Chapter 14
My run-in with Llir left me shaken, and I knew I had to be more careful next time.
Rexim left for Pen Aryn the next morning—one less member of the family to pose a threat—but as one day passed and then another, I suddenly found myself saddled with extra chores.
House Cormorant would be arriving at pallwater, and the entire island seemed to be bustling.
Miss Haney was even more exacting than usual, her eagle eyes spotting every smear, every watermark.
She patrolled incessantly, like a bear guarding a kill, scuppering any chances I might have had to slip away.
As I worked, I mentally ticked off the hours, my chest growing tight with a new, weighty pressure.
It grew increasingly difficult to focus on my chores.
The water in the well seemed slightly more sluggish, the slop for sluicing the pigpens a little slower to react.
Everyone, it seemed, was feeling more fraught, and it appeared to have come to a head one evening when I walked in on the siblings quarrelling in the entrance hall.
“—expressly forbade any of us from going out for the night—”
“And how exactly will he find out? Are you planning to write to him?”
“Perhaps I will!” Vercha’s face was pink. She faced off with Emment at the bottom of the great staircase, Llir at her side, his arms tightly folded.
Catua sat at the base of the stairs, chin resting in her hands. “Just leave it, Verch.”
“I won’t!” Vercha said shrilly. “Father left you in charge, Emment. You’re the heir—you’re supposed to be the sensible one. It’s the younger son who should be off cavorting.”
“I can go with him,” said Llir, taking a step toward his brother.
Emment rounded on him. “You’re not coming,” he said with an odd half smile. “Not without—”
But Vercha had spotted me by then. I’d frozen on the top step, tray in hand. “No,” she said determinedly. “You’ll take the Floodmouth.”
Emment went distinctly pale. He wheeled, looking up at me. “I certainly won’t.”
“Yes, you will,” said his sister. “Or I’ll send a crow to Father now.”
“I won’t let you near the culverhouse,” Emment bit out. But Vercha was striding away from him already, snatching up a quill from an end table by the doors.
“It’s pallwater, Sister,” he tried, blocking her way. “I could swim there and back if I really had to.”
“Don’t be an idiot,” Llir said warningly.
“Just take the bloody Floodmouth!” Catua nearly shouted. Then she turned where she sat, looking sheepish. “Sorry. It’s Corith.”
“It’s fine,” I said stiffly, picking my way down the stairs.
But unease and irritation were prickling at me.
Full pallwater was only two days away, and I knew I needed more information for my contact.
So far, I’d managed to search only Rexim’s rooms. With Emment gone, tonight would have been the perfect opportunity to slip into his chambers…
“Gods above,” Emment said, dragging a hand through his dark hair.
There was a strained sort of desperation in his expression, almost a queasiness as he watched me approach.
I noticed now that he was outfitted in finery: his doublet elegantly cut, a thin sword at his hip.
A bulge at his side spoke of a full-to-bursting coin purse.
“I’ll take the Floodmouth. Will you put that down now? ”
He pried the quill from a slightly calmer Vercha, though she still glared at him, lips twisted in disapproval. Before he could move away, she grabbed his arm, hissed in an undertone, “You need to get a grip on this, Emment.”
Her brother huffed out a dismissive laugh and avoided her eyes as he brushed down his doublet.
“Just take it easy tonight,” Catua said lightly. She flashed me a glance.
Emment turned, looking me up and down quickly. “I’d fetch a cloak if I were you. Meet me at the harbor in fifteen minutes.”
—
It was indeed a frigid evening, and despite my cloak, I shivered as I climbed into the boat. The vessel was lit by a single hanging lantern, which enveloped us in an eerie, pallid glow.
I’d changed into my violet Shearwater livery and also picked up my bluebird mask, shoving it deep into a pocket of my cloak. I remembered Rexim’s warning to his son: “No Veil.” If Emment went there, I meant to keep an eye on him.
I watched the eldest Shearwater with a mixture of wariness and intrigue as he clambered in after me, making the boat rock.
We hadn’t spoken since I’d run into him the night of my arrival, and I was sure now that he’d been avoiding me, that seeing me was a reminder of Zennia.
This past week, the heir’s moods had seemed even blacker, so much so that I was sure Rexim had cornered his son before departing.
