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Screams begged me to stop, told me to help, and Russo’s smug smile grew. “Unhand me, sir,” he mock-begged. “Can’t you see we have a blaze to douse!”
I yanked him nose to nose. “If it weren’t for these people, I’d throw you into those flames.” I shoved him back and turned away. Rage threatened to boil over. I couldn’t be here, with him, or I’d do something like assault a police officer, and I had to get back to Devere.
I stumbled into a man, and he asked, “Do you know where the toymaker’s son is?”
“No,” I mumbled. Devere’s home, his life, had been reduced to ash. All I could think about was how this would ruin him.
“A good thing he wasn’t home,” the man said.
Theonlygood to come from this was the fact he’d been with me.
Now I had to return to him with the news that his life here was over.
I walked back to the inn and up the stairs, numb all over. He’d be distraught, lost, but I’d keep him safe. Whatever he needed, I’d help him. Nobody would think anything of my offering to help; it was the right thing to do. Together, we’d leave. I had my agency. We’d make it work in Massalia.
He wouldn’t see it now, but the toy store’s destruction might be the best thing for him. He was no longer tied to this wretched town.
I stopped at my door and ruffled the ash from my hair. The smell of smoke wafted around me. He’d be inside, waiting for news… and I was about to break his heart.
For now, it would have to be enough that he’d survived.
I steeled my heart and opened the door. “Devere, I’m sorry. I—”
He wasn’t here. I checked behind the screen, but there was no sign of him.
He’d left, despite saying he’d wait.
Then he had to know what had happened. I’d probably missed him in the chaos. He’d come back. He had nowhere else to go. I drifted to the desk, not seeing the books and the contents, my thoughts muffled from shock. I blinked unshed tears away.
The beetle sat on my desk—the same damn beetle that had an uncanny knack for appearing during the direst of moments, like a bad omen. The same beetle that had burrowed into Lord Rochefort’s neck. I hadn’t seen it since, but there it was, carapace gleaming.
How had it gotten here? Devere? But how had he found it… unless hehadbeen at the mansion that night?
No, that was absurd. Russo’s ridiculous theories about Devere were a worthless waste of time, driven by the constable’s bigoted hate.
I poked at the beetle, expecting it to buzz. It didn’t move. It seemed… different, as though some of the shine had faded from its body.
Laughter drew my gaze to the window. I parted the drapes and peered down onto the street. A couple wandered away, arm in arm, returning home after dousing the flames.
Where was Devere?
His absence didn’t feel right. He’d said he’d stay.
What if he’d heard the commotion, ventured outside, seen his store burning, and Russo had found him?
“Dammit.” I hurried from the room again, returned to the frigid early morning air, and walked the streets around the store and the inn, searching for any sign of Devere or Russo. Soon, my boots were sodden with ice water and my face was numb from the cold. Behind some windows, Minerva’s townsfolk stirred awake. They’d soon learn that the iconic toy store was gone.
The single lamp above the gentlemen’s club door still glowed.
I knocked, shivering. Chatter and piano sounded from inside, but in the cold, with my heart as numb as the rest of me, it didn’t sound real. Perhaps Devere had come here to see his lady friend? At this point, I didn’t care where he was or who he was with, just that he wasn’t hurt and alone in the dark.
The door opened and the same doorman as before peered down his nose.
I stepped up to enter, but the doorman shoved me. “Not in your current state of disarray, sir.”
I glanced down at myself. My evening clothes hung askew. Ash stained my bloody shirt. “Ah yes, well, there was a fire. I’m looking for a friend—”
He slammed the door shut, jolting me back down the steps.
