A Thorny Wildflower

That very night — the night Lyft had promised to arrange a meeting with the Marchioness of Derian — I climbed into a carriage with him. I had not expected to be granted an audience with a woman of her stature on the same day; Lyft and the Marchioness were apparently far closer than I had imagined.

When we alighted before a grand manor that put the modest villa where I was staying to shame, I felt myself shrink a little. It was so lavish I could have believed it was the Imperial Palace itself, and the servants coming and going numbered in the dozens.

Lyft strode through the hall that led from the entrance to the grand staircase as if he knew every inch of the place. I hurried after him, taking quick steps so as not to lose him. I had assumed we would be shown to a drawing room, but the servant led us instead to the Marchioness's private chambers.

Given the late hour, the Marchioness of Derian sat on a sofa in a light robe, sipping tea. After a moment she glanced up and greeted Lyft with evident pleasure.

"Count Cayder. Do come in. I never thought I'd see the day you'd come calling on me at such an hour."

"Forgive the intrusion, Marchioness."

Lyft approached with impeccable courtesy, dropped to one knee, and pressed a kiss to the Marchioness of Derian's right hand. She received the gesture as a matter of course. When she made to rise from her seat, Lyft took her hand to assist her, and she approached me at a leisurely pace on his arm.

Unsure of what was expected of me, I kept my head slightly bowed, watching the toes of her slippers appear and vanish beneath the hem of her crimson robe. Then her clear, ringing voice sounded from where she had come to a stop before me.

"Won't you lift your head?"

I looked up. The Marchioness of Derian was studying me with a curious expression.

A petite, elegant beauty with deep green eyes — that was my first impression of her. Had it not been for the silver naturally threading her dark hair, I would never have guessed she had entered her fifties; she had the face of a woman far younger. She examined my face at length with those keen, glittering green eyes, then spoke.

"I'd believe you weren't even related. You don't look a thing alike."

It was something I had heard all my life, and yet my face burned. Dorothy, with her bright gold hair and red lips, had always been called a vivid beauty. I, taking after our father, had unremarkable brown hair. I was taller than Dorothy besides, and had grown thoroughly sick of people asking whether we were even full sisters.

Ordinarily I would have snapped that it was rude. Given who I was dealing with, I merely lowered my eyes. I had come to ask for her help. Antagonizing her would serve me nothing.

The Marchioness of Derian lost interest almost at once. She turned away, murmuring one more remark.

"Let's hope what's on the inside is just as different."

While I was still turning the words over, she settled back onto the sofa. She lifted her teacup and addressed Lyft with an air of mild impatience.

"Very well. I'll arrange a gathering that girl can attend. An invitation will be sent to Daisy House shortly."

"You have my thanks, my lady."

"On the condition that you accompany her, Count."

"...Me, my lady?"

"Surely you weren't planning to send that girl out alone to a function held in my name?"

"But Marchioness, His Highness instructed that this be conducted in secret—"

Lyft's voice was strained with difficulty, but the Marchioness of Derian only laughed, as if the whole thing delighted her.

"Secret? Count, do you honestly believe such a thing exists in Caliwood?"

"There is nothing to be gained by making our connection public."

"On the contrary. It would be safer to make the association overt. Why not play at being lovers, Count?"

"My lady."

"It's all a transparent charade anyway. In this sort of game, the more shameless party wins."

With that final remark, the Marchioness of Derian drained her tea as if to signal she would hear no more. She set down the empty cup and even waved a hand, declaring she meant to rest. Even Lyft could find nothing further to say.

He bowed to the Marchioness, turned, and flicked a glance at me to follow. I had stood there like a potted plant, contributing nothing — but their conversation was over, and so, it seemed, was my part. All I had to do now was trail quietly after Lyft, just as I had on the way in.

I understood that I was supposed to pretend I hadn't noticed how thoroughly I — and my sister — had been insulted in a conversation from which we had been entirely excluded. But I simply could not make my feet move.

I bowed my head toward the Marchioness of Derian, who had not so much as glanced my way, and spoke.

"Marchioness of Derian. Allow me to offer my thanks in my sister Dorothy's place. I am grateful for your help."

