A Splash Of Truth: Talented, #3

By Amy Hopkins

A boy is missing, and Emma needs to find him fast. The High Seat's request to hunt down a traitor on the Council will just have to wait. 

When Emma's search leads her to the gritty underground where half-blood children are made to fight for sport, she'll require every ounce of cunning and skill she has to bring the operation down. She must not only mingle with the arrogant nobles who run the operation but finally face down the one person who means her the most harm - her sister, Aveline. 

Putting off the High Seat's task, however, may be a bigger risk than she bargained for.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Amy Hopkins
• Release date: Aug 1, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386975656

Book preview

For Laura.

For all the weird chats, the laughing fits, the horse stories, the promises that one day, I’ll visit. For the challenges and the crazy big accomplishments, for the bad times that always end, even if it feels like they won’t.

For all the things we’ve done, and are yet to do, as two newbie authors with enormous dreams.

Do you have the whole Talented series yet?

A BOGGART’S JOURNEY*

A DROP OF DREAM

A DASH OF FIEND

A SPLASH OF TRUTH

A PROMISE DUE

A FESTIVE DAY*

WHEN MAGIC FADES

*denotes short stories in this series

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Chapter One

One would think that impeccable breeding, almost unlimited funds, and being one of the strongest Talents in the Inner City would grant you some semblance of taste.

One would think wrong. It wasn’t so much the garish pink curtains, or the fact that they clashed horribly with the pea green carpet. It wasn’t the bright, migraine-inducing sparkles of light that popped sporadically in front of my eyes. It wasn’t even the fact that all of the food, down to the chicken and avocado salad, was somehow made to look like a layered wedding cake.

It was the music. Somehow, Lord Charlton Edgley the Third had convinced the trio of musicians to create an awful cacophony that mixed the very best of Talent enhanced music with the latest London dubstep.

To be fair, in the hands of someone who knew what they were doing, the idea may have actually worked. Unfortunately, Edgley was not such a person.

I wandered down to examine a mural that depicted the royal hunt. Most of the guests lingered here, as far from the source of the music as humanly possible. A few brave souls were attempting to dance, while the rest of us pressed together at the back of the ballroom trying to talk loud enough to drown out the noise.

Harrod, my escort to events within the Inner City, stood with his back to the painting, face screwed up in distaste as he watched the musicians. I headed over to him.

What in the world was Edgley thinking? Harrod asked.

Someone moved up behind me. Considering his position, he certainly should know better. It really demonstrates a lack of class that one such as he simply cannot afford to be without. Has someone spoken to him yet?

I glanced towards the speaker, a Lord a little older than Harrod. His dark hair had a smattering of salt that seemed perfectly placed to enhance his distinguished appearance.

Though all the guests were dressed for the occasion, somehow this man stood out. His charcoal suit was perfectly fitted, stark white collar standing to attention flawlessly despite the late hour.

Lord Ventrin. Harrod greeted the man amicably. Pleasure to see you. Have you met Miss Beaumarchais yet? She’s my guest tonight.

Of course, Emmeline Beaumarchais. He turned bright eyes to me, eyes that looked down his long nose with all the disdain of a typical High Lord. I’d heard you two were being seen together quite a bit lately. Nice of you to bring her tonight; it’s not often one of her kind has the chance to see how the Lords celebrate. A pity that tonight wasn’t the best of examples.

His imperious tone prickled me as much as his words.

"My kind, Lord Ventrin?" I kept my tone bland, even as I gritted my teeth behind a polite smile.

Yes. He graced me with a patronising smile. Half-bloods such as yourself rarely reach any kind of status–certainly not the level that would warrant inclusion in events such as this.

"Something I believe should be rectified. I do agree with your assessment of tonight’s entertainment, though; Lord Chartrin’s event was much nicer, though I personally prefer the style of gathering Lady Undridge hosts. I do hope she’ll hold another gala soon. Perhaps I’ll ask her at dinner next week." Glaring at him, I wondered if I need drop any more names. The pink in his cheeks suggested I’d won this round.

