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

If a lady nowadays knows politics or anything other than embroidery, singing or manners, no man will look at her. This is how it turns out - you need to be able to maintain a conversation on any topic, but be smart - no, no. Is it even possible?

"Ah, Richard, if I was interested in politics, I would now sit in parliament."

I could not resist and snorted. The book helped to relax, albeit very relatively. Especially considering yesterday's message: the stupid note was not clear from anyone. I had no admirers since I was born, all the more eager to throw love letters self-disappearing. The simplest spell, similar to instant decomposition from necromagic, is only several times easier and safer. A special potion is used here: you saturate paper with it, sketch out weaving, and as soon as the letter is opened, the addressee has a few seconds to read it.

Where did I stop?

"You're too cocky for a lady."

"But that's what you like about me, right?"

Louise drew my attention to Milles Dusker's novels. Well, as she turned it, she thrust a bright red paperback book into my hands and said: "Read it until tomorrow." Then we were just working on the theory of behavior with men. She called it the art of seduction, but I like to know that it was a theory of behavior. Calmer 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 beat faster. That is, I wanted to say, her heart, of course.

“He grabbed her hands, tied 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 the next moment something inside trembled, a blush turned on her cheeks.

Something was glowing on mine, too, and something was wrong inside: I ought to open the window, it’s 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 vortex of dress flashed before my eyes, while I only managed to grab the weighty volume of The Origins of the Velean Spells lying next to me, flop over the novel and turn the page.

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

Am I ready for the fact that tomorrow I have to go to the ball and apply the theory of behavior with men in practice ... that is, on Albert? 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 her head back, long chocolate curls hanging almost to the floor. The one who shouldn't worry is her. Of all of us, she is the only one who has inherited Mother's appearance. Nature rewarded me and Vincent with paternal harshness, but Lavi is the embodiment of femininity: a smooth shoulder line, 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 for 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 shifted, propped her chin with her palms 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 my mother arrived, and how to do it so that Rabi would not notice anything.

“There will certainly be many gentlemen ... attractive. - Little sister blushed slightly. - And I'll dance all night, all night long! Not with everyone, of course, but ... Oh, this is 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 hadn't danced a lot before. Gentlemen in my life were divided into two camps: the first were burned about the refusal of William de Morten during the matchmaking, the second lost interest, it was worth talking to them about the theory of magic.

- You should definitely dance! Rabi's green eyes sparkled with excitement. - In such and such a dress!

This dress was given to all of them. If it weren't for the Vineheish, my leg would not have been in Ligenburg or at any ball. For Albert's sake, I ventured out for the season, for his sake I agreed to emerald silk. The divination of the Armals - the oldest race endowed with powerful magic - cannot deceive. There is only one story left of their civilization, but their heritage has been tested and verified by time, some spells are now even impossible to repeat due to their complexity. In a word, I completely trust armals, in contrast to stupid fortune-telling.

- Do you like mine?

How much can you talk about outfits?

I nodded, pretended to correct the folds on the dress, and imperceptibly pushed the book to the side - there was just an impressive gap between the skirts and the armrest, where the Miranda had fallen. In time: mother floated into the living room, followed by a maid with a tray. I slammed the book down with the cushion and breathed a sigh of relief.

- My dear!

At the sound of her voice, Lavinia instantly straightened and folded her hands in her lap. My mother is a dowager duchess. Miniature, deceptively fragile, but the iron rod inside is immediately visible: it neither breaks nor bends, it gets hot in a matter of minutes and can burn in such a way that it doesn't seem like a little. True, in last days she was in a wonderful mood - the youngest daughter would shine at the balls, but what else is needed for happiness?

- Mother, I have everything ready! Lavinia was beaming.

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

- You saw the jewelry that Vincent gave me? Carnelian is called a sun stone, they say that it expels any darkness and protects from evil looks!

Lavi will do. She herself is like the sun.

- And another set of Zagorsk crystal. I will wear it to the ball in the palace!

The maid was busy arranging the dishes and pouring out the tea, while I was looking at the living room. Vincent's town house is huge, although it cannot be compared with 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 fireplace flame splashes in gilding, the glow of the lamps enlivens rare islands of pastel shades. But yellow roses, the buds of which have slightly wilted, I do not like. Mother asked 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 to cut them off.

