“More than one way to trace the path of a liar.” He pulls his hand out of his pocket. The crystal chandelier overhead gives dim light, and I cannot see what he has in his fist. He brings it to his mouth, blowing out. White powder, fine as chalk dust, billows and surrounds my head. I breathe it in and cough. It tastes like the harsh soap my mother used to wash the cleaning rags.

“Let me by, or I swear I’ll slit your throat.” My panic is rising. There is no safe way out of this situation. Either I fight my way free and am jailed for attacking a nobleman or . . . he does whatever he has planned.

I’ll take prison.

But how could I have been so wrong about him? I liked him. He never felt threatening.

“What do you know about my parents?” His voice pierces through me, and it’s as though I can feel it, tugging outward on the tender spot at the hollow of my neck.

“Nothing! Other than that they raised a madman.”

“Whom do you work for?”

“I work for my cousin Jacky Boy in the kitchen, you daft wretch.”

“I thought you were a student.”

“I am a student! How do you think I survive in this spirit-blasted city?”

“How did you get into the boarding school then, a simple girl coming from the colonies?”

“My father is a professor there, and I threatened to tell his wife about me if he didn’t secure my admission after I passed all the tests.” I gasp, bringing my free hand to my mouth. I’ve told no one this; not even Mama knows how I really earned my place here.

“And you practice no arts, Hallin or Cromberg?”

“I don’t understand what that question even means.” I am horrified and trembling, unsure what has come over me. “Please let me leave.” I cannot believe what I’ve admitted to. My head feels slick and slippery, like a path has formed between my brain and my tongue. I want nothing else sliding free.

He taps his fingers together as though he’s trying to divine more than my words have told him. “Why are you here?”

“Because you ordered food and I work in the kitchen!”

“Someone is playing us for fools,” he mutters. His hand snakes out and before I can raise the knife, he pulls something from my bun. Between his fingers is a single black feather.

How was that in my hair? I’ve washed it since the bird attack.

Finn holds it over a candle on the small table next to the door, and instead of lighting on fire, it evaporates in a puff of pale smoke. He looks back at me and sighs, a finger placed thoughtfully over his lips. “I’m sorry. I mean you no harm. You obviously have no part in this. My apologies for a less-than-graceful strategy. But I wonder . . .”

Abruptly standing straight, he brushes past me and leaves the scents of candle smoke and spicy cloves in his wake. The door! I dart forward but the doorknob burns my hand. I yank it back, hissing.

“Not yet, Jessamin. I need you to do something for me.”

I let out every curse I know in my own tongue, most of which revolve around the shriveling death of his manhood. I rip off my white cap and wrap it around the doorknob as a buffer, but it’s still too hot. Blowing on my burned fingers, I turn around to find Finn standing much too close. His dark eyes are locked on to mine and behind them is a frantic light—madness, anger, lust, I cannot distinguish. I am frozen between wanting to lean closer and wanting to lean away.

“I still have the knife.” My voice trembles.

“No, you don’t.”

I look down. My hands, both burned and unharmed, are empty.

“It will be fine.” He takes a deep breath, and I frown, wondering which of us he is trying to reassure. “It will be fine,” he repeats. “Pull a card from this deck, and you may go.”

I look down to see that, where his hands had been as empty as mine, he now holds a deck of cards. The backs are painted a uniform midnight blue with golden stars, and though they’re not worn, they seem old.

He cannot be serious.

“A card trick? You lured me up here and locked me in your chambers to perform a card trick?”

The smile he gives me lacks both warmth and humor. “Please,” he says through gritted teeth. “A single card. I must be sure.”

I fold my arms and lean back against the door to put more space between us. He’s so close, too close, and I am painfully aware of how little clothing he’s wearing. If anyone were to walk in on us, my reputation would be ruined.

I will not humor him. “I refuse.”

“Just one card and you are free to go, everything that has been said between us this night forgotten.” He raises an eyebrow in challenge, and I scowl. He now holds my dearest secret—the truth about my father that not even Jacky Boy knows. I couldn’t bear it if the school knew I blackmailed my way in. Though I am at the top of my classes, they would never again take me seriously. They hardly do so now.

“Just one card”—he knows he has me—“and you walk out the door and never see me again.”

I square my shoulders. “Is that a promise?”

“Take a card.”

Gritting my teeth, I pluck a single card from the deck. I don’t break eye contact. “Your card,” I snap.

I hold it up, and he staggers back as though I’ve dealt him a physical blow. The rest of the cards fall from his hands and whisper down to the carpet.

“Wretched fates,” he whispers. “I am sorrier than I can tell you.”