the center, as it was enveloped in an ashen glow. The black crumb stirred like an ant swarm, but I felt power pouring through me. Forbidden, furious, powerful. The finger throbbed, the blood in the veins boiled, forcing him to choke with delight. The earth gathered into an inverted loop with rays diverging from it - the armal cross, which means death and rebirth, under it, strange symbols spread out of blood in two circles - wonderful, unfamiliar. And a little lower there were clear initials, with which I suffered so much during embroidery.

Marina Eldenbert

Cursed spouses. golden haze

Novel

To the Lit-Era readers who have been with me from the prologue to the last point

All normal ladies sleep at night, and I stomp on the tower. Fortunately, I’m far from normality, even further from a lady.

"For divination, solitude is necessary."

"We need to get as high as possible."

I pulled my shawl tighter around me, counting the steps of the narrow spiral staircase. The wind beat against the stones, howled in the walls. The servants sincerely believe that this is the spirit of one of the warriors: allegedly he stepped from the tower because of unrequited love for some hard-hearted maiden of our kind. Complete nonsense! Firstly, he fell from drinking at a victorious feast and due to an oversight of his comrades, and secondly, there are no ghosts in this part of the castle. Whether the case of the dungeon, where the ancestors notably had fun with the prisoners.

"Five elements are needed: water, fire, metal, earth and air."

"Lay out the four elements as shown in the picture."

I didn’t take my sister’s journal, but in a week I managed to learn the ceremony by heart, so I carefully laid a blanket, knelt down and put the lamp on the floor, lit a candle from it.

"Each element symbolizes a cardinal direction."

A candle to the south, a flask of water to the north, a handful of earth to the west and a pin to the east, and in the middle is a deep earthenware plate.

"You will need a silk handkerchief, on which you need to embroider the initials of the gentleman with whom you are in love with scarlet threads."

In love is too strong a word for me. Although, maybe in love, I just don’t know exactly how it manifests itself. It is love, not deep sympathy. Someone talks about the desire to fly, someone - about the desire to kiss. I did not want to fly, and at the thought of a kiss, blood rushed to my cheeks. It's too late to retreat anyway. I pulled out the ill-fated white silk from the basket. I did not succeed with embroidery, however, as well as with music-making, singing and painting, but for the sake of fortune-telling I spent a week, exhausted three scarves and still finished two letters.

"Sprinkle the handkerchief with red wine - a symbol of blood."

Yes, if you use blood, you can get in trouble. Blood magic in modern society is outlawed. As if most of my contemporaries are capable of sending something stronger than hiccups on a gentleman. I am an exception, but few people know about it.

“You need to repeat the phrase three times, and then set fire to the silk.”

I cleared my throat and whispered:

- When the handkerchief burns out, I will find out who my destiny is.

A gust of wind ran across the platform, almost extinguishing the candle, and I moved closer to her.

“When the handkerchief burns out, I will find out who my destiny is,” I repeated.

Good thing no one sees me. True, it is enough for me that I see myself. Horror. Nightmare. Disgrace.

It's just that Lavi's damn magazine caught my eye at the wrong time. I doubted whether I should go for the new season - after all, the old maid, even the sister of the duke, is not the most welcome guest at the celebration of life. I needed a good reason to go, and I have only one reason, and it's name is Albert Fry. My brother's best friend and the only man I can get serious with.

"Hold the cloth over the candle, and then collect the ashes in a bowl and examine the contents."

One idiot named Teresa.

No, if you do stupid things, then do them to the end. I took the handkerchief resolutely and said loudly:

“When the handkerchief burns out, I’ll find out who my destiny is,” and set fire to it.

“Two rings mean a quick marriage, one means long troubles with an engagement, a cat is a serious rival, and a cross means death,” the magazine explained. True, it was not specified whose.

"Possibly a combination of signs."

In this case, it may be the death of a serious rival. Depends on the character of the fortuneteller.

I got up and walked to the edge of the tower, and the wind was not slow in throwing a strand of hair over my face. His brother's possessions stretched over tens of thousands of acres - endless expanses, among which the stone heart beats - Mortenheim. Soon a new mistress will appear in the castle, Lavinia will definitely not stay long in the girls - she will certainly not end up with suitors, and I will stay here as a poor relative, and everyone will feel sorry for me. Everything will start with whispers and lowered eyes of the servants, with attempts to make my life a little sweeter with sweet worthless compliments, a little later it will spread to my mother, to my brother and to everyone else. And then - sooner or later - this pity will kill me.