The maid went out the door, and the mother raised a cup of tea to her lips. She settled into the chair - royal posture, soft but confident movements.

“Teresa, are you sure you want to go?”

Started.

For the past month, she only did what she asked about it.

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

Each such question is like a blow in the stomach. Since last year, when I first thought about the possibility of conquering Albert, doubts have left me. After all, during the entire time of our acquaintance, he neither with a gesture nor a glance mentioned his interest in me. Polite, invariably courteous and considerate, like a brother next to a sister. And he does not even know how his kisses burn his fingers - even through a glove, and from one glance of his dark green eyes his heart sinks.

- You do not tolerate the crowd. Won't you feel sick?

Thanks for reminding me.

Mother straightens her dark hair - the only thing Vincent and I got from her - perfectly styled. In the mint eyes, a dumb question: "Would you like to return to Mortenheim?"

Desirable 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 guestand she didn't know how to behave.

“I can handle it, Your Grace.

The desire to get up and leave increases with every minute. This is 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.

- Good.

On pursed lips I can see that it is not good, but it does not bother me much.

“Lady Lavinia, would you mind getting me a shawl? I think I forgot her in the library.

- Of course!

Lavinia quietly set the cup down on the saucer. In the tense silence that reigned, the dress rustled, the closed door quietly clicked.

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

Not a request, an order.

- Now you are afraid that I will be pulled too tight in the corset? - with my voice you can cut metal. And if you wish, even crumble a stone.

- Your sister is a debutante. You don’t have to draw attention again.

Well, she said that. At last. No false politeness, no evasion.

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

- And what did you think about before, may I ask? When did you lock yourself in Mortenheim during the seasons? When were the gentlemen your brother brought with you denied?

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

About nothing. I hadn't thought of anything like that before. Feelings were a mystery to me - something akin to magic for a man 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 with my parents, not like it is accepted in society. Not by agreement, not because of good relatives or significant inheritance. Brightly, sincerely, for real. In spite of everything. To the pain, to the clenched hands, if only together.

“I dare to hope,” without waiting for an answer, mother considered the issue resolved, “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 border between life and death seeped through the pores and poisoned the blood. The vein on his neck pounded wildly. I convulsively squeezed my rapidly chilling fingers and made a determined step towards the door. Calm down. The main thing now is to calm down. Take a deep breath and the same deep breath ...

I turned around: the roses turned to decay. The gray crumb fell on the table, floated on the surface of the water and settled to the bottom of the transparent vase. Her ladyship turned white like an untouched sheet of paper, her hands trembled subtly. How many years have passed, and she is still afraid.

“They were dead anyway.

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

I lifted my chin and flew out of the living room. She was about to dash down the corridor to the stairs, but immediately stopped, panting, squeezing and unclenching trembling fingers: the door to Vincent's office was ajar, and voices were heard from there. If my brother sees me in this state, there will be no questions.

- Gill, I need a crew. - It sounded sharp and furious. It seems that one evening did not go well for me. - Urgently.

“Yes, Your Grace.

“Until I return, no one should know of this… gentleman's visit.

“Of course, Your Grace.

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

- Close the door. I need you to send for Hoggart and to sit in this office with papers on my return ...

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 went up to my room, locked the door and collapsed exhausted on the bed. The ceiling floated before my eyes - this happens when you unconsciously "fall" to the edge, but this happened to me for the first time in many years. This cannot be allowed to happen again.

Marina Eldenbert

Sworn spouses. Golden haze

To readers from Lit-Era, who were with me from the prologue to the last point

All normal ladies sleep at night, and I stomp on the tower. Fortunately, I am far from normal, and even farther from a lady.

"For divination, solitude is necessary."

In Mortenheim, you can walk for hours and not meet anyone. Probably a bedroom, a green living room or a library would do. Nobody will disturb there: especially at night, especially me. But I'm used to doing everything conscientiously.

"You need to climb as high as possible."

