Page 24 of The House Saphir
There it was. The fountain at the center of the drive, with its iconic statue of Count Gaspard Saphir, Le Bleu’s grandfather,riding a stallion and brandishing a rapier like some avenging warrior—even though, as far as she knew, the family had pretty much always been vintners and merchants. They weren’t exactly war heroes. Around the horse’s hooves was an impressive assortment of magical creatures—fae and kobolds, goblins and dragons, lutins and sprites, even a sea serpent entwined around the statue’s base.
In this very spot, it was said, Monsieur Le Bleu was still laughing when his fourth wife’s brothers took off his head.
Mallory stared at the cascading water as the carriage rolled by, and for a moment she swore the water shimmered crimson—but that was probably the reflection of the pink sunset coloring the sky.
She tore her attention from the fountain to marvel at the House Saphir.
“I don’t know about you,” squeaked a high-pitched voice, “but I’m not impressed.”
Surprise ricocheted down Mallory’s spine. Slowly, she turned to see Triphine beside her on the carriage bench, head angled to take in the full scope of the mansion.
“What are you doing here?” Mallory asked.
Anaïs jumped, startled.
Triphine peered at Mallory, hurt. “Was I not invited?”
“You… How did… I didn’t think you could leave Morant.”
Triphine opened her mouth, but then shut it again and cocked her head to one side. “Now that you mention it… I didn’t either. Yet here I am. How peculiar.” She scanned the carriage. “I was feeling weary this morning, so thought I’d take a nap in back withthe luggage. It passed the time, but now…oh.” She made a pained face and rubbed at the side of her neck. “I’ve got such a terrible crick, I’m not sure my spine will ever straighten out again.”
“Mallory,” Anaïs hissed. “What is it?”
“Triphine,” she told her sister.
“The duchess?”
“She hitched a ride.”
“Is this your sister?” Triphine studied Anaïs. “She’s changed a lot since last I saw her. I thought she’d be plain and awkward. Like you.”
Mallory scowled. “Are you planning to stay for any length of time?”
“Where else would you expect me to go?”
“Back to Morant.”
Triphine settled against the bench as the carriage clattered to a stop. “I’m beginning to think you don’t want me here.”
The carriage shook as Armand dismounted.
“Do you think he’s in there?” Triphine said, eyeing the house again. Her voice wavered the tiniest bit. “My lord husband?”
“Yes,” Mallory hissed, tucking her sketch pad into her satchel. “That’s why we are here.”
Triphine puffed herself up with false courage. “If I see him, am I ever going to give him a piece of my mind.” But she quickly deflated. “Though I really hope I don’t see him.”
The carriage door swung open.
“I hope the ride was comfortable,” Armand said, holding out a hand, which Anaïs accepted and Mallory did not. Alighting behind them, Triphine pouted when Armand dropped his hand to his side.
It was cooler here than in Morant, particularly in the house’s twilight shadow. There was a breeze blowing in from the sea, which couldn’t be seen from the château, though Mallory could taste the salt on the air.
“Wait here,” said Armand. “I’ll have someone assist with your things.”
He bounded up the steps and threw open the main door, then hollered into the cavernous mansion.
While they waited, Mallory scanned the intricate façade, taking in the gargoyles perched along the roofline, the bits of crumbling stone beneath a turret, the sharp-winged barn swallows that darted in and out of their nests among the eaves. Movement in one of the upper windows snagged her attention.
