Chapter 32
It made no sense. It made no sense at all.
I stood, paralyzed with shock, in the stairwell.
A hundred men. Far more than I’d expected.
That was an infantry company, a small army…
I’d thought the Cage would just send Orha.
I moved to the window as though in a trance and stared, disbelieving, down at the causeway.
Why had they come that way? Out in the open?
They had to have tracked across the flats at first, to avoid a march right through Port Rhorstin.
But I’d envisioned the Cage keeping more of a low profile, sneaking in from the unguarded east. Even at archwater, when the tide was well out, boats could be floated on the slow-moving rivers.
It was daring, and they’d have to be quick about it, but with a couple of Floodmouths, it could be done.
There were safe areas on the sands they’d know about if they’d done their research.
Shouts from below. The scudding of feet. I jerked into motion.
Avrix. I had to find him.
I hurried back to the imperial staircase, down the wide steps and into the dark entrance hall. There, as I was crossing the flagstones, a figure barrelled out of the shadows and shrieked, “Oh!”
I threw out my hands, staggered backward, but it was only Debry, her brown curls askew.
“Who’s that?” She sounded panicked, and I realized I was still wearing my eerie white mask.
“It’s me,” I said, tugging it off and dropping it.
“Corith. Have you seen Tigo?” She was wide-eyed, breathless. “Master Llir sent me to fetch him. Oh, Moons—do you know?”
She meant the intruders. “I know,” I said quickly. “Why do you need Tigo?”
“For his speaking, of course.” She wrung her hands, terrified. “Will you help me? Will you stay with me?”
I hesitated. I had to find Avrix. But I also knew that I couldn’t seem suspicious. I nodded tersely. If we did find the Cormorant, I’d just have to think of some excuse to get rid of Debry.
“Let’s try the servants’ parlor,” I said, crossing the hall.
Debry trailed after me, breathing rapidly. “What’s happening? Who is it? When will they get here?”
I didn’t reply, though I thought on her last question. The Cage had been more than halfway down the causeway. That meant they’d be here in an hour, maybe less.
Enough time for the Shearwaters to mount a defense—but we had less than half their men. And even if the family sent Tigo out…I was certain the Cage would have more Mudmouths than we did.
We.
My treacherous mind snagged on the word. Why was I counting myself among the Shearwaters?
I tried to push away thoughts of the coming clash. With a hundred men, this wasn’t “a little chat” with Rexim…and it didn’t appear to be extortion either. I couldn’t bring myself to think about what it meant. About the Shearwaters—Llir—finding out what I’d done…
As we jogged toward the servants’ parlor, we passed Miss Haney’s office door. To my surprise, it was open, light spilling from inside.
“Miss Haney?” called Debry, making for the door.
I followed. The housekeeper didn’t usually stay up, even if the family were having a late night.
An odd noise reached my ears: something muffled, unnerving.
“Debry…”
But the maid had walked right in. As I stepped around her, she let out a gasp.
The room was lit with smoldering torches, but the grate was cold, the desk clear of papers. A little way inside, I saw four figures. Three on the ground. One sitting in a chair.
Miss Haney, Tigo, and Mawre were kneeling. They were gagged, their wrists and ankles bound. Tigo had a nasty burn on one cheek, his hand ax lying a few feet away. He and Mawre were wearing laconite pendants. As I took them in, their eyes widened; they struggled.
The figure in the chair stood up as I entered. Tall, paper pale, hard-set features, white-blond hair in thick, tight braids. It was the Cormorants’ Sparkmouth, Nemaine.
“Good. It’s you,” she said, her ice-blue eyes taking me in.
My stomach twanged with a horrible confusion, before Debry whimpered and wheeled around. “Wait,” I hissed at her, seeing what Nemaine was holding. But the maid seemed determined to disregard me tonight.
As Debry fled the room, Nemaine sighed and pushed past me, raising the light crossbow she held in her arms.
“What are—”
Snap.
My words cut off at the shot.
I cried out, staggering through the doorway into the hall. Debry lay sprawled out on her stomach, a bolt in her back, long and knifelike and terrible.
I sagged. “What did you do?” I bleated thinly. It took everything I had not to sink to the ground.
“Be grateful,” the Sparkmouth said. “Clean and quick. I could have burned her, I suppose, but that would have been rather noisy.”
She gestured with the crossbow, shepherding me back inside.
“I don’t—I don’t understand,” I stammered. I backed into the room, where the captives looked horrified. “What are you doing?”
She quirked a pale brow. “What do you think?” she answered calmly. “Lord Cormorant told me all about you. We work together; we share the same…sentiments. I take it you know our mutual friends are arriving. I am helping to prepare the way. To remove…obstacles.”
“Debry wasn’t an obstacle,” I said, my body shaking.
A sick, guilty relief washed over me at the realization Nemaine wasn’t going to kill me, too. But something about all this didn’t sit right. I couldn’t think through it—I was unbalanced, my mind sluggish.