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

I wrapped myself tighter in my 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: he allegedly stepped from the tower because of unrequited love for some cruel maiden of our kind. Complete nonsense! Firstly, he fell out of drinking at the victory feast and through an oversight of his comrades, and secondly, there are no ghosts in this part of the castle. Whether it's the dungeon, where the ancestors had a lot of 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 crawled under the hem of my nightgown and dressing gown, pinching my feet unpleasantly: I didn't put on stockings, so I was paying for the rush. Well at least I was smart enough to take an oil lamp, not a candle: otherwise one of the elements, that is, fire, I would have lost on the way. The rest rested safely in the basket.

I wonder how many steps are there? My shadow crawled along the wall, slower and slower with every turn, distorting in patches of mold and chipped potholes. Dust and cobwebs fell on my head every now and then. The staircase ended with a massive rusted door. I pushed it four times, the last one with my feet on the wall, since the corridor is narrow here. Only after that did she give in with a disgusting screech, letting me into the spacious, round area flooded with moonlight. A flock of crows burst from the stone perches with a loud croaking, a cool spring wind struck in the face, and a heap of dry twigs and leaves threw up. If it were not for the condition of the secret of fortune-telling, I would have forced to clean everything here before 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 ritual by heart, so I carefully laid down the blanket, knelt down and put the lamp on the floor, lit a candle from it.

"Each element symbolizes a side of the world."

A candle to the south, a jar 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 earthen plate.

"You will need a silk scarf, on which the initials of the gentleman you are in love with are to be embroidered with scarlet threads."

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

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

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

I put the handkerchief on a plate, generously poured it with wine: my hand trembled. Crimson blots spread across the silk, not at all 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 somehow sad, but fortune-telling required that.

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

I cleared my throat and whispered:

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

I seem to have begun to understand why seclusion is necessary for divination. I haven't felt this idiotic for 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 landing, almost extinguishing the candle, and I moved closer to her.

As soon as the handkerchief burns out, I will find out who is my destiny, - I repeated.

Well at least no one sees me. True, it's enough for me that I see myself. Horror. Nightmare. Shame.

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

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

I hope my sister won't think of climbing in here for the same? However, it is unlikely. This is a fortune-telling about a certain person, and Lavi is very young, she has yet to go out and meet. Besides, she would definitely choose a warmer and cleaner place, more worthy for a lady. If I believed in such nonsense. Who believes in them besides the creators of the magazine?

One idiot named Teresa.

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

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

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

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

"A combination of signs is also possible."

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

When it was full, the flame shrank to a tiny smoldering flame, 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? Living in oblivion? I twisted the bowl just in case. In vain! There were only me and the moon: no cats, crosses or rings. Well, what, actually, to expect from a stupid fortune-teller?

I got up and walked to the edge of the tower, and the wind was quick to hurl a lock of hair across my face. The brother's property stretches over tens of thousands of acres - endless expanses, among which the heart of stone - Mortenheim beats. Soon a new mistress will appear in the castle, Lavinia will definitely not stay too long with girls - she will probably not have a release from suitors, but I will remain here as a poor relative, and everyone will begin to pity me. Everything will begin with whispers and lowered eyes of the servants, with attempts to make my life a little sweeter with cute useless compliments, a little later it will spread to my mother, my brother and everyone else. And then - sooner or later - this pity will kill me.

I spun around and kicked the ash bowl against the wall. Tinkling pitifully, she rolled over, the contents scattering in the wind. There he dear! A candle flew after her, the lamp splashed glass crumbs with hot oil on the stones - and went out.

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

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

I drew on the stone around the earth a pattern of the spell of the armals - 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 a lot of strength, and gave 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 succeed at all.

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

As soon as the pattern was closed with a drop of blood in the center, an ash glow enveloped him. The black crumb stirred like an ant swarm, but I felt the force pouring through me. Forbidden, violent, powerful. The finger throbbed, the blood boiling in his veins, making him gasp with delight. The earth gathered in an inverted loop with rays radiating from it - the armals cross, meaning death and rebirth, under it strange symbols spread in two circles in two circles - strange, unfamiliar. And just below there were clear initials with which I suffered so much during embroidery.

Marina Eldenbert

Sworn spouses. Golden haze

Novel

To readers from Lit-Era, who were with me from the prologue to the last point

All normal ladies sleep at night, and I stomp on the tower. Fortunately, I am far from normal, and even farther from a lady.

"For divination, solitude is necessary."

"You need to climb as high as possible."

