Chapter 18
I woke with the hope that rain clouds had rolled in, but the sky shone sapphire blue above the bay.
With preparations for the guests complete, Miss Haney was no longer stalking the castle, so after breakfast and my morning chores, which I slogged through heavy eyed and foggy headed, I dashed up the stairs to the culverhouse to check for any response from my contact.
But though the crow was back, nestled deep in its recess, there was no reply attached to its leg, nor in the basket where the birds dropped their deliveries.
“K” probably hadn’t even started his shift yet.
Reluctantly I dragged my feet down to the little stone harbor on the island’s west shore.
The day was bright and blustery, perfect for sailing, and my high-collared livery was enough to keep off the chill.
Avrix had said the water looked inviting, and I had to grudgingly admit he was right.
Pallwater meant it was swaddling the island—not quite calm, with the wind from out east, but gently choppy, slapping at the rocks.
The Cormorant twins were already there: Morgen in billowing breeches and a jacket, her black hair caught in a beaded caul, and Avrix a beacon in a scarlet doublet.
Their Orha stood to attention nearby, while Tigo and the others lingered on the shingle.
Behind me came excited voices, and I looked back to see the siblings skittering down the path, Catua out front, racing the wolfhounds.
“Marvelous,” Avrix said on seeing me. “Our second rudder. We have a complete set.”
Despite his own late-night wanderings in the castle, his features bore no evidence of fatigue.
Anxiety plucked at me—would he bring up last night?
—but he only flashed a white-toothed grin at me.
I couldn’t help flushing in the face of that smile.
The twins were so handsome they were almost hard to look at—like catching the glare of the sun in the sky.
“Ebba, with me,” Morgen said easily. “Orran, you can join Avrix’s boat.”
“Mixed teams?” said Emment, striding toward us. “Excellent idea. We’d outnumber you otherwise. Cat, fancy joining me and Avrix?”
“Good, we get Morgen and Mawre,” said Vercha, linking arms with Llir, who was buttoned in dark velvet. The breeze stirred his hair as he glanced from me to Avrix. I was infinitely glad it was the latter I’d run into in the early hours and not the Shearwater.
“With deepest apologies to our spectators, of course,” Avrix added, looking over at the others—Tigo, Rhianne, and the Cormorants’ equivalents.
I caught the eye of their Sparkmouth, Nemaine, but the towering woman only stared back dispassionately.
“We’ll have to come up with another activity that plays more to your talents. ” He shot them a winning smile.
Tigo’s folded arms gave the impression that he’d much rather be watching from a clifftop anyway, while Rhianne gazed out at the bay with envy. I’d have gladly swapped places with her, but there was no escaping. I trailed after Emment and Catua to the boats.
Rexim’s sailing vessels were impressive.
A pair of compact fore-and-aft rigs, with bright-white lateen sails made for speed.
I wondered what the Brigant would say if he knew his offspring were taking his boats for a spin.
At least we were right in the middle of pallwater—no tides to speak of, the sea solid blue.
I eyed Emment’s profile as I clambered in next to him. Since arriving, he’d determinedly avoided my eyes. But if the tragic ending to his boat trip last month was still affecting him, he gave no sign of it. His dark hair was wind tossed, his silver gaze keen.
“Corith, Orran, we’ll need you at the stern,” said Catua, her round face pink from the breeze. Golden locks whipped out from her braids as she tugged at one rope, then fastened another.
She knew what she was doing, and so did Emment, who pushed us off, letting the sails fill and billow. “Vercha’s never been a sailor,” he said, throwing a glance at our competition. “But Mawre’s cool as an icehouse under pressure.”
“And Llir always used to beat me in the dinghies,” Catua added with the shade of a glower.
I shuffled down the boat, trying to adjust to the waves’ pitch and roll. In the other vessel, Llir was murmuring to Mawre, shading his eyes, pointing up at their sails. Vercha had folded herself down nearby, and Ebba, the Cormorants’ Floodmouth, peered over the side.
Avrix had stepped to our bow, staring westward. “I really do envy you this bay,” he called back. “Our cliffs jut out too far and too high; we rarely get out on the water like this. But I warn you: Though she may not have had much practice, my sister is competitive. A natural rallier.”
And indeed, Morgen was striding the deck, barking out orders at Ebba—and Mawre. The latter showed no evidence of displeasure, though I caught her eyes lingering on Morgen’s turned back.
“Are we ready?” Avrix shouted across the shallow swells.
