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Back The Midnight Lie
Chapters (60)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright Notice
  3. Dedication
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. 11
  15. 12
  16. 13
  17. 14
  18. 15
  19. 16
  20. 17
  21. 18
  22. 19
  23. 20
  24. 21
  25. 22
  26. 23
  27. 24
  28. 25
  29. 26
  30. 27
  31. 28
  32. 29
  33. 30
  34. 31
  35. 32
  36. 33
  37. 34
  38. 35
  39. 36
  40. 37
  41. 38
  42. 39
  43. 40
  44. 41
  45. 42
  46. 43
  47. 44
  48. 45
  49. 46
  50. 47
  51. 48
  52. 49
  53. 50
  54. 51
  55. 52
  56. EPILOGUE
  57. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  58. Also by Marie Rutkoski
  59. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  60. Newsletter Sign-up

“Which in a way is very true. And it so happened that on one of those errands, I heard rumors about a magical island. I decided to do a bit of research in the archives. I found accounts dating back hundreds of years that described this region of the sea as notorious for the disappearance of ships. It seemed worth investigating.”

“So you sailed to an area known for shipwrecks.”

“Yes.”

“After you quit working for the queen.”

“To be honest, one does not exactly quit being her spy.”

“And stole an insignia that represents her authority.”

“Yes.”

“I don’t see how this is going to end well for you.”

“What fun would it be,” she said, “if you could?”

36

MADAME MERE WAS CLASSICALLY HIGH Herrath, her eyes storm gray, her black hair woven into a mass of intertwined braids. Streaks of pink locks dipped in and out of the black. She was perhaps twenty years older than me; her eyes delicately wrinkled at the corners when she smiled. Her silk sapphire sheath was deceptively simple—Annin would have wept over the beauty of its careful lines—and served as a contrast for the elaborate, spangled wings made of wire and tulle that arched from her back. Butterflies blinked their iridescent pink-spotted wings open and closed as they fluttered around her and settled in her hair, on her shoulders. They exhaled a floral perfume as they passed. I reached out. A butterfly flew right through my fingers.

“An illusion.” Madame Mere smiled at my astonishment. The wall behind her was stacked with oblong bolts of wound fabric categorized according to color and pattern. A glass pot of chilled pink tea sat behind her on an ornate table made from ebony, a wood harvested by Un-Kith in the tropics of this island, or so I had read in Harvers’s books. “Please tell me you are not going to the duchess’s masked ball as a Half Kith,” she said. “That is so last year.”

I handed her Sid’s card. The dressmaker’s expression turned sly. “I see. And shall I be outfitting you for Lady Sidarine’s pleasure?”

“What is that symbol on the card?”

“The insignia of the royal family of Herran.”

I was relieved to learn that Sid had been telling the truth. “What is her connection to that family?”