I wrapped myself tighter in my shawl, 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: he allegedly stepped from the tower because of unrequited love for some cruel maiden of our kind. Complete nonsense! Firstly, he fell out of drinking at the victory feast and through an oversight of his comrades, and secondly, there are no ghosts in this part of the castle. Whether it's the dungeon, where the ancestors had a lot of 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 ritual by heart, so I carefully laid down the blanket, knelt down and put the lamp on the floor, lit a candle from it.

"Each element symbolizes a side of the world."

A candle to the south, a jar 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 clay plate.

"You will need a silk scarf, on which the initials of the gentleman you are in love with are to be embroidered with scarlet threads."

In love is too strong a word in my case. Although she may be in love, I just don't know exactly how this 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 kissing, blood rushed to my cheeks. It's too late to retreat anyway. I pulled the ill-fated white silk out of the basket. It didn't work out for me with embroidery, however, as well as with playing music, singing and painting, but for the sake of fortune telling I spent a week, worn out three scarves and still finished two letters.

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

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

I cleared my throat and whispered:

- As soon as the scarf burns out, I will find out who is my destiny.

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

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

Well at least no one sees me. True, it's enough for me that I see myself. Horror. Nightmare. Shame.

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

One idiot named Teresa.

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

- As soon as the handkerchief burns out, I will find out who is my destiny, - and set it on fire.

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

"A combination of signs is also possible."

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 quick to hurl a lock of hair across my face. The brother's property stretches over tens of thousands of acres - endless expanses, among which the heart of stone - Mortenheim beats. Soon a new mistress will appear in the castle, Lavinia will definitely not stay too long with girls - she probably will not have an end to the suitors, but I will remain here as a poor relative, and everyone will pity me. Everything will begin with whispers and lowered eyes of the servants, with attempts to make my life a little sweeter with cute useless compliments, a little later it will spread to my mother, my brother and 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. The blood of the necromage, that is, mine.

I put the board down on the bed. For several minutes she looked at her in silence, then still reached for the ring. For some reason, heavy, cool, he burned his palm. The fingers ran blindly over 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. I threw back the lid.

Inside there were two folders - one thicker, red in color, to match the open, crimson jaws of the board. The other 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 — 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 drawing was folded in four and then smoothed out. I put it aside.

Lady Teresa Bigot

It is written in Henri's handwriting - sharp, beautiful, legible. My heart skipped a beat, but it beat dull and somehow every other time.

Age: 27

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

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

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

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

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

Strengths: Perseverance, ability to achieve one's own, toughness. Curiosity.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lady Farrish? Oh yes, Lady Anne.

Difficulties with self-determination. She limits herself quite harshly, does not see a way out of her own self-erected framework, she worries about the inability to reveal and realize her strength.

Quick reference was accompanied by a soulless psychological analysis into several sheets. Apparently, he made notes as we ... um, rapprochement with him.

Reacts sharply to violence, probably was exposed to it in childhood. Most likely, there was constant psychological pressure from the father. The threat of physical violence caused an overly vivid reaction, so the use of force and corporal punishment is possible. It is impossible to break, only to break.

I didn’t feel my hands, and, to be honest, I didn’t feel myself either. Still, she persisted in reading.

Denies her femininity and beauty. Closed in the 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, I read to the end. However, there was no end as such, this "case history" was cut short after our trip to Mortenheim. Probably, after her there was nothing interesting in me. Smart and attentive, you say? The idiotic desire to write in big, clumsy letters on all the sheets with information about me "complete fool" I suppressed with difficulty.

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

My lord,

i'm glad that the assumptions about the girl Bigot came true. This woman is indeed of a certain value, and the blood test that her sister gave me confirmed this. I am enclosing the research results for you so that you can be convinced of everything personally. However, I want to warn you right away that difficulties may arise with it. It does not lend itself to superficial suggestion, and more serious withdrawal can lead to unpredictable consequences. Like her brother and father, she is very categorical, extremely distrustful, harsh. Squeezed when it comes to men. He prefers to while away time in the library, 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 Morten as my first priority - his stubbornness about reform is already becoming dangerous. As for the Bigot girl, I recommend that you do it closer to the next season. 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 suppose I can put some pressure on the Dowager Duchess and maybe even get her as an ally.

All the best, and may Dawn be with us.