Lyft's brow furrowed. Displeasure was written in his tightly pressed lips and the hard line of his jaw. The Marchioness of Derian, caught off guard by the sudden address, looked equally startled. She looked as though she had been shocked to discover I was capable of speech.

Whether she was angry that I had spoken without leave, or whether she had read the discomfort I had tried to bury beneath the polite thanks, her face went cold and still.

"Now and then one meets a fool who cannot tell spirit from insolence."

The rumor that she held even the empire's politics in the palm of her hand was clearly no exaggeration. The presence radiating from that small frame was formidable. I bit the inside of my lip and bowed my head. I had to apologize. However fiercely the fire raged inside me, I was the one who needed her help. I squeezed my eyes shut and was about to part my lips when her voice came again.

I lifted my head and found the Marchioness smiling faintly, the expression touching her eyes. She turned away almost at once, so I could not read what the smile meant — but she did not seem angry.

I wanted to say more, but Lyft stepped in front of me and brought the audience to a hasty close.

"We shall take our leave. Forgive us for the many impositions, my lady."

Then he took hold of my wrist and led me out of the Marchioness's chambers. I was half-dragged from the Derian manor. Only when we reached the carriage could I wrench my hand free of his grip.

I clutched my throbbing wrist and glared at him. Lyft spoke in a low, warning voice.

"It would have been better not to address the Marchioness."

"It would have been better not to bring me here at all, I should think."

"I would not have, had the Marchioness not wished to see you herself."

"I should have said what an honor it was, then. That she wanted to look at someone like me."

When I refused to back down, Lyft raked a hand roughly through his bangs. Perhaps conscious of the Derian household servants who had come out to see the guests off, he opened the carriage door and gestured.

"Get in, for now."

I gripped the door handle and climbed in by myself. The wrist he had seized still throbbed, but I gave no sign of it, fixing my gaze on the window as I sat. Lyft took the seat opposite, and the carriage set off in silence.

We traveled for some time while I ignored the gaze I could feel on my profile. Then Lyft spoke again, his voice considerably milder.

"You would do well to be more careful with your words and conduct from now on. You may not get off so lightly as you did today."

"I wonder if I'll manage. Being, as I am, a fool who doesn't know Caliwood etiquette."

"I am telling you that you could be putting yourself in danger."

"Why? Will I be murdered like Dorothy, too?"

I took my eyes from the window and looked Lyft straight in the face as I asked. He did not answer. He only looked at me. In the dim carriage, lit by a small lamp, his eyes gleamed a yellow more vivid than the flame itself.

Perhaps that silence was answer enough.

If the Imperial Direct Police Bureau was investigating in secret, and if the Crown Prince's own aunt was lending her aid, then people of unimaginably high station might well be involved.

So what was I supposed to do, then? Live as though I were already dead, if I didn't want to die like my sister?

If that had been the idea, I would never have accepted Lyft's proposal in the first place. I had already made up my mind. Until I brought Dorothy home to the Dvorden Barony, I would neither weep nor yield.

I held Lyft's gaze until the meaning in my silence had time to reach him. Whether he was unnerved or simply worn down by the unblinking stare I fixed on him, Lyft let out a shallow sigh.

"I find myself worried about what you'll do when you meet Viscount Cecilia."

"I won't lunge for his throat the moment I see him, so you can stop worrying."

"Wring his neck?"

"You think I couldn't?"

At that moment, I felt I could have put a hole through the bastard's forehead. But Lyft seemed to take it for bluster. He let out a short, dismissive laugh. The woman he knew was a helpless country miss who burst into tears at the drop of a hat. Of course my words would strike him as absurd.

I had no wish to bicker with Lyft any further, so I turned my gaze back to the window. He did not speak again.

The next day, the butler, Noel, brought me Countess Heinrich's reply.

I was dressing to be ready in time, with Marianne assisting, when I noticed her expression was odd. She stood holding my hat with no apparent intention of handing it over.

"What's wrong?"

"It would be better if you did not wear the hat, my lady."

The hat in her hands was a ladies' fedora of black velvet.