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Prologue

Jakob

One week after the reopening of the Court

I stand on the front step of Balzac House and press the bell It shrieks hborhood are softened by trailing ivy or net curtains hanging in well-lit s, but Balzac House presents an icy façade of white es and tall, blank s

I straighten the unfamiliar black tie and jacket and pass a hand over my combed hair The back of e not to turn quickly and search the shadows of the front garden for gunmen

That was the old Paravel This is the new one I’e now, and people look over their shoulders for me

The door is opened by a liveried servant “Good evening, sir Can I help you?”

It’s a novelty, this Using the front door Letting myself be seen “I have an appointment with His Grace, the Duke”

The wizened old ards me doubtfully “I wasn’t aware that His Grace…”

A crisp, feht, Fenchurch The Duke didn’t ask Mr Rasmussen to come here I did”

Fenchurch steps back, and I see elegant and beautiful Duchess Balzac standing in the hall, spine ralances distractedly over her shoulder “You’d better coet here”

They?

I follow her into the house and then into the lounge Duke Balzac is seated in the large armchair by the empty fireplace, face pallid and circles beneath his eyes His fine suit of gray wool is loose on his body,him seem closer to ninety years old rather than the sixty he is His younger daughter sits on the nearby sofa, and the older daughter stands anxiously by his side

My eyes are drawn to the older one, as they always are Today she’s paler than usual, but her beauty is still radiant Her tight skirt clings to her curvy hips and her throat is luminous Lady Sachelle Balzac elevates any rooht of her