The books were slim and looked well thumbed. One of poetry, the other of local legend. After flipping through them, chest tight with grief, I placed them carefully on my dresser, for later.
I couldn’t make myself handle her clothes, some of which I recognized, painfully, from Arbenhaw, so I left them and set about searching the rest of the room.
I wasn’t even sure what I was looking for, really. Anything else—anything thatmeantsomething. A hidden journal my friend might have kept; initials scratched somewhere on wood or stone…Something personal that would thread me to Zennia, help me picture her last weeks in this world.
But though I crawled under the bed and peered under the dresser, searched all the drawers for hidden compartments, tapped on the floorboards looking for loose nails…there was nothing. Only bare chill and emptiness.
I was left to sink onto the bed, where she’d slept, and stare at the ceiling through a thick haze of tears.
—
A summons arrived for me just before sundown, borne by a footman from up at the castle. He was dressed impeccably in navy livery embroidered with the House crest: a soaring, white-bellied shearwater.
His arrival interrupted my fevered practice in front of a basin of cold water in my room. Anxious to confirm I hadn’t lost all my ability, I’d commanded the water to form a whirlpool, made waves in it, parted it, told it to spring into a fountain. It had heeded me, which was both reassuring and unsettling—though it collapsed as soon as the footman’s knock sounded.
The summons turned out to be from Miss Haney. She wrote, in tiny, careful script, that the family had requested my presence at dinner. I was to present myself at the gatehouse at eight of the clock and was not under any circumstances to be late.
My hands trembled as I placed the note on my dresser. I hadn’t touched the sweetnuts next to it; I was too nervous. I rifled through my garments—and, in desperation, Zennia’s—trying to decide which were the least objectionable.
Eventually I settled on a plain ivory kirtle over a linen blouse with ballooning sleeves. It was nothing special, intended as workwear, but with my bodice laced over it and my hair brushed and braided, I hoped I wouldn’t be turned away in disgrace.
It was too early to leave, but I knew that if I stayed, I would only end up anxiously pacing my room, so I grabbed the note and headed downstairs.
Tigo’s room still stood empty, and Rhianne must be off stokingsome stove somewhere. I ventured warily out of the tower, finding that the rain had finally eased off, and headed toward where I’d spotted Mawre from the window.
She was still there on the clifftop, speaking to the wind.
As I approached, I saw she was perhaps in her early thirties. In service, I knew from my lessons at Arbenhaw, younger Orha worked alongside older. As placements out in the Queendom became available—whether drying the Hundred’s laundry or guiding merchant ships into harbor—graduates from the Institutions were sent to fill them. Most Orha grew old doing the same menial job.
We were born equal, none naturally any better than another, and though more years under our belts did mean more experience, nature didn’t care whether we were eighteen or eighty—if we didn’t temper our emotions, it would resoundingly ignore us. And the reason for that, we’d been taught at Arbenhaw, was that nature itself was merciless, unconcerned with our feelings; it preferred to commune only with like minds, with those who respected it.
How good we were, therefore, was down to nothing but control and our rapport with our element. Both of which, out here, were newly eluding me…
For her part, Mawre looked serene as a statue, a small pair of spectacles perched on her nose. Her vibrant purple livery matched Tigo’s and Rhianne’s. She noticed me out of the corner of her eye but didn’t turn, merely offered a shallow nod.
“So you come to fill Zennia’s boots,” she said eventually. I felt the wind die a little in the absence of her coaxing.
I wondered how well they’d all gotten to know Zennia. Tigo and Rhianne had been wary, reserved, but for me that reaction was nothing new. Zennia had been easier to talk to, to laugh with; the only reason our classmates hadn’t liked her was envy.
“I can only try,” I said tentatively. “We were friends, Zennia and I. Back at Arbenhaw.”
Mawre didn’t seem surprised by this. Perhaps the others had conferred with her earlier.
“My sympathies,” she said simply. “It must have been a shock. We were sad to lose her.” She adjusted the linens.
I was desperate to ask what had happened—howit had happened. If the note in my case was to be believed, Rexim Shearwater had held something back in his letter to Arbenhaw, or at least didn’t know the full story.Foolhardiness. Ineptitude.It just didn’t square. Zennia had been confident but far from a fool. I’d never known anyone to learn so quickly.
Mawre turned and looked at me, but not in the eyes. “You’re welcome here,” she said with the ghost of a smile. “I’m sorry. I don’t get on well with gossip or chitchat.”
“Nor do I,” I answered automatically.
I got the feeling that she was telling the truth; that it wasn’t just an excuse because Tigo had warned her off.
I also got the feeling, suddenly and powerfully, that we were similar in some strange, indefinable way; that we shared some thread in our temperaments. I usually felt like a different species around people. But with Mawre, already, I felt a vague sense of understanding.
I held up the note. “The family wants me to dine with them.” I couldn’t quite keep the waver from my voice.
Mawre squinted at it, then briefly caught my gaze. “Probably Vercha, the eldest girl. If you’re not careful, she’ll make you her latest…project.” She paused to rehang one of the shirts on the rack. “Or the Brigant. Perhaps he wants to get your measure. I’ve rarely seen him so angry as after Zennia died.”
