but he’ll join you at lunch.”
“What’s that?” I ask, pointing to the smokestacks.
“Power plant. It hosts the grids for the estate and the Icebox,” Jax says.
“That’s where you store the solar energy you collect?”
“It’s a bit more complicated than that. We utilize a hybrid photovoltaic system with a coal-based generator that—”
“So basically it’s where the power comes from?” Erik stops him.
“Yeah,” Jax says with a laugh. We follow him into the main building, trailing behind as he chatters about the locations of toilets and how to call a servant. But I’m mesmerized by the statues that lurk in every corner and the detailed portraits that hang from the carved wooden panels. Tapestry after tapestry with precise, intricate embroidery chills my blood. There are faces everywhere, frozen in time, watching me as I enter the house. Between the patterns and colors and ornamentation, my head begins to hurt. The assembly room contains a variety of seating choices, arranged in clusters. Against the far wall, a tall hearth, at least twice my height, lords over the room. My feet sink into the plush, woven rug as I melt into a sofa. The sofa is very elegant and very small, and I perch on it uncomfortably. Jax excuses himself, leaving the three of us alone in the grand room.
“Drink?” Erik asks, lifting a crystal decanter toward us.
“No, thank you,” Jost says, and his formality irks me. Will we ever move past this awkwardness between the two of them?
“Not at the moment,” I tell Erik.
“If it’s poisoned, at least you’ll be rid of me.” Erik shrugs, nonplussed by our refusal, pouring a bit of the amber liquid into a tumbler. He shifts back, draping his arm around the sofa and throwing a leg across the seat. He looks at ease in this setting, not at all put off by the oppressive grandeur of our surroundings.
“So should we take a look around?” Erik asks a few minutes later, depositing his empty glass on the table.
I scoot a coaster under it, afraid to mar the pristine wood. Something tells me this Kincaid fellow would notice.
“This place has to be crawling with security,” Jost points out. “Maybe we should wait a day or two before we label ourselves troublemakers.”
With their cards on the table, the brothers glare at each other and then inevitably turn to me—tie-breaker extraordinaire.
“Jost is right,” I agree, although I hate to take sides. “And they’re probably listening to us now. I bet we wouldn’t get far.”
“Well that only leaves the elephant in the room then,” Erik says. “Your mom.”
Suddenly I want to jump up and go exploring. Anything to avoid this conversation, but I can’t ignore it forever. “So my mom’s a Remnant.”
It’s liberating to say it out loud, as though I’ve taken the first step in accepting the fact.
“Yes, but what is a Remnant exactly?” Jost asks. “How did the Guild do this?”
“I interacted with them. They’re as smart as we are, maybe even more cunning, like they’ve been tuned into some primal frequency,” Erik says.
“But how?” Jost’s question feels more desperate this time, and I think of his wife.
“We know the Guild can remap and alter. They did it to Enora,” I remind him, taking his hand.
“They seem to have perfected their technique,” Jost mutters.
I frown. He’s right. Enora’s alteration backfired horribly, resulting in her suicide, but the Remnants seem fully functional. “Listen, there’s something I haven’t told you,” I whisper. I relay the story of the clear cubes tucked away in storage at the Coventry.
“What do you think they are?” Jost asks.
“Souls,” I say without hesitation. “Dante told us they remove the Remnants’ souls, and the strands I found were too thin to be full people. I knew that then, but Loricel told me that people who die before they’re ripped lose part of their strand. I think it’s the key to understanding this. Spinsters rip people so the Guild can reuse them.”
“So they separate the soul from the body?” Jost muses. “But why? It seems like a lot of work for no good reason.”
“Take Enora. They didn’t remove her soul, so it didn’t work.”
“But why wouldn’t they remove Enora’s soul if it was going to cause a problem?”
“I can’t say exactly, but if I had to guess I think it comes back to something Loricel told me. Cormac was scared to do it to me. That’s why they tested it on Enora, and when it backfired, they couldn’t be sure I wouldn’t have a similar reaction,” I tell them.
“But they were planning to map you,” Erik says.
“No,” I say slowly as the pieces start to fit together. “They’d already mapped me. Cormac was positive they could splice my skill set into another Spinster, someone ready and willing to do what they asked. Someone who wouldn’t reject the manipulation.”
“Who?” Jost asks.
“My guess?” Erik says. He pours another drink and doesn’t meet our eyes. “Pryana. She’s as power hungry as Maela, but easier to control. That must have been why she was there that night.”
I’d forgotten Pryana was there on the night of our escape. Her presence had seemed so trivial. Pryana blamed me for her sister’s death after Maela, the manipulative Spinster in charge of our training, made an example of my refusal to rip a thread from Arras. Maela took out an entire academy instead, Pryana’s sister included, and ever since, Pryana had been eager to rise to a position of power over me. Of course she’s the Spinster Cormac would choose for the experiment. He enjoys making me squirm.
“But if the technology hadn’t worked, they’d have jeopardized you and her,” Jost says.
“They weren’t going to use me,” I remind him. “They were going to take Loricel’s skills. If they did that, they wouldn’t have to manipulate me much, only enough to make me Cormac’s perfect bride.”
“You know, I have to feel a little sorry for Cormac,” Jost says. “You are quite the catch.”
Erik raises his glass and says, “I’ll drink to that.”
For a second they grin at each other, but Jost’s smile slips first.
“How would they have done this? Who has the ability to alter a person’s personality and memories? Their skills?”
“Someone at one of the other Coventries,” I guess. “Loricel told me she once assisted with the memory wipe of the entire population of Arras for the Guild, which means others helped.”
“It’s hard enough to keep the entire Western Coventry in line. I can’t imagine how they managed it elsewhere,” Erik says.
“Maybe it’s not Spinsters,” I say. The memory of the mapping session niggles at my mind. It was overseen by a doctor. Loricel wasn’t present at all.
“Kincaid better have answers,” Erik mutters.
“And I promise you I do,” an airy voice proclaims. The man appears out of nowhere, but behind him I spy an elevator door sliding closed. As soon as it shuts, the panel blends in with the carved wooden wall. “But your guesses aren’t bad. You’re close, children.”
I ignore the “children” comment. As one of the Coventry’s newest recruits, I’ve dealt with my fair share of simpering adults. Instead I stand in greeting. “Kincaid, I presume.”
“Dear girl, you presume correctly!” His voice peaks, and Kincaid claps his hands in delight. He’s wearing a smoking jacket, tied at the waist, and what appear to be velvet house slippers. We’re not the only ones dressed down for the occasion.
“Care to tell us which part we were close on?” Erik asks, not bothering to straighten up.
Kincaid’s taut features slacken when he takes in Erik’s overly comfortable appearance, and I frown in disapproval. Erik gets the message and sits up.
“All in good time,” Kincaid assures us. He extends his arm to me. “But first, strangers must become friends.”
