Chapter 24 #2
Staggering up, half falling against the writing desk, I fumbled a hand over its surface in the shadows. Quills, papers, and then—a letter opener. I brandished it like a blade, faced him as he straightened.
There it was: that slow, cocky smile. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I can’t let you leave.” This time, as he came for me, he was focused. Intent.
“Wait!” I cried, stabbing out with the letter opener. It looked paltry, absurd, compared to his wicked shard. “Was that you—the laconite? Did you damage it on purpose?”
His eyes narrowed, but he didn’t break his stride.
“I…” It was a risk, but I had no other choice. “I came here to do the exact same thing.”
I dropped the letter opener—his glinting gaze followed it—and dug in my bodice for the hammer and chisel.
“Here,” I said, breathless, holding them out with shaking hands.
When he saw the tools, he went suddenly still. His eyes crawled up to mine, a strange spark within them. After a long, drawn-out moment, he padded to the dresser and placed the porcelain shard on top.
“You wish the Shearwaters harm,” he said softly. “Or at least their heir. Why, may I ask?”
“Why do you?” I returned, eyeing the laconite. Right now I could think of only one reason. But it was mad. It couldn’t be…there was no way…
Creases appeared at the corners of his eyes, and his lips twitched slightly. “You’re working for the Cage.”
I blinked at him. “And you are, too. You’re a…a cuckoo.”
He broke into a smile. That spark was back—almost a delight, flashing across his features.
“Of course,” he said. “Why else would I have these?” He fished in his pockets and drew out a set of tools similar to mine.
Cage tools, Kielty had called them, hadn’t he?
The nabyrium glittered in the light from the lamp.
I gazed at them, and then at him, in bare shock. “You?” I whispered, unable to process it. I couldn’t slot them together in my mind: my image of Avrix, the debonair noble, and the shadowy group I’d found myself aiding.
“Your disbelief is pleasing,” he said lightly, cheeks twitching. “Means I’ve not let the mask slip just yet.”
“Is your sister…?” I thought of the imperious Morgen, her piercing looks, her condescension.
“Gods, no,” Avrix replied, turning away.
He cupped his jaw, ran his thumb over the stubble.
“As children we were both little radicals. Went to stay with relatives as young’uns and came back spouting things that shocked our parents.
” He smiled fondly, staring at the floor.
“I kept perusing the periodicals they sent us, seeking out like minds, harboring that…
anger, and eventually got to know a cuckoo in Pontarth.
Offered to do what I could, when I could.
“But Morgen…no. She ‘grew out of all that,’ as she was fond of telling me as often as she could.” He threw me a glance. “Still, I decided to stay put. I can do more for our cause—albeit less frequently—from the inside. Pass on information, mainly.”
His words unearthed what had been nagging at me. “Why would they send another?” My chest had constricted. Kielty hadn’t said anything about this. Did the Cage not trust me to help them alone?
“Gosh,” he said, “this was all very last minute. When Vercha wrote to invite us to the island, I just had time to dash off a crow to my contact, knowing I’d be spending a good stretch of time in the inner domain of our illustrious next Regent…
” His countenance twisted, but only for a second.
“My contact’s response arrived just as we were leaving—a set of instructions that, I imagine, match yours. ”
The news must not have reached Kielty when I met him, though I still couldn’t help feeling a little uneasy.
Clearly this Leadership Kielty had mentioned didn’t quite have full faith in my abilities.
But then, why would they? I was still an unknown.
And as for the cause Avrix had spoken of… did I really consider myself a convert?
“I thought it was you who suggested this visit,” I said, remembering Vercha’s “news.”
“Vercha said that, did she?” Avrix chuckled. “Probably a ruse to make Rexim more amenable. No. My being here was opportunity only.”
As I surveyed him, I began to see the benefits to the situation—glossing over the almost-getting-killed part, of course.
“Then we can work together,” I ventured, stepping forward. I’d been growing increasingly anxious about my tasks, about how I was going to get through all the laconite, not to mention dig up more dirt on the family.
“I knew I liked you,” Avrix said, tucking his tools back into his doublet. My body warmed at the Cormorant’s approval; just like at the sailing race, something in me wanted to impress him.
Noises came from below. Running footsteps. A shout.
My stomach clenched. Just drunk ballgoers? Or had someone noticed we were missing, got suspicious?
“Come on,” he said. “Help me put this room back together.”
He closed the wardrobe doors and tidied Emment’s desk while I arranged the laconite in the many-drawered dresser. As I did so, I came across some false laconite, stored at the back, a few pieces thick with dust.
Kielty hadn’t seemed interested in it. But it still needled me. What if it meant something? What if it had something to do with my other task—to dig up any skeletons the family were hiding?
Impulsively, I drew out a small goldwork pin. The blood-red stone set into it was silent, and I pocketed it, shoving it down alongside Zennia’s brooch.
Avrix and I glanced at the shattered vase at the same time.
“You felt that quake earlier?” he said, brow lifting.
“Explains the mess easily enough,” I said, comprehending, and we shared a brief, triumphant look.
“It’s Corith, isn’t it?” he said, searching my face. “It’s good to have you onside in this ongoing fight.”
“You too.” I felt a brief flare of comradeship. After nearly a month of cold glances and closed faces, I was glad to finally have something close to an ally.
Another shout from downstairs. We were spurred into motion. Stealing out of Emment’s chambers, we headed back down the spiral staircase, to the ball.