Of course, he said, bowing his head to me with just a hint of disdain. Forgive me, I’ve been away for some time and haven’t quite caught up with the recent social events. He turned his back and stalked off.

Watching him go, I allowed myself a small, guilty smirk of victory.

"HE really didn’t like that," Harrod said into his wineglass. He downed it and looked for another, plucking one off a tray carried by a passing faske and replacing it with his empty glass.

Who does he think he is? Pig. I smoothed the front of my dress, feeling self-conscious.

It wasn’t the first time a Lord had looked down his nose at me at one of these events, but none had been that rude to my face. In fact, I had even managed to wrest some degree of respect from most of the Talent Lords due to my involvement with the Council over the last year.

Lord Abnett, the High Seat of the Talent Council, had requested my help several times now. He had paired me with the Otherworld Crime Unit, the branch of the mortal police force that worked with Otherworld and Talent related crime, three times now. The first case had damn near killed me. Happily, the others had gone more smoothly.

That, Harrod said patiently, was Lord Ventrin.

Yes. You said that. I wondered exactly how much trouble I was in this time.

"Lord Ventrin? Of the First Family?"

Though my knowledge of Talented hierarchy was a little higher than the average half-blood’s, my level of caring wasn’t. Quite frankly, they were all a bunch of self-important upstarts, with a few notable exceptions. Glancing at Harrod, I wondered which side he was about to fall on.

He gave an exasperated sigh. Right. Upstart it is, then.

Looking for a place to sit, as I knew this would be a very in depth explanation, I guided Harrod over to a low bench against the wall as he talked, raising his voice over the garish musical display.

"Emma, really. Harrod shook his head at me as he sat. The First Family were the first blessed with Talent, the first ones selected for the honour by the Fae. They hold the highest ranks, apart from the elected officials of course, though I suppose the First Lord is somewhat equal to a lesser Council member. Unless that member was—"

Harrod? The Gala ends in a few hours. Do you think you could give me the short version so we don’t have to spend the night in Lord Edgley’s ballroom?

He gave me an irritated look. Emma, Lord Ventrin is the highest ranked Talent Lord in the City. Apart from Abnett, of course, and some Council members and—

"Does he outrank you?" I asked, more to change the subject than because I cared.

Yes. Yes, he does. Quite a bit, actually. Harrod was realising my sharp exchange with Ventrin had not only put me in the High Lord’s bad books, but himself as well. He slumped, sighing.

"Rank and breeding aren’t the same thing. Harrod, you know as well as I do, he was deliberately having a dig at me. The man is an egotistical jerk and quite frankly, I don’t care what he thinks. I blew out an irritated puff of air. Half-bloods have been stomped on by people like him for generations. If he’s too stupid to see that it’s time for a change, he’s the one that will get left behind."

Harrod slid me a sideways glance. You’re right.

And if you think— I frowned at him, confused. What did you say?

"You’re right. You’re always right, Emma. Wait, no... Gods, you won’t let me forget that slip. He gave a timid grin. You’re right about this. He was being an ass and you don’t deserve that. I’m glad you stood up to him."

Oh. I’d expected an argument, or at least a long lecture. Really?

Really. Things are already changing around here. I mean, look at you... Abnett’s dying to get you on the Council and he’s got a lot of support on that one. You’re a fixture around here now. You’re respected, you have Talent Lords bowing and scraping for your favour.

I blushed, feeling the blood rush right to the roots of my hair. I wouldn’t go that far, I mean... wait, are you just humouring me?

He laughed. No, I’m not actually. Haven’t you noticed? The dinner invitations are coming thick and fast, people know you have Abnett’s favour. Even without his backing, you’ve shown you can stand on your own two feet.

I guess I have. Feeling inordinately pleased, I buried my nose in my wine glass as the raucous music screeched on in the background.