By combining the fragments of the seal, it was easy to obtain the coat of arms of the Earl of Addington.

But there was no way to combine what he saw into the familiar picture of the world that had become so familiar and cozy. I was freezing despite the warm July evening. Layers of the setting sun were strewn about the room, the golden hue on the wallpaper seemed ominous.

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

I knew that he received the title for his services to the Crown. But the story of the parents is not. Jeremy Fry served as a bank manager, his wife ran the house and took care of the children until her husband was set up and accused of financial 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 set aside the folded sheets of paper. It was like dissection - when frogs are laid out on a board in front of students and healers and opened with a magical dissection. Henri ... my husband ... Comte de Larne dissected the high society of Engheria with the indifference of a surgeon. Noted weak spots and the dark sides. He knew where to push to get what he wanted and what to play. Most of the dossiers were in the handwriting of the Earl of Addington, some in Henri. Every mark his hand made in the margins made me twitch.

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

“We are sorry to announce the untimely death of Mrs. Ilona Fry. The funeral 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 set the papers aside. My heart sank in my chest, it darkened before my eyes. I threw my head back, because my eyes were scorching as if I had a cold. Did you get sand? It's too windy today.

It's too much today.

But most importantly…

We must run away from here. Immediately.

I hastily stuffed the documents into folders, closed the board. I grabbed the reticule, and at the same moment slammed entrance door: in this house, all sounds are heard so well that the fly will not fly unnoticed. By the way, about the flies - several are now circling under the ceiling, clearly attracting the attention of the cat sitting on the chest of drawers, trying on how it would be more successful to jump to them. He bent down and swung his tail from side to side, his eyes sparkling. The nightmare soared skyward, but missed the chandelier. A thud, a gray lump of bewilderment landed on all four paws, shook his head and crawled under the bed - to experience his shame.

I resisted the urge to follow him.

Too late.

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

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

Jerome said you came recently. When Louise ...

Before my eyes twitched wallpaper in a flower and door knob... A strange dance danced behind him in the darkness of the corridor, 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 that there is nothing to breathe.

You didn't tell me that you love chess.

His smile faded, his eyes turned into ice of gold.

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

I do not know this person. I never knew.

What kind of demon were you doing in my office?

I was shaken, thrown up by his feelings, and the bracelet seemed to flood the molten metal. Damn it! Powerless rage ran through my veins like fire, the pounding of my heart echoed throughout my body, making me tremble with each beat. My head was spinning, I just in case leaned against the wall. On top of that, I felt sick. That's how I knew not to drink this demon coffee!

Curiosity tortured me.

Curiosity is not always appropriate. - Henri stepped forward, held out his hand: - Give it to me. Now.

I squeezed my fingers on the board so hard that it snapped. 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, how difficult it will be to kill my brother? That he has an amazing talent for gathering information? That I remember too clearly the dawn on the roof of Mortenheim, the moon moon in his hands, the sun tangled in the strands darkened by the water? The proposal to start all over again, the demon dress still hanging in a torn rag in the closet, his promise to never let go of my hand and mind-blowing tenderness?

That all this is a lie?

Trust is fragile, Comte de Larne. That's what you said yourself.

I threw the board at his feet, it split into two halves with a nasty crunch, and the papers flew across the carpet. The pain slashed like a festering wound, pain filled with anger.

Eye to eye, too eerie to bear.

How did you break the protection?

By the power of thought.

A sharp blow to the wall with a fist deafened. A crunching, crumbly dust shot up next to my face. I jumped to the side, the darkness blazing inside spread like spilled ink, the world faded and shrank to a point, and returned blindingly dark. The bedroom has become a mass of shadows, darkness and cold. I felt the edge torn, the very essence of death, which became akin to during training. She drank me, I drank her, the beating of two hearts died away, and then exploded with a deafening thump. Silver spider webs enveloped in an impenetrable cocoon, darkness fell from his fingers, penetrating the room in thin tentacles. The sun ice emanating from Anri dug needles into the skin. The power of the heandame swirled in a shimmering haze and blinded with radiance in his eyes.

Don't come near, ”I muttered tightly as he stepped toward me. - Back!

Henri swore softly: his gaze pierced the seal lying on the bed.

Have you seen Elger ?!