Nemaine smiled slowly at me, cocking her head. “Of course she was. She would have alerted the castle. It’s best those still abed remain…unaware.”
Mawre, I saw, understood already.
Our mutual friends.
She stared at me, wide-eyed.
Tigo caught up, and then Miss Haney. I could see the confusion, then the hatred, in their gazes.
“Where’s Rhianne?” I forced out, looking away.
“Their Sparkmouth? I don’t know,” Nemaine said, irritated.
“Why don’t you make yourself useful and look for her?
I tried, but this lot take too much minding.
” She kicked at Mawre, who glared in response.
“Find her. Subdue her. Bring her in here. We need to move stealthily, in this calm before the tempest.”
I stayed where I was; my feet felt stuck to the floor.
“Come, now,” she said, flashing white teeth at me. “We are allies, though we didn’t know it before. We must be quick. Our friends will be here in less than an hour.”
I backed away, stumbling over a downed coatrack.
Not long ago, I’d thought I might feel triumphant when the time came. When Rexim, Vercha, and Emment realized there’d been a cuckoo in their nest this whole time. But the rest of them…there, everything was gray.
I stared at the captives. At least here they were out the way. Safe—for now—from the Cage’s unexpected army.
But in return, their gazes were as sharp as Tigo’s hand ax, flashing with that new and awful understanding.
I couldn’t stand those stares any longer. I turned and fled.
—
Pressing the back of my hand to my mouth, I skirted Debry’s body and ran full tilt for the stairs.
First order of business: I needed defenses.
The weapons in the entrance hall had been cleaned out, all the sabers and rapiers commandeered for Cithre’s Folly. There was the armory, of course, but that was back past Debry…past Nemaine…
Instead, I lurched up the steps to my room, where I levered up a loose floorboard under my bed and brought out two items I’d sequestered there.
The first was the pouch of laconite beads I’d liberated from the backs of the Shearwaters’ drawers, for defense against Orha when the day arrived. The pouch buzzed faintly as I pocketed it, its promised protection reassuring me slightly.
My fingers trembled as I drew out the second item: a knife from the kitchens, stubby but sharp.
I’d placed it there a few days ago after watching yet another of the siblings’ rehearsals, seeing Emment stride back and forth across the stage, playing the villain so convincingly.
The ominous feeling that had curled deep within me had become something dark and resentful and wicked.
I’d gone to the kitchens to get this knife, hoping that just a few days later, I’d find out—whether from the Cage or from Emment himself—what part he’d really played in my friend’s disappearance.
I’d hidden it here with a vague, wild intention to use it for something that scared me: revenge.
Pulling it out now, it looked inadequate, pathetic. Not just for threatening Emment but for defending myself.
I gripped it tight anyway. It was better than nothing.
But the feel of the handle against my skin made me pause.
So far this night had been a dream, then a nightmare—the dancing, that kiss, then the horror of Debry’s death.
Now the cold metal on my skin brought it home.
It was real. It was happening. And I didn’t know if I’d make it out.
Briefly I crouched and let out a sob. Let the panic and misery overwhelm me, just for a second. Then I swallowed, swapped my gown for some breeches, and, with shaking hands, tucked the knife into my belt.
Second order of business:
I had to go and meet the Cage.
—
I slipped out a side door, avoiding the inner ward.
It was a cold, crisp night, the air rich with pine.
The twin moons were half veiled by cloud, and the island was bathed in eerie silver.
For a moment, glancing out at the bay, I stood puzzled—the clouds were hanging so low.
Then I realized it was sea fog, growing denser by the minute.
I hurried west to the causeway, taking a circuitous route, for the guards were probably swarming around the gatehouse. Fingers of mist clawed at me as I ran. I could just see the windows of the ballroom burning gold.
At last, a furnace of adrenaline in my chest, I crept under the low-hanging boughs of the pinewood and picked my way forward through the mist-wreathed trees.
In front of me, the vista unfurled like a blanket: the black, empty bay, the rivers choked by fog. Through the thinner haze that clung to the island, I saw the causeway arcing out like a blade.
And on it, the Cage. Their marching forces. Closer, maybe half an hour off.
Except, I saw now…something looked wrong.
Muted moonslight glinted off steel plate, off swords, halberds, helmets, cuirasses.
A pair of figures was riding up front: one squat, the other one towering, wide shouldered.
Behind them, banners I hadn’t spotted before.
They fluttered silver gray, dun green, and black, and on them…
I could only just make it out. A small, plump bird: black feathered, crimson eyed.
My legs were shaking. I sank to the damp ground, grasping at the trunk of the nearest tree.
The army on the causeway wasn’t the Cage. It was a House. And there was only one House it could be.
With a monumental effort, I pulled myself up, turned tail, and sprinted back to the castle.