“He was shaking harder than I’ve ever seen anyone…” I burned to ask Emment about that night—if he’d seen anything odd; if Zennia had said something…But I was already known for asking too many questions. Would it get back to Llir? Would his suspicion of me snowball?
My contact seemed confident there was more to the story, and I was desperate to discover how the Cage had come to know it. Had Emment said something to someone at the Veil? Had somebody else been out there that night, watching?
“So you’ve been rowing yourself there and back at pallwater?” I inquired.
Since you lost your last Floodmouth. The unsaid words hovered between us.
“Of course not,” he replied, settling back against the boat’s bow. “Ferda ferries me. And I top up his wages.” Through the gloom, he flashed me a disarming grin, pulling out a silver flask and swigging from it. But as he watched the ocean, there was something dark and distant in his expression.
When he belched and offered the flask to me, I stared at him flatly until he shrugged and tucked it away.
“I suppose it interferes with all your—you know.” He pinched his fingers back and forth in an imitation of speaking, to which I could only give another deadpan stare. I had no idea if it would or not; liquor hadn’t exactly flowed at Arbenhaw…
In truth, with full pallwater only days away, the ocean was like a lazy cat by a fire.
I could still sense its alien quality, its vastness, but it was no longer hell-bent on ravaging the bay.
By now, the tidal range had shrunk down to mere feet, and the sea stretched along the midpoint of the mudflats.
Around the island, it was deep but peaceful, and though it still took some cajoling—a little discomfiting with Emment watching—it listened.
We meandered off, rippling along next to the flooded causeway, and I wondered if my own paltry allowance would see a few extra regals this month.
Before long, we disembarked at the little stone harbor, halfway between the mainland and the island. There stood a large horse and a puzzled-looking errand boy. Emment must have messaged ahead for a mount.
“My master said there’d only be one of you,” the boy complained. “Now I’ll have to walk back.”
“Bad luck,” said Emment bracingly.
I wanted to offer the poor boy my seat in front of Emment. But then I wouldn’t be able to keep a close eye on the Shearwater.
“Sorry,” I muttered as we mounted and set off.
The boy’s outline quickly disappeared into the darkness.
Emment was a confident horseman, and he rode fast. The beast clattered down the causeway, mane tossing, as the lights of Port Rhorstin grew brighter and brighter.
When I glanced about us, I saw nothing but blackness: The mudflats were shrouded, the crescent moons veiled by cloud.
The town front was busier this close to pallwater.
Golden light streamed from windows, and lamps lined the streets.
We emerged from the pale marsh reeds, night toads croaking, and into the bustling dock area, where fishermen sang sea shanties.
Groups of people thronged on street corners, music spilling from open doorways up the hill.
Dismounting, Emment brushed himself down, straightened his collar. “Our stables are over there,” he said, pointing to a low building. “Meet me back here at”—he checked his pocket watch—“about midnight.”
“What?” I said, jumping down after him and staggering. What was I, a lone Orha, supposed to do until then? “No. I’m coming with you.” I stepped toward him.
Emment wheeled, and I started at the look on his face: lip curled, eyes flashing.
“Stay away from me,” he barked. Then, seeming to remember himself, he blinked and tugged his coin purse from his belt.
“Here,” he said gruffly, emptying out gold.
More than Vercha had handed over for my clothes. More than I’d ever seen in one place.
When I didn’t reach out, he grabbed my hand, pouring the coins into it. “For a drink and a meal somewhere. Argyle’s is a safe bet—just tell them you’re one of ours.”
Frowning, I shoved the coins into my pocket. I couldn’t deny it was a tempting prospect: whiling away the evening on my own, enjoying a good meal, leaving Emment to the cards…But the fact that he was so keen to be rid of me made me even more determined to see what he was up to.
“Fine,” I said lightly, smoothing my features. “I’ll meet you at midnight.”
Seeming satisfied, he turned and strode into town, and I grabbed the horse’s reins, jogging north to the stables. As I went, I kept my eyes trained on Emment’s back, noting which street he was turning down.
I dropped the horse off with a single tossed coin and darted back out as quickly as I’d come in.
Then, keeping the milling townsfolk between us, I tailed Emment Shearwater into Port Rhorstin.