To the demons of divination! All I need is true magic. Earth, stone and blood. Necromage's blood, that is mine.

I drew on a stone around the earth a pattern of an armal spell - vineheish, which allows you to look into the future and see the sign. Even the rulers of antiquity were afraid to contact the power of the prophetic inscription - it took away strength immeasurably, and bestowed not always pleasant predictions. It is difficult to look into the future, but it is much more difficult to dispose of this knowledge. Maybe I won't be able to do anything at all.

I put the board on the bed. She stared at her for a few minutes, then reached for her ring. Heavy, cool, for some reason it burned the palm. Fingers ran blindly across the drawing, repeating the semicircle and rays. I put the seal on the lock, pressed it all the way. Something clicked, a lilac haze enveloped the board, the contours of the protective spell opened up. I flipped the lid off.

Inside there were two folders - one thicker, red, in tone with the gaping crimson maw of the board. The other one is black and thin. I don’t know why, my hands reached out to her. On top of the papers lay my portrait, a pencil sketch: my hair tied up in a bun, stubborn folds at my mouth. The artist was clearly not in love with me, or did I really look like that? The fold lines indicated that the pattern had been folded in four and then smoothed out. I put it aside.

Lady Teresa Bigot

Written in Henri's handwriting - sharp, beautiful, legible. The heart skipped a beat, but beat dully and somehow every other time.

Age: 27 years old.

Personality: Closed, prefers to spend time alone. Sharp in judgments, stubborn, straightforward. Self-centered, focused on inner world. Sacrifice in the name of loved ones is combined with complete indifference to the opinions of others.

Habits and hobbies: Horseback riding (at any time of the year), magical practices, magical theories, reading.

Intelligence: Smart, well-read, attentive to detail, likes to listen rather than talk, able to keep up a conversation on any topic, from farming to politics. He will prefer the topic of magic and the history of its development to any other conversations.

Economic base: The dowry is estimated at 600,000 antals and lands in the west of Mortenheim (at the request of the spouse, a cash equivalent can be paid). She spent her whole life in the family castle, in the care of her father and brother. She did not need anything, she treats people of the lower classes with disdain.

Strength: Active necromage. Level 8-9, with proper practice is able to reach the highest.

Strengths: Persistence, ability to achieve one's own, rigidity. Curiosity.

Weaknesses: Hot temper, impulsiveness, pride. Inability to quickly adapt to change.

Family: problems with parents, Lord Albert Fry (? - love affair?).

Brother, Vincent Bigot (painful affection, morbid jealousy, the only man she trusts and is desperately afraid of losing).

Sister, Lady Lavinia Bigot (an outlet, a subconscious desire for freedom and a desire to be in her place when it comes to mother).

Lady Louise Lefer (the only friend, through her seeks to get even closer to her brother).

Dislikes: Lady Farrish (presumably childhood trauma), Countess Whitmore (provocative behavior and unequivocal sympathy for her brother). People who hurt her loved ones.

Lady Farrish? Oh yes, Lady Anne.

Difficulties with self-determination. It limits itself quite rigidly, sees no way out of the framework erected with its own hands, worries about the impossibility of revealing and realizing its strength.

Brief information was accompanied by a soulless psychological analysis into several pages. It can be seen that he made notes as we… hmm, approached each other.

Acutely reacts to violence, probably subjected to it in childhood. Most likely, there was constant psychological pressure from the father. The threat of physical violence caused too strong a reaction, so the use of force and corporal punishment is not excluded. Can't be broken, only broken.

I didn’t feel my hands, and, to be honest, I didn’t feel myself either. But still, she continued to read.

Denies her femininity and beauty. Closed within the framework of puritanical upbringing and social stereotypes, fixated on purity. Cold, rejects sexual pleasure, with all her might suppresses natural desires and her own sensuality.

Only out of masochistic stubbornness did I read it to the end. However, there was no end as such, this "case history" was cut short after our trip to Mortenheim. Probably, after it there was nothing interesting in me. Smart and attentive, you say? The idiotic desire to write in large clumsy letters on all the sheets with information about me “a complete fool” I suppressed with difficulty.

