Page 49
“No, I’m just… going to ask Grace for some more books.” Fia plastered a too-bright smile on her face, slipping away before Penbrook decided to come with her.
She didn’t want to tell him what she’d read and worry him over something that might not even be true. As with any sort of research, she needed to review multiple sources for her findings to have any validity, and Grace was bound to have more volumes she could dig through. Some that would be more useful.
Fia wound her way past a rack of lace-trimmed, silk-corseted dresses that were timelessly beautiful, a trunk heaped full of sheet music, and a harp with golden strings that played a few lonely notes, aching for notice. Fia patted the head of the small raccoon figurine Grace had long ago named the Duke, who Mr. Lu used to hide in different places around Miscellany for Grace and Fia to find when they were younger.
Near the front of the shop, she spotted Grace, who was busy enthusiastically detailing the long history of a porcelain tea set that had somehow found its way here from the Stardrop Isles. Knowing her friend as she did, Fia retreated instead of approaching. There was no telling how long Grace would be once she got started talking.
Hoping her friend wouldn’t mind if she gathered another stack of books, Fia ducked behind the counter and pored over the spines—without squinting. She would definitely be acquiring a pair of glasses of her own when all this was over.
When it was happily over.
She could almost hear her mother snort at her wishful thought, the way she’d done when she saw Fia with her nose in a fairy tale book.
“That’s the only place you’ll find a happily ever after,” her mother had said more than once, more softly than she made other declarations.
All the same, it hurt knowing her mother thought Fia would wind up with an unenthused heart the same as her own—or worse, one that would be left completely broken.
“I’m happy now,” Fia had replied, because she had been, more or less.
She’d had school and Grace and her books. At the time, she’d figured her simple life would stretch on and on, and she’d take the small moments she had at her mother’s side, when they talked of magic and Fia learned the craft of spellwriting. She’d enjoy the brief visits with her father, when he told her of his adventures on the Belladonna and showed her a map of all the places the ship had taken him.
“Now isn’t forever,” her mother had said, reinforcing her point that happiness wasn’t fated to last. Probably thinking she was protecting Fia, so she didn’t face anything like her own disappointments, not realizing she was wounding her daughter instead.
And now, the spellshop her responsibility alone, Fia knew her simple life had been as temporary as one of Penbrook’s illusions. Her mother was gone, her father all but gone.
She didn’t want Penbrook to be next.
“He won’t be,” she murmured, moving to the next set of shelves, where stacks of newssheets sat in tidy piles, organized by date and publication.
So consumed by researching curses and how to break them, Fia had almost forgotten the other reason she’d come to Miscellany—to see if there was any mention of Penbrook and Andromeda in the gossip columns. It was smart, really, to know more about the person she’d let live under her roof, and to know who he associated with. Obviously, that was the only reason she was curious.
Grace was still talking about the tea set, showing off one of the dainty star-painted cups, and Penbrook remained out of sight among the jumble of antiques. Still, Fia edged cautiously forward, shoulders pinched up around her ears. Her fingers traced along the papers on the top of a random stack, and luckily, the more recent editions were the ones on display, but she wasn’t interested in the news from Montmire. Glancing down at the lower shelves, she passed over the Silten Sentinel and the Belshore Times, and then, craning her neck, she spotted the Fantillian Fanfare.
Rising to her toes, she began thumbing through the papers, going back a few weeks, before Penbrook had come to Trivoris. A number of headlines caught her attention—Unqualified Illusionist Streaks Sunset Green, Montague Heiress Smashes Pearls for Potions—and she found herself sucked into some of the articles, rolling her eyes at the completely over-the-top reporting before reminding herself to focus on the task at hand.
She’d just about convinced herself there wasn’t anything of note to find and had begun fanning through the papers when a single word flashed quickly by.
Madbury.
Fia had to riffle back to find the article, and a grin sneaked across her face. She was sure she was about to read another piece as silly as the ones she’d skimmed before.
But the headline wiped away her smile.
NEVER TRUST A MADBURY
Yet, she had.
It might not even be about him, Fia told herself. He had six siblings, any one of whom might be found at the heart of the story. Even more likely, the headline referred to Gerard Madbury, who had once flushed with embarrassment instead of pride when Penbrook earnestly presented an illustration to Lady Archlight, hoping for his father’s favor.
Warily, Fia read on.
FANTILLIAN FANFARE
NEVER TRUST A MADBURY
BY KATRONA VANDENBOSCH
As autumn sweeps across Orium, leaves are changing—and so are hearts. Once expected to be the event of the season, the anticipated wedding between the ever-charming Andromeda Dahl and the mysteriously aloof Penbrook Madbury ended in heartbreak. While dear Andromeda awaited the arrival of her betrothed at the romantic Vella Cathedral—which was beautifully decorated with uncountable candles so that the light winked like flickering gold—rumor has it Penbrook had already fled Fantillian.
