Page 152 of Our Radiant Embers

“Pleasure to meet you,” I said.

“I assure you, it’s all mine.” His voice was a pleasant baritone. “You are not a Morgan, are you?”

It seemed unlikely that he wouldn’t have informed himself beforehand.

“Not by blood,” I confirmed, moving nearer to Liam, who placed a light hand on the small of my back.

Julien’s expression was hard to read—it wasn’t disgust, more something carefully guarded. “I heard the London community is fairly progressive,” he said. “I didn’t realise it was that progressive.”

“If by progressive, you mean about thirty years behind the rest of society?” Liam shrugged. “Then yes, I guess so.”

“Since Paris is still rooted in the sixties...” Julien trailed off.

I considered a snippy remark and instead let my tone go gentle. “It’s unfortunate how succession planning gets in the way of a more inclusive attitude.” Maybe I was projecting, but I saw so much of myself in him.

Julien remained silent as he sat down in the chair Liam indicated, facing the sofa Liam and I chose. We’d opted for the seating group rather than the desk, a slightly less formal setting that would hopefully ease the mood, and waited in tactful silence as our assistant for the day served coffee and water before retreating.

Once the door had closed, Liam levelled Julien with a direct look, his voice friendly yet careful. “So, you’ve got questions.”

“I do.” Julien dipped his head. “Although the most important one was answered simply by meeting you.”

“Let me guess,” Liam said. “Isabelle Blanchard tipped you off?”

“She accused my great-grandfather—our shared great-grandfather—of...” Julien frowned, pausing briefly as he considered his words. “Of violating the terms of a betrothal before breaking it entirely. We were sceptical at first.” His English, while nearly perfect, was oddly formal and made me wonder whether he’d learned it largely from books.

“I suppose that’s one way of looking at it.” Liam stirred his coffee with a thoughtful air. “The other version is that he fell in love with my great-grandmother.”

“Yet he left her.”

“The odds weren’t exactly in their favour, were they?” Liam asked. “She moved on, maybe because she had to. An unmarried woman with a child in the forties would have been quite the scandal.”

“My family would have welcomed her and the child,” Julien said. Did he realise the absurdity of it? If that had indeed been the course of history, Julien himself might not have been born. I suspected he was aware yet playing his assigned role.

Been there, done that.

“She didn’t want to leave London, which is why she didn’t tell him about my grandmother when he came back for her.” Liam paused. “From what I heard, my non-biological great-grandfather was a good man.”

Julien appeared to digest this, cradling his coffee without actually drinking from it. He had a pretty face and eyes of the same dark brown as his wavy hair, a short, neatly trimmed beard outlining his jawline. Maybe we should have included Laurie in this exchange as well, if only for the eye candy.

“Your letter suggested a fair exchange,” I spoke up after a few seconds of silence. “Allow us to ask some questions as well?”

He shot me a quick, searching look before he nodded. “Certainly.”

“Your family and three others shared a setup that made it possible to tap into the ley lines. The Notre Dame fire rendered it useless.” Not a question, more setting the scene since my father and aunt had dished the details on their deal with Isabelle Blanchard. It seemed that a century-old Parisian ley line setup had been secretly shared by four French families that included the Blanchards and the Duvals—a situation that had turned severely strained after the broken engagement in the forties. The Notre Dame fire had rendered their setup useless, leading to a further rift between all four families. In an attempt to get the upper hand over the Duvals, Isabelle Blanchard had helped with the London setup in exchange for unlimited access to it once functional.

Had she skipped the initial test of the setup, preferring to observe from afar whether it was safe, before thrusting her own family members into the circle to see how a boost in magic would translate between the two cities? As Isabelle Blanchard had wisely chosen to steer clear of London and Summers wanted to keep any talk of the ley lines from spreading, we could only guess at her actions.

It grated that she’d walked away so easily. Our reality’s version of justice could have used a sprinkle of Disney fairy dust.

Julien’s reaction came in the form of tangible hesitation before he sat back and quirked a brow. “So the rumours are true—the Blanchards gave away our secret.”

“They did.” Liam added a pointed pause. “Recreating the formula here largely failed, in case you were wondering. It also very nearly crushed London.”

Julien’s face showed a glimpse of shock before he regained his smooth composure. “Prudence is not their strongest suit.”

“Says a guy from a family that co-destroyed a UNESCO World Heritage building,” Liam muttered. Which, fair. Not how I’d have put it, though.

This time, it took Julien a second longer to find his footing. When he spoke, his voice was pitched low, eyes dull. “You’re right—that was a terrible mistake. The cultural loss is significant. My sister also died that evening.”

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