“But of course! What sort of father would I be to deprive you of your passion?”

The sort of father who’d have his daughter murdered.

“Go, look. Please! Your grandmother made the selections herself, and I assure you, she spared no expense.”

I lurched in the direction of the chests, my feet feeling heavy as bricks. Half expecting to be incinerated, I cautiously touched one of them, but the wood was smooth and cool beneath my fingers.

“Perhaps you might play for us on this joyous occasion, my lady.”

My father’s words made no sense to me, but when I turned my head, I realized they’d been directed at Marc’s mother.

“Not today,” the Comtesse replied. Her voice was steady, but the trembling orb of light above her betrayed her fear.

“Shame.” My father’s smile was all teeth. “I well remember the days when you used to entertain at parties, though it seems a lifetime ago. Such a beautiful thing to possess.” His eyes shifted to Marc’s father. “The gift of music.”

The Comte’s face gleamed with fury, because that wasn’t at all what my father had meant. But as Duke, my father outranked him, so the Comte could say nothing. How many lives have my family raked their claws across? I wondered. How many have suffered, how many have died, because of us?

“Aren’t you going to look, Pénélope?”

His attention had shifted back to me, and I let my hair fall into my face as I reached for the latch on the chest, unwilling to let him see my fear. Half expecting snakes or worse to leap out at me, I flipped the lid, the contents within glittering in a rainbow of colors beneath my light.

Jewels.

All new. All worth a small fortune, and all suitable for the head of a household, not a teenage girl. I picked up a pair of diamond earrings that would reach nearly to my shoulders, the gems winking as though they were laughing. The next three chests were full of gowns made of costly imported fabrics, many marked by the names of famous human designers. Then one full of undergarments quite unlike anything I’d previously worn. The last was full of small jars of pigment. Picking up one, I stared at the label, knowing that this chest of rare, brilliant hues was worth more than all the rest combined.

“It is important to pursue one’s passions.” He’d come up close without me realizing, his breath smelling faintly of mint. I shivered, placing the jar back with the rest with a tiny clink.

“Do you think all of this will undo the fact you tried to have me killed?” I whispered. “Do you believe my forgiveness can be purchased?”

“No,” he replied. “I don’t. Sometimes, one’s emotions get the better of them. But it would’ve been a tragedy and a mistake if Lessa had taken your light from us.”

“Lessa?” I was shaking, the jars of precious color rattling under my hand. “Does she do anything you don’t want her to?”