Chapter 31
After the play came the dancing and cavorting.
The stage and screens were cleared away, but we stayed in our costumes, masks still in place. Rhianne shrank the fire down low and lit the torches. The servants brought in platters of food.
By the time Catua began to play at the spinet, a pleasant tingling sensation simmered in my stomach and I was already starting to forget about the Cage.
Although the rational part of me knew I should try to get some rest before the approaching storm, the foolish, reckless part—normally suppressed—was winning, and I poured myself a drop more wine. I liked the way it was blunting my edges, making me fonder of everything and everyone.
The notes of the spinet were spiralling, melding, and soon a wine-fuelled galliard began. Images lurched out at me: Morgen and Emment twirling; Llir, mask glinting, goblet in hand, dancing with Vercha, lips stretched in a smile.
“Top up?” came a voice. I looked up to see Avrix.
His gold mask sparkled as he filled my glass, and behind it, his eyes were flashing knowingly.
But before I could sip from it, Vercha was before me, pulling me from my chair, saying something that didn’t register.
I was tugged into the dance, my white skirts swishing, the music sounding exquisite to my ear.
As we stepped and spun, circled and clapped, I couldn’t help turning my gaze to Llir. It was hard to tell through the silvery mask, but I thought I caught him watching me, too. A strange anticipation fizzled in me, as if something was on the cusp of happening between us.
Morgen took Catua’s place at the spinet, the pretty trills of country jigs giving way to a slower, more sedate pavane. We stepped near and around and away from each other like courting birds putting on a display.
Outside the windows the sky was ebony. Time had seemed to flash by in an instant.
Distantly I heard the clock chime two—Rexim was gone, as were most of the servants.
I looked around for the other Orha, but only a few of House Cormorant’s were left, lurking in shadow, silently watching.
Avrix and Catua were playing a duet, Morgen and the other Shearwaters still dancing.
My legs were burning, the bones of my feet aching, and I was tired—so tired—after my snatched hours of sleep.
I would fall down in a slumber where I stood if I stayed here, if I didn’t head up and get some rest soon.
Reluctantly I slipped out of the ballroom, a small smile touching my lips as I went.
The notes of the songs ran in loops through my head, my mind pleasantly buzzy, all thoughts of the Cage banished.
As I climbed the spiral steps, I was so preoccupied that I barely registered the padding of footsteps behind me. It wasn’t until a hand caught my arm, spun me gently around, that I realized Llir had followed me.
“Corith,” he repeated. He’d been calling my name.
His mask flashed silver in the glow from the lamps: an owl swooping up at me out of the darkness.
I stumbled on the lip of the stair, put my hands out to steady myself. He caught me by the upper arms, gripping them lightly.
“Whoa,” he said. “Steady.” He was two steps below me. As I found my balance, he stepped up, our eyes level.
I smiled. “Following me again,” I accused him.
He cocked a thin eyebrow. “How much wine did you have?”
“Just the right amount,” I said contentedly, smiling wider.
Beneath his mask, his mouth quirked into a smirk. His eyes were intense, the color of a storm. “I came to ask you something,” he murmured, voice deep.
I leaned in. “Is it something secret? Is that why we’re whispering?” A new, thrilling boldness had infused me.
He looked surprised for a second; then his gaze grew darker. Our masked faces were inches apart.
“Very secret,” he said, in little more than a thrum.
My eyes flicked downward. His did the same. There was a hot curl of something like fire in my abdomen.
I knew I should take a step back up the stair. That tipping toward him was a terrible idea. But his fingers were on my waist, each one a brand, and they were pressing me incrementally, inexorably nearer.
“Corith,” Llir huffed out. His breath was warm spice, his tone halfway between want and warning. Our lips brushed together; our masks bumped gently. It was almost a trial, to see if we wanted more.
And it wasn’t enough. He deepened the kiss, something almost fierce in the movement.
Then—a peal of laughter from below.
We both started and glanced down the stairs. But the sound had come from the ballroom—Vercha’s high cackle.
I shook my head, a strange buzzing in my ears. What in hells was I doing? This was dangerous.
“I was going to ask if you’ll meet me again.” His gaze locked onto mine once more. Where his hand still gripped me, my skin felt scorched. “Tomorrow morning. To practice that trick.”
I swallowed, feeling suddenly uneasy.
Tomorrow.
My thoughts jumped jerkily to the Cage.
As I stared at him, the lamplight limning his hair, a dark and dreadful longing came over me—a longing to spill everything out to him, right here and now. To tug out this wicked fishhook of a secret and bleed the truth, no matter the damage.
I wanted to warn him. To tell him to run. Or perhaps running was what I ought to do. My part in all this was finished, wasn’t it? Avrix and I had prepared the way for the Cage…Did I really have to linger for what came next?
He watched me, eyes narrowing in confusion. “If you’d rather not…” His tone was guarded.
I opened my mouth to say, “Of course I’ll come,” for I knew I couldn’t give in to that longing, nor could I run, abandoning my only chance of ever finding out what had happened to Zennia. But my throat was dry; the words stuck fast.
“All right,” Llir said quietly. “Good night, then.” He turned.
“Wait,” I bit out, moving after him. I could save this.
But Llir, now three steps down, had frozen. An arrow slit there looked down over the bay, and slowly he walked over to it, staring.
“What is it?” I said dully. It looked pitch-black out there to me. My thoughts were fuzzy, my lips buzzing after that kiss.
He wrenched off his mask, let it drop to the floor, gripped the stone with white fingers as he gazed through the opening.
“What is that?” he muttered, more to himself than to me, but I dutifully joined him, peering out, too.
From our lofty viewpoint, looking southwest, we could see the island, deep black on navy, sweeping down to the edge of the mudflats.
The moons were out, nearly converging, casting a weak, silver glow on the bay, but the pinewood and the beach were wreathed in white mist. It was low tide—it must have been later than I thought—and the flats were vast and yawning and empty.
But there, halfway along the causeway—
Muted yellow lights approaching the island. Eight or maybe ten in total, spaced out in a long, snaking line, like fireflies.
“Torches,” Llir breathed.
My thoughts felt sluggish. “Why…why in intervals like that?”
“Look,” he said, shifting, giving me more room. “You see the darker areas, black clusters around them? Men. Groups of them. One torch at the head of each.”
Like a procession.
Or a fighting force.
My insides flopped. My pulse picked up.
No. They were a whole night early. I’d said a sevenday—not to come till full archwater. My panic was mixed with irrational anger. Though I knew, in truth, it would make little difference in the end.
“Ten torches,” he whispered. “And the way they’re spaced out…” I watched as his lips moved silently. “Eighty, maybe a hundred men.”
A hundred men.
My lips clammed up. Llir stared at me for a few long seconds, then wheeled, almost pitching forward. He took the steps downward two at a time.
His frantic shouts, when they finally came, echoed sharply under the high ceiling.
“Father…Father!”