I look from the painting to the duke and back again. The duke is wearing a small black mask, like the rest of the party guests, so I can’t be completely sure, but it looks as if it could have been painted yesterday. He has no lines around his eyes or mouth, and his hair is as brown as a young man’s. The decades-old portrait’s likeness to the duke is spot-on.

Oliver nods politely. Finn smirks, like there’s a joke he’s in on that the rest of us have missed.

I don’t have any more time to eavesdrop. The bell calling the partygoers to dinner will ring at any moment and my chance will be lost. Something strange is going on in this house. I don’t believe it’s a coincidence that my magic has sparked awake after so many stagnant months. Finn’s magic is connected to mine, connected to the veil as well. Is he feeling what I’m feeling?

I focus my power on Finn’s hand. It hangs casually at his side, the blue veins of his wrist evident against the black cuffs of his tux. His golden cuff links glint in the firelight.

I close my eyes for a beat and gather all my concentration, the way he once taught me to in a forest thousands of miles from this fine room. With a flash of magic, I tug at his hand.

It moves barely more than a twitch, but he feels it, I know he does by the way his eyes widen briefly in shock.

Then his eyes find me. I raise my eyebrows and hopes he understands what I’m saying. He replies with a small nod.

I take a few steps before slipping the toe of my shoe under the edge of the heavy rug, dropping the tray on Finn’s feet with a clatter.

Finn, Oliver, and Duke Mourrir jump into action to assist me. In the chaos, I seize my opportunity.

Finn ducks down to help me right the tray. “Do you feel it?” I whisper urgently.

He exhales, “I do.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The duke extends a hand to lift me from the ground. I widen my eyes in shock, then put my hand in his. He hauls me up to my feet.

He doesn’t seem like the kind of man who would show kindness to the help, but there’s warmth in his eyes. “My, what a spill,” he says.

I duck my head, playing the part. “Pardon,” I say in my best French.

“Mistakes happen.” He shrugs, speaking to Oliver and Finn, not to me. “The salmon was subpar tonight, the floor is a better place for it anyway.”