“I honestly still don’t know how they’re picked,” she said one day over a steaming mug of tea after I’d pestered her for the better part of an hour.
The weather had finally turned cooler, leaves swirling in the yard and the grass fading into a dormant brown. I preferred hot chocolate, and stirred the marshmallows around in the foam before taking a scorching sip.
“Well, tell me something, anything. What’s next? Is there something next?” I hoped there wasn’t. I hoped it would be just a year of captivity spent here with her. I wasn’t a total idiot, though. I knew that little fairy tale was too good to be true.
She set the mug down and stared into the rolling steam. “I’ll tell you this and no more. There are more trials. The next one is at Christmas.”
I raised an eyebrow at the all-around fucked up quality of holiday-based tortures.
“And then there’s another in the spring, and the final one in the summer. I won’t give details.”
After that revelation, she was close-lipped, and always answered my questions with a deflection or a suggestion that I get it directly from the source—Vinemont. No matter how many times she reiterated the fact that Vinemont didn’t choose to participate in the Acquisition, I couldn’t forget the verve with which he pursued the Sovereign title, the way he’d played to the audience of masked ghouls. I still didn’t know what it would take for him to win, but if the exhibition of my body and the whipping were any indication, it wouldn’t be a pleasant outcome for me. So, no, I wouldn’t speak to him.
Despite her stonewalling on the Acquisition process, Renee and I fell into a happy pretend friendship, as if we didn’t share a dark secret of slavery and sadism. She was more than happy to discuss just about any subject I could think of other than the one I was desperate to learn about. We’d spend time in the house’s library, reading quietly as the days faded. No one ever stopped us from exploring, and Renee showed me the ins and outs of the kitchen wing, the guest wing, and several other areas that had rooms upon rooms full of remarkable possessions and ornate furniture. Farns was always happy to see us, and gave us the history of various antiques and treasures scattered around the common rooms.
We even stopped in Vinemont’s room once. It had his scent, masculine and clean. It drew me. I wanted to know more about him, to pick him apart in an effort to find out how he ticked so maybe I could somehow gum up the mechanism.
His room was modest, more modern and Spartan than the rest of the house. A king size bed with white duvet, navy walls, and minimal furniture filled the large space. No photos of him or his family graced the walls. I wandered to his nightstand when Renee wasn’t looking and pulled the top drawer open.
Instead of skin mags or back issues of “Psychotic Monthly,” there was nothing except for a single black feather. I recognized it immediately. It had come from the dress I’d worn to the ball. It mocked me, reminiscent of the forsaken glass slipper. Except Vinemont was no prince. He was the devil.
I slammed the drawer shut.
Lucius’ room was more colorful, white walls covered with tons of art—much of it good, to my surprise. He was messier than Vinemont. Books and magazines were scattered across his desk. There was an iPod and earbuds that somehow managed to make their way into my pocket.
“Where are they anyway?”
“Mr. Sinclair is in town for work, I believe. Mr. Lucius is in South America visiting two of the sugar cane plantations. He’s in charge of the business while Mr. Sinclair handles the legal issues and keeps up appearances as parish district attorney. He never wanted the position, but the Sovereign decreed that Mr. Sinclair would take the post, and that was that.”
“I thought the parish district attorney was elected?”
Renee raised a cynical black eyebrow. “And I thought slavery was illegal.”
“Touché. What about Teddy?”
“He’s in school still, in Baton Rouge. I’m not sure what he intends to do. It’s not as if he has too many options.”
“How does a rich, handsome young man like Teddy not have many options?”
“Depends on what the Sovereign says. If Oakman decides Teddy should be a lawyer, then off to law school he goes. If he decides being a doctor would be better, then med school.”
“The Sovereign wields that much power?”
“More than you can even imagine. Who do you think decides the winning Acquisition? And it’s worse for the Vinemonts, really. Even though they’ve been part of the ruling faction for well over a hundred and fifty years, some families still remember that it wasn’t always so. The others try and lord it over them. The Vinemonts used to be poor sharecroppers and seamstresses. Worked for the Oakmans for years and years until…” Renee put her hand to her mouth as if that would somehow stop her words from spilling out.