There was another letter in the folder, which I read several times to make sure that my eyes were not deceiving me.

My lord,

I am glad that the assumptions about the girl Bigo were justified. This woman really is of some value, and the blood test that her sister gave me confirmed this. I am enclosing the results of the research so that you can see for yourself. However, I want to immediately warn that difficulties may arise with it. It does not lend itself to superficial suggestion, and a more serious breakdown can lead to unpredictable consequences. Like her brother and father, she is very categorical, extremely distrustful, harsh. Clamped when it comes to men. He prefers to pass the time in the library; he does not appear at balls and receptions. The lifestyle of a recluse and an old maid played an important role in this, so a person is needed who can find an approach to any woman.

At the moment, I consider the removal of de Mortain to be my first priority - his insistence on reform is already becoming dangerous. As for the girl Bigot, I recommend doing it closer to the season of next year. It will take perseverance, patience and time to work with her, but I dare to assume that the arrest and execution of her brother will break her, which, in turn, will play into our hands. I guess I can put some pressure on the Dowager Duchess and maybe even get her an ally.

All the best, and may the Dawn be with us.

By connecting the fragments of the seal, it was easy to get the coat of arms of the Earl of Addington.

But it was impossible to combine what he saw into a familiar picture of the world that had become so familiar and comfortable. I was freezing, despite the warm July evening. Layers of the setting sun were strewn across the room, the golden hue on the wallpaper looking ominous.

The ribbons of the red folder were torn - apparently, she pulled too sharply. Papers fell out of it, which I casually flipped through and laid out in front of me on the bed. In chess order or not: dossiers on brother, on mother, Lavi and Louise, dossiers on the Earl of Woodward, on the Whitmores, on Baron Merring and his family. On many of our decent or not so - judging by what is written - gentlemen and even some ladies. Not as detailed as on me, but enough to find an approach to everyone. There was also a dossier on Albert - perhaps the shortest of all the others.

The fact that he received the title for services to the Crown, I knew. But there is no history of the parents. Jeremy Fry served as a bank manager, his wife ran the household and took care of the children until her husband was set up and accused of money fraud. His father was killed when Albert was five, his mother committed suicide, and he and his sister ended up in an orphanage for the poor. A few years later, the girl died of consumption.

I put down the folded sheets of paper. It was reminiscent of dissection - when the frogs are laid out on a board in front of students and healers and opened by a magical dissection. Henri... my husband... the Comte de Larne dissected Engeria's high society with the indifference of a surgeon. Noted weak spots and dark sides. He knew where to push in order to achieve what he wanted and what to play on. Most of the dossiers were written in the handwriting of the Earl of Addington, some in Henri's. Every note he made in the margin made him shudder.

A thin, yellowed corner protruded from under Albert's papers. I pulled on it and pulled out a newspaper clipping with an obituary. Short, two lines.

“We regret to announce the untimely death of Mrs. Ilona Fry. Burial will take place at the central city cemetery.

And the date is the year when the conspiracy against her majesty was revealed. The year Vincent saved Albert's life. I rubbed my eyes and put down the papers. His heart thudded in his chest, and his eyes darkened. I threw back my head, because my eyes were hot, like during a cold. Did the sand get in? It's still too windy today.

Today is just too much.

But most importantly…

We must run away from here. Immediately.

I hastily shoved the documents into folders, closed the board. She picked up the reticule, and at the same moment slammed Entrance door: in this house all sounds are heard so well that a fly does not fly by unnoticed. By the way, about flies - a few were now circling under the ceiling, clearly attracting the attention of a cat sitting on a chest of drawers, trying on how to successfully jump up to them. He crouched and moved his tail from side to side, his eyes sparkled. The nightmare soared into the air, but missed the chandelier. A deaf blow, a gray lump of bewilderment landed on all four paws, shook his head and crawled under the bed - to experience his shame.

I suppressed the urge to follow him.

Too late.

The legs did not tremble and were not wadded, they simply grew into the floor. The heart was probably heard even on the street.

Strong confident steps on the stairs, the door to the room swung open.

Jerome said you just arrived. When Louise...

The floral wallpaper twitched before my eyes and door knob. The darkness of the corridor behind him danced a strange dance, but Henri stood out from this flickering. Too bright. I stood facing him, my arms crossed, under them a cursed board pressed to my chest. So tight you can't breathe.