I laughed - loudly, hysterically, evil. I didn't want to sprinkle with platitudes, but nothing smarter: "It's none of your business" - did not occur to my head. In general, little came to her now.

You're right, I didn't have a good relationship with my father. And I was not ready for love.

A letter from the Earl of Addington is addressed to Simon.

What are you doing ?!

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

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

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

So I was your assignment? Really.

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

Bitterness. Thin and nasty, like froth on milk. I have never liked hot milk because of this sticky rubbish gathering on the surface - the feeling that you are chewing on a wet cobweb. The tears that came to 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 did not move, and then I hit. The viscous threads of darkness torn from his fingers rushed towards Anri. I put all my strength into the demons, but the mist absorbed the ink splash to the last drop. I beat again and again - knowing that the fragile at first glance golden haze would dispel magic without a trace. She beat me desperately, madly, evil. Deadly black lashes dissolve before our eyes, blots flew to the sides, leaving marks of decay on the floor and wallpaper.

You only make yourself worse.

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

I sighed convulsively: magic filled me like water from an unattended jug - swiftly, inevitably, but useless. Time stood still, the strength was beating 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 shining haze and those abnormal eyes.

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

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

Henri pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket, pulled his hand, and tiny specks of blood immediately appeared through the white silk. The gold surrounding him was slowly melting, and I looked tensely at the dent in the wall, from which cracks were spreading. I jerked when he squeezed my shoulders, dragged me forcibly to the bed and made me sit down.

Eric gave you the ring?

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

Is this an interrogation?

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 my brother believed him. Louise and Rabi and mother. Henri got as close to us as no one else could. All that was needed was to powder the brains of one idiot. And what would he be assigned next? Complete Ethan's endeavor?

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 am confused and give up.

I wanted to protect you - it's the easiest way to tell the truth. - He came to me in a dream. Threatened. I remembered what the haze had done to you, and realized that I could not allow this to happen again.

Does your girlfriend know about Elger?

No. I said that we had an argument.

So there were no fittings.

You are amazingly quick-witted!

Don't choke on sarcasm. - He came close, and I convulsively grabbed the coverlet. “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 completely stupid?

Cynical, biting, backhand. So it caught my breath for a moment.

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

The dossier is not always true. - Henri didn’t speak, but growled, but it took me a lot of effort to stay put. “Yours also says that you have brains.

I jerked as if from a slap in the face.

You wrote it yourself.

What did he tell you?

He promised to kill you, ”I croaked. “I hope, unlike you, he keeps his promises.

Now Henri staggered back. A cold smile touched the white lips:

We will check it as soon as possible.

He turned away and walked over to the bedside table to pour himself water, while I rushed forward. The only opportunity, a brief moment, and it was almost possible - I was in the corridor when he intercepted me. He pulled him back with a jerk, pushed him hard against the wall.

You won't leave the house until we finish talking.

And then I'll go out?

Bad enough?

Absolutely. I set my family up. With the same success it was possible to bring a poisonous sand snake to Mortenheim and release it in his brother's rooms.

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

Anri's fingers dug into his shoulders, he tore me off the wall and shook me: my head jerked back. I jerked out of his hands - over and over, pounding frantically on his chest, but it was like pounding on stone walls... Once I even managed to slap a slap in the face - the nails left deep bloody grooves on the swarthy cheek. Anri instantly grabbed my wrists, squeezed hard, painfully. I screamed and struck with streams of deep darkness.

A dazzling flash of gold consumed the ink lashes, lashed in the eyes, enveloped in a scalding cocoon. Henri threw me away, but not fast enough. The body was on fire: a flame inside, a flame outside, as if I had swallowed a deadly burning poison from a tincture of nael. Probably, this is how people felt when they went to the stake in the Dark Times. Darkness oozed from open palms, as if I were bleeding, powerless and pitiful: over my dress, under my feet.

I bumped into the nightstand, the thin crunch of the decanter bursting on the nightstand broke off with a ringing silence. Water and debris splashed in different directions, the haze was rapidly melting. I staggered, caught my husband's gaze - wild, inhuman, terrible. The bracelet on his wrist turned black and seemed to have turned into rusty wire, the sharp stings of which dug into the skin. Henri rushed to 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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