To the relief of everyone present, except perhaps Lord Edgley, who’d been tapping his foot in time with the awful music, the band soon changed over. Perhaps to make up for the previous performance, a trio of singers struck up a soothing harmony that drifted through the room, eliciting sighs of relief from several guests. Some couples took to the ballroom floor at last, despite the lateness of the night.

Shall we? Harrod asked.

I stood immediately. Harrod took my hand and swept me out onto the floor and into a slow, twirling dance that I couldn’t have attempted a year ago.

You’re almost as good at this as I am, Harrod said as he pulled me in close, then slid to the side.

I had an excellent teacher. We took four steps, circling each other, then spun to face the other way.

There must be more to it than that. Four more steps, as he looked at me questioningly.

There’s really not. You make it easy for me to follow your lead. Every time I dance with Abnett, I stomp on his toes.

Harrod laughed, turning me so my back was to him. He just keeps putting his feet in the wrong place. You can’t be blamed for that, surely?

Just as I was about to answer, the door to the ballroom flew open with a bang. A young man dressed in Council livery ran across the room, looking wildly about. He stopped near us, sweating profusely. Harrod and I froze, watching the scene unfold.

Lord Abnett! Has anyone seen Abnett?

Over here, boy! Abnett’s voice boomed over the twittering of gossip that had erupted at the boy’s entry.

The Council messenger ran to Abnett and handed him a sealed envelope. Cracking it open, Abnett read it quickly, then stuffed it in a pocket, face drawn.

Very good, very good. No need for all that rush and bother over a simple message. Boy, you look like you’ve run for miles! Abnett made no comment on the news he’d been passed, but I caught him running an eye over the room once heads had turned away. Abnett shooed the messenger away and the boy scampered off.

Harrod took my hand again and resumed the dance, but we were both distracted. Craning my neck trying to see where the boy was headed, I didn’t notice when Harrod faltered. A step landed on his foot and I stumbled. Harrod caught me before I fell, wrapping strong arms around my waist and steadying me. Flushing, he let go as soon as I was standing and moved away just a little.

Err, sorry. Sorry, I was... look. He gave a small nod in Abnett’s direction.

The High Seat of the Talented Council was deep in conversation with another man, whose slender frame was submerged in voluminous purple Council robes. The High Seat’s eyes were glazed and he spoke quickly, mouth moving almost robotically. Then he straightened, shook himself, and walked off, not looking back to the man in purple.

Abnett headed our way.

Harrod, Emmeline. He nodded at each of us in turn. I trust you are both well?

We nodded and I gave a low curtsy. Though I didn’t like standing to attention and thought most of the ranked Talent Lords weren’t worth their titles, this was a man I truly respected.

Lord Abnett, who was the man you were speaking to?

Ah, that was a messenger from the Council. Silly boy, only an apprentice, you see. No need to have interrupted such a lovely event.

Not him; the Council member. I paused as Abnett’s quizzical look only deepened. The man in purple?

Abnett looked at me in confusion, then over to where I pointed. Him? Oh, that’s the new clerk, Tristan. Dour fellow. I suppose I’d best speak to him before the night is out, or he’ll give me a time of it tomorrow.

Frowning, I wondered if he was deflecting, or if something strange was going on.

If you’ll both excuse me, tonight is not a night when I should be seen lingering here. My apologies, I’m sure you’ll understand. He trundled off, large frame even less graceful than usual.

I turned to Harrod. I have no idea what that was about, do you?

Actually, I think I do, he mused. If I’m not mistaken, you’ll be receiving a visit from Lord Abnett in the very near future.

No more was said on the matter and the Gala ended soon after. Harrod was quiet on the way home, and when I asked about his cryptic words, he shrugged.

I can’t be sure, but I think Abnett may have a job for you.

What makes you think that?

He’s never hesitated to speak to you before. Everyone knows what you do, working for the O.C.U. They think you’re some kind of... I don’t know, one-woman police force. I gave him a sceptical look and he raised his hands in defence. Look, I just think Abnett’s up to something and doesn’t want anyone to know that you’re involved.

