Violet Shadows

23

Burning was the wrong word for it. Because what consumed staggered to a deafening roar. Her hand clamped tight around the chalice as she set it upon the railing, rational rippling through the pain, and it slipped from her hands and into the ocean. It was like a worm was being dug into her head—she knew this feeling, had abandoned it months ago—and so she grinded her teeth in resistance, but that made everything worse.

"Mistress Trevett?" Felix said, concerned. He set his chalice down and approached. "What's wrong?"

"It's—loud," She choked, the pressure shifting inside like two plates overlapped with every plucked split of the harp or screech of a violin. Her head pounded, stars flashing overhead like streaming comets. She could hardly keep upright, pressing her one hand to her brows in worthless comfort.

Felix took her other arm with a hard grip, leaving her steady. "Let's get you somewhere quieter."

The entire impossible trek was no easy feat. She shut her eyes against the pain to no avail, and Felix's grip was the only thing heaving her upright, staggering her through the crowds. She felt perfectly poised to collapse when moments ago she was fine. What was this? What was going on?

They rounded far too many corners that made the world spin—just where was he taking her? The night breeze was gone, and it smelled of cigars. "Sir Felix," She said, trying to find her way around the monstrosity of the boat, "Where are we going?"

"A drawing room." He answered, dipping underneath a wooden arch. "Then you can—"

They slammed directly into someone.

Christine staggered back in surprise, colliding against a wall before someone caught her smoothly. Her pulse stammered. She could barely see. Steps uneven, she stumbled until finding herself balanced again with slight embarrassment. And the support. "Thank you," She mumbled at whoever caught her, even as the whiplash of the fall ingrained a burning in her head.

Felix, unfortunately, was left in pieces on the floor.

He rose, swiftly swiping whatever crease had wrinkled his waistcoat. "I think an apology for such a rude entrance would suffice at the moment."

"I would," A low, polished voice that she did not recognize answered, bare fingers holding her upright at her back. "But it seems like this lady promised me a dance. I'm afraid I won't have time to apologize."

When? Christine's entire night was spent with Felix. Had Nicol sent this person to fetch her? He could have come himself. She stopped short trying to fill in her own questions. Something else must have been going on.

In the wake moonlight, she could see Felix scowling at her catcher. "Do you know this fellow, Mistress Trevett?"

She could barely see his face distilled in the dark, and squinting made her head pound harder. "Actually—"

"What," The man interrupted, voice brimming with self-importance, "You think I'd just waltz in here without knowing personally Mistress Trevett?" He gave Christine a friendly squeeze as if to say I'm doing exactly that.

"The master of the house entrusted her to me. What's your name, anyways? I haven't seen you before." Felix looked as if suspicions guided his vile, as they were good suspicions or bad ones—but either cause left him wary.

"Sir Felix," Christine managed, feeling the reverberations in her head as if someone were sloshing around in it. "He means no harm."

The man grinned at the defense. "I've been everyone, actually, you just haven't been paying much attention." The low hum of the heaving boat battled with the agitated glare Felix branded across Christine's catcher in the awkward silence that followed. She managed to clear her eyes in the beats of silence, suffering a roaring lull that reached her ears, but caught a dim glimmer of gray eyes shades darker than his light skin. Even so, he hardly seemed dangerous.