You didn't say that you love chess.

His smile faded, his eyes turned to golden ice.

Do you also play them when you can't not play?

I do not know this person. I never knew.

What demon were you making in my office?

I was shaken, thrown up from his feelings, and the bracelet seemed to be flooded with molten metal. Damn! Powerless rage flared through his veins, his heartbeat echoing throughout his body, making him flinch with every blow. My head was spinning, I leaned against the wall just in case. On top of that, I felt nauseous. That's how I knew not to drink this demonic coffee!

Curiosity got the better of me.

Curiosity is not always in place. - Henri stepped forward, extended his hand: - Give it to me. Now.

I clenched my fingers on the board with such force that it crunched. The words froze inside, like leaves frozen in ice, there was not the slightest desire to pick them out. And what am I going to tell him? That the Lord Chancellor wrote touching letters about how hard it would be to kill my brother? That he has an amazing talent for collecting information? That I remember too clearly the dawn on the roof of Mortenheim, the moonlighter in his hands, the sun tangled in the water-darkened strands? An offer to start all over again, a demon dress still hanging in a torn rag in the closet, his promise to never let go of my hand and breathtaking tenderness?

That all this is a lie?

Trust is a fragile thing, Comte de Larnay. So you yourself said.

I threw the board at his feet, it split into two halves with a vile crunch, the papers scattered across the carpet. Pain slashed back and forth - pain overflowing with anger, hastily opened, like a festering wound.

The look is eye to eye, too creepy to bear.

How did you crack the protection?

By the power of thought.

A sharp punch to the wall deafened him. A crunch, a crumble of dust kicked up next to my face. I shied to the side, the darkness that flared inside spread like spilled ink, the world faded and shrank to a point, and returned blindingly dark. The bedroom turned into a crowd of shadows, darkness and cold. I felt the tear of the edge, the very essence of death, with which I became related during training. She drank me, I - her, the beating of two hearts subsided, and then exploded with a deafening thud. A silver web enveloped her in an impenetrable cocoon, and darkness escaped from her fingers, penetrating the room with thin tentacles. Sunny ice emanating from Henri dug into the skin like needles. The strength of the heandame swirled with a shimmering haze and blinded with a radiance in the eyes.

Don't come near me," I muttered stifledly as he stepped towards me. - Back!

Henri cursed softly, his gaze fixed on the signet lying on the bed.

Have you seen Elger?

I laughed - loudly, hysterically, evilly. I didn’t want to pour out banalities, but nothing smarter: “None of your business,” didn’t come to mind. There wasn't much to it at all right now.

You are right, I did not have a relationship with my father. And I was not ready for love.

Letter from the Earl of Addington addressed to Simon.

What are you?!

The bracelet twitched in pain. Barely perceptible, as if I were trying to pick off a fresh crust from the wound. Then - stronger, liquid fire splashed in his chest. My pain or his? Our common? Don't know. Hardly. He can't be hurt. People like him can't feel.

I rushed to the door, but Henri blocked my way.

Lavinia brought your blood and Vincent's blood out of the vault last year. Elger received confirmation of what he could only guess before: you are an active necromage. From that day on, his desire to have you in his collection grew into an obsession. Only unlike his son, he acts more subtle.

So I was your assignment? Seriously.

Seriously. He looked straight into my soul. - Was.

Bitterness. Thin and nasty, like foam on milk. I never liked hot milk because of this sticky rubbish gathering on the surface - the feeling that you are chewing on wet cobwebs. The tears that welled up in my eyes did not shed, they disappeared without a trace. There is enough dampness in the world without me, I will suffer later. Now we need to get out of here.

Get out of my way!

He didn't move, and then I hit him. The viscous threads of darkness torn from the fingers rushed to Henri. I put all my strength into the demons, but the darkness swallowed up the ink splashes to the last drop. I hit again and again - knowing that the golden haze, fragile at first glance, would dispel the magic without a trace. Beat desperately, crazy, evil. Deadly black lashes dissolved before our eyes, blots flew to the sides, leaving marks of decay on the floor and wallpaper.

You're only making things worse for yourself.

Not only. But he's right, I can't catch him.

I sighed convulsively: magic filled me like water left unattended jug - swiftly, inevitably, but uselessly. Time stood still, the force fought in me, trying to find freedom, and like it, the power of the heandame beat against the fragile human shell. I saw familiar features through the prism of death: a pale face in a radiant haze and those abnormal eyes.