"But Harrod, I’m not involved."

Just wait and see. If I’m right, you owe me dinner.

Chapter Two

By the time the Gala had ended, I was dead on my aching feet. My shoes, though finely crafted and made to feel like I walked on air, had been the first to go. Then, a few hairpins that had started to dig. By the time I emerged from Harrod’s Bentley, I looked a right mess.

Waving goodbye, I headed inside. A quick, reflexive spell locked the door, and another turned off the lights in the downstairs room. Gibble always left on the lights in the shop when I was out for the evening.

Stumbling from fatigue, I made my way through, stopping for just a moment to bask in the reflection of a Fae window that looked out onto the Otherworld.

Though it seemed to be mid-morning there, the sunlight that streamed down on the far side of the window didn’t penetrate the dark shop room. Resisting the urge to drop my purse and shoes on the counter–I hoped that I wouldn’t have to wake early enough to open in the morning, and didn’t want to leave them there for someone else to tidy up for me–I trailed slowly upstairs.

Light peeked out under the closed door to my flat, and I wondered who was up. Reaching the top, I pushed against the door and opened it to see an entirely unexpected scene.

A small woman with dark hair sat at my kitchen table, looking up at my entrance with a face worn and full of grief. Beside her, his boggart form towering over the woman, was Gibble. He timidly patted her shoulder with a large, rough hand. I cleared my throat and he looked up, eyes wide and uncomfortable at the awkward situation.

Maxine? It had taken me a moment to recognise her.

Usually, Maxine beamed with the sort of happy face only doting mothers and carefree bachelors wore. She was the former—a foster mother, running a sort of refuge for half-blood children who had been abandoned by their Talented parents or needed help adjusting to using their magic around unTalented families.

Emma, I’m so sorry... I thought you’d be home. I would have left but Gibble insisted. I just... Emma, I have no one else to ask. Her face crumbled and she pressed a tissue to her eyes.

Gibble stood, almost toppling a chair in his haste. Lady, Gibble be so glad you be home. When the knock at the door was this one, Gibble did think Lady would be wanting to speak to her. Gibble did not be thinking it would be so late, and hoping Lady won’t mind, and... Gibble, unused to emotional displays from anyone other than me, looked about as comfortable as a mouse in a snake pit.

It’s fine, Gibble. You did the right thing. You can go now, I’ll talk to Maxine.

Giving me a grateful look, he disappeared out the door and down to his room.

Maxine, what’s happened? I sat at the table across from her, reaching a hand out to touch her arm. Her grief filled the room, thick and suffocating. I could only think of one thing that would cause this woman so much pain.

"It’s Toby, Emma. He hasn’t been home in a week, and I... Emma, I just know something awful has happened."

I closed my eyes for a moment, pain lancing through my chest at the thought of a child in danger. Toby might be fifteen, but he was the sort of kid who still looked at the world with innocent wonder.

I don’t understand. I frowned at Maxine, wondering why she’d waited so long. If it’s been a week...

It’s my gift, she hurriedly explained. When I take a child in, I form a bond with them. I can tell if they’re happy, angry, worried... Toby’s taken off like this a couple of times, wandering the streets and staying with friends, but I can always feel him. He just... gets restless. Maxine twisted the shredded tissue in her hands, looking down at it. This time was different; he was looking for something. Whatever it was, he thought he’d found it a few days ago. He was hopeful, excited even. Then it started to change. This morning he was worried, but okay. It wasn’t until a few hours ago that he got really scared. Emma, I just know something awful has happened. I don’t know what to do.

Maxine started weeping, curling her head into her hands as she let out big, painful sobs. Her outpouring made tears prick at my own eyes and I had to swallow hard before I spoke again.

Maxine... I’m not really sure how I can help, but I’ll try, okay? You came to me because I have contacts? I’ll ask them all. I’ll put the word out with everyone I know and we’ll find him together.