“Waiting for you,” came Vercha’s arch reply.
The Cormorant chuckled. “Very well, then. Once around the island—leeward—on three!”
My abdomen heaved, my heart jumping wildly. I wasn’t ready. I hung over the gunwale.
Beside me, the Cormorants’ Gustmouth, Orran—thin, white-haired, face faintly lined—set his shoulders and moistened his lips.
“One.”
I shut my eyes against the breeze, bringing to mind my leaping anxiety. It shone deep red like a far-off fire, growing by the second, sending out sparks.
“Two.”
You can do this.
I plunged my fingers into the surf and felt the shock of cold on my skin. There was an openness to the churning waters, almost a ready eagerness to buoy us along.
“Three!”
I opened my eyes just for a second, darting a look at the second boat. Mawre was standing tall at the stern, black hair whipping against her shoulders, the sails snapping outward, ballooning. Not waiting to see what their Floodmouth was doing, I squeezed my eyes shut and leaned out farther.
Focusing on the memory of Zennia—remembering the encouraging twitch of her lips, the lift of her eyebrows she’d always given me at Arbenhaw whenever I’d thrown her a panicked glance—I gripped my emotions as though I held them in my fist. The red ball sputtered and buckled inward, my panic tempering, my breath coming easier.
“Help us,” I said to the waves at our rear, opening my eyes.
“Speed us onward.” As though in answer, one smacked the boat’s side.
Whether it was a rebuff or a show of solidarity, I couldn’t tell—not until I felt the current.
It pushed against my hand, and then the boat’s hull, making the timbers creak beneath us.
At the same time our sails filled with a southerly squall, strong as a person pushing on my shoulders. Orran’s eyes were closed, his lips moving rapidly.
“There she blows!” came Avrix’s voice, joined by whoops from Emment and Catua.
We zipped along, water seething at the bow, but Morgen’s team was ahead of us—for now. They’d had a good start. Mawre’s winds were powerful, enough to make me marvel at how one Gustmouth could do it.
I eyed Ebba as I clambered back and steadied myself.
Hard-faced, the Floodmouth muttered down into the foam, but the tautness of her features and the hunch in her spine told me she felt under as much pressure as I did.
The bubbling ridges behind their boat weren’t quite as high, as insistent, as ours were, and I felt a brief surge of gratification—before squashing it and concentrating on the surf.
Bower Island was far from large; we’d already rounded its northern shoreline.
The rocks were craggier, the clifftops higher, and I suddenly spotted a cluster of figures on a hillock to the east, pointing and waving.
Tigo and Rhianne had been joined by other servants—I recognized the willowy outline of Miss Haney; Debry’s flapping skirts and white bonnet; even Ferda’s short, spry figure, hopping in excitement, graying hair wild.
“Is there any pastime superior to sailing?” called Avrix, who was still standing proudly at the bow. He’d raised one knee, had it braced on the prow like a navy captain, hands on his hips.
“I’d say so, if dice and drink are involved,” put in Emment, then, at a glare from Catua, “What?”
I had to admit, it was near to glorious. Clear, cloudless skies, a lukewarm sun, the bracing bluster of wind past my ears. To our left, as we curled around the island’s east side, the open ocean stretched out like a blanket, shimmering, its wave tips winking bright white.
We’d left our spectators behind by now, the vast, dour castle hiding them from view. I expected they were hurrying back to the beach to watch our arrival and judge the winner.
I glanced to our right, at our shining twin vessel, and was thrilled to see we’d drawn almost level.
Morgen, one arm hugging the mast, leaned toward Ebba and shouted something, her words disappearing amid the rushing spray.
My eyes found Llir, who reclined at the stern, resting on bent elbows, hair whipping wildly.
As we sliced through the water, he looked at our boat and caught my eye—
Just as a wave bumped us.
“Hoi!” yelled Emment, clinging to the gunwale.
“Cheaters!” Catua shrieked, teetering where she stood.
Vercha and Llir jumped to their feet for the finale. Ebba’s stern gaze was fixed on our hull, her lips forming words I couldn’t decipher. As we shot past the southern shoreline, with its low cliffs and beaches, I felt another heave, a precarious rocking.
“What did I tell you?” Avrix shouted. “Competitive, that one!” He saluted his sister.
We’d fallen behind again, only a few feet, but suddenly Avrix was looming above me. “Corith, isn’t it?” That sun-bright smile. “I think this calls for some…underhand tactics. Are you game?”