We need to calm down. Both you and me. Sit down. Here.

He pointed to the bed, but I didn't move.

Henri pulled out a handkerchief from his pocket, pulled his hand, tiny specks of blood immediately appeared through the white silk. The gold around him was slowly melting, and I shifted my gaze to the dent in the wall, from which the cracks radiated. I twitched as he squeezed my shoulders, forcibly dragged me to the bed and forced me to sit up.

Eric gave you the ring?

In the person standing in front of me there was nothing of the man who carried me in his arms, nothing of Henri, whom I hugged on the banks of the Irta. Not a bit from the obsessive aristocrat who was so annoying at the first ball of the season and turned my whole life upside down with one kiss. And the damned lunar was in the top drawer of the chest of drawers, under the ribbons. Dried flowers on a thin stalk.

Are you interrogating?

As you wish.

All this time he played with me. Or would it be more correct to say - me? My life, my loved ones? Weaknesses, fears, feelings, because they are all collected in his wonderful chess box. Even his brother believed him. And Louise, and Lavi, and mother. Henri got closer to us than anyone before him could. All that was needed was to powder the brains of one idiot. And what would he be instructed to do next? Complete Ethan's undertaking?

Another letter? How did you even think of going to meet him?

I looked at the open door. You can try to slip. It might even work if I'm convincing enough. If Henri decides that I was confused and gave up.

I wanted to protect you - the truth is the easiest to tell. - He came to me in a dream. Threatened. I remembered what the mist had done to you, and I knew I couldn't let it happen again.

Does your girlfriend know about Elger?

No. I said that we had an argument.

So there were no examples.

You are amazingly resourceful!

Don't choke on sarcasm. - He came close, and I convulsively clutched at the bedspread. - You were going to fight Eric. Did I understand correctly?

I've been training all this time...

Where? Lady Lefer?

No. I asked her to rent an apartment.

Is she really stupid?

Cynically, bitingly, backhand. So it took my breath away for a moment.

Take a look at your wonderful dossier, everything is written there.

The dossier is not always true. - Henri no longer spoke, but growled, but it cost me considerable efforts to remain in place. - Yours also says that you have brains.

I twitched as if from a slap.

You wrote it yourself.

What did he say to you?

I promised to kill you, - I croaked. - I hope, unlike you, he keeps his promises.

Now Henri recoiled. A cold smile touched the whitened lips.

We'll check it out as soon as possible.

He turned away and went to the nightstand to pour himself some water, but I rushed forward. The only opportunity, a brief moment, and almost succeeded - I was in the corridor when he intercepted me. With a jerk he pulled back, with force pressed against the wall.

You won't leave the house until we've finished talking.

Will I leave then?

Totally stupid?

At all. I set my family up. You might as well drag a poisonous sand snake to Mortenheim and let it go in your brother's rooms.

Damn you! I hissed. - I hate, I hate, I hate!

Henri's fingers dug into my shoulders, he tore me off the wall and shook me: my head jerked back. I rushed out of his arms - again and again, frenziedly pounded on the chest, but it was like hitting on stone walls. Once even managed to slap a slap in the face - the nails left deep bloody furrows on a swarthy cheek. Henri instantly intercepted my wrists, squeezed with force, to the point of pain. I screamed and hit with streams of deep darkness.

A dazzling golden flash devoured the ink lashes, lashed at his eyes, enveloped him in a burning cocoon. Henri tossed me aside, but not fast enough. My body blazed: flames inside, flames outside, as if I had swallowed a deadly burning poison from a nael tincture. Probably, this is how people who ascended to the fire in the Dark Times felt. Darkness oozed from my open palms, as if I were bleeding, powerless and pitiful: over the dress, under my feet.

I ran into the bedside table, the thin crunch of the decanter bursting on the bedside table was cut off by a ringing silence. Water and fragments splashed in different directions, the haze was rapidly melting. I staggered, caught my husband's gaze - wild, inhuman, terrible. The bracelet on his arm turned black and seemed to have turned into a rusty wire, the sharp stings of which dug into the skin. Henri rushed towards me just at the moment when I collapsed down into the bottomless abyss.

And this abyss was filled with solar flame to the brim.

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