You’ll do that for me? She turned big, wet eyes up to me.

For both of you.

MAXINE GAVE ME ALL the information she could, which wasn’t much. Toby, like many of the children she’d cared for, had come to her as a troubled child. He had been ostracized by his mortal family for his ability to use magic. His mother had given him into the system at the tender age of eight and he’d bounced around families for three years until finally settling with Maxine.

She had helped him to hone his tracing ability, while teaching him about both Talented and unTalented societies. Her gift, a magic that manifested in an ability to form deep emotional bonds with those she cared for, to sense their emotions and know when they were in trouble, had cemented their relationship; however, in the last few months, Toby had become a little distant, as though preoccupied with something.

He wouldn’t talk to her about it, but she hadn’t been concerned at the time. Even when he’d disappeared, she’d been certain of his safety and wondered if perhaps he was trying to find the Talent Lord that had fathered him. That is, until tonight. A spike of worry, then a sudden, certain knowledge that he was afraid. Very afraid.

The feeling of fear had since worn off, but she suspected that might be because he was sleeping. Maxine thought he may have been hurt, but couldn’t say for sure.

I have his diary, she said, handing me a small leather-bound book with a ward stamped on the front. But I don’t know how to unlock it. I’m not even sure where he found a ward like that, to be honest.

I flicked through the bank pages. Assumedly, unlocking the ward with the right trace would reveal the words inside. Damaging or trying to change it in any way could obliterate the journal’s contents for good.

May I keep this? Harrod might be able to open it.

Maxine hesitated, then nodded. Anything you need. I wish I had more to give you, but he was always a quiet one, and I never had reason to pry into his life.

She left soon after, leaving me with Toby’s journal, a list of his friends and the places they were most likely to be found, and a final plea to find him, quickly.

Chapter Three

True to form, I was up with the sparrows the next morning. Stumbling to the kitchen to make coffee, I shot Gibble a glare when he wandered through the door with a cheery greeting.

"There’s nothing good about the way I feel this morning, Gibble. I need at least another four hours sleep to even make a dent in this headache, and I’ll probably have to shave my head to get these knots out."

Completely exhausted after talking to Maxine the night before, I had simply shimmied out of my dress and collapsed onto the bed, forgetting about the looping braids in my hair.

It had taken Bee, my Fae dressmaker and stylist, about forty minutes to create the intricate design. Even without the horrible mess I’d made of my hair by sleeping on it, it would have taken me at least an hour to comb out. Now, I wondered if I’d be presentable by nightfall.

Perhaps Lady should be going back to sleeping now?

I can’t. I shrugged. I’m awake, and up, so I may as well start the day.

Ah. Well then, perhaps Lady might be staying inside to rest, and... ahh... be undoing the hair-mess before Lady be seeing the customers today?

Giving him a flat look, I poured my coffee.

Is okay, Lady will be feeling nicer after waking-drink. Gibble gave me a benign smile and ambled off downstairs.

Calling for Lenny, who was still snoring on my bed–after all, if I was up, everyone else should be too, I thought uncharitably–I sat on the couch with my coffee. A hairbrush sat beside me with a pair of scissors, just in case.

An hour later, the ward on my shop door tinkled as Gibble opened for the day. Closing my eyes, I leaned back in my chair, listening to the familiar sounds filtering up as he pottered around, setting up. At exactly eight o’clock—or, so I assumed, because Ellandra always arrived exactly on time—the door tinkled again.

Is the Lady sleeping, Gibble? Oh, she must have looked wonderful last night! I simply can’t wait to ask her about it.

No, she do not be sleeping. Lady did look very nice last night, but perhaps not as much this morning, little-fae. Gibble do be thinking it best to wait. Lady will come down eventually.

The downstairs door closed, muffling further conversation. I wasn’t that bad, was I? Massaging my aching head I ruefully thought it might be best to take Gibble’s advice and stay up here