So Tigo had implied, back in the tower. Nervously, I wondered what “get your measure” meant.
But I recognized the closing of Mawre’s features, the averted gaze, the slight lift of her shoulders, and I left her alone, as I’d have wanted to be.
Turning away, I took a deep, steadying breath and began the climb up the hill to the castle.
7
Thesun was just setting, limning the damp island in gold. Already it was low tide again, the sea lurking beyond the cove, and the great expanse of seabed between here and the mainland was bare mud, cut through with meandering silver streams.
I guessed my way toward the gatehouse, past kitchen gardens bursting with cabbages and onions, and glasshouses filled with succulent-looking fruits. The castle itself squatted ominously on the rock, seabirds bickering and shuffling on its rooftops. It was ancient and built of a murky gray stone, darkened and roughened by the weather and salty air. Clearly the Shearwaters’ reported wealth didn’t extend to reinforcing their home with nabyrium, but it had a curtain wall surrounded by a deep ditch and round corner towers peppered with arrow slits. As I approached the gatehouse and the tall keep beyond, I saw lamps burning in the lofty windows, the flash of a figure moving behind leaded glass.
A thin woman I guessed was Miss Haney was there to meet me. She was nearly as tall as Mawre, though, unlike the Gustmouth, shestared full into my face, scrutinizing me carefully. With brown hair scraped back tight under a cap, a long nose, and a stack of well-worn frown lines, she had the look of a person perennially stressed.
“You must be Corith,” she said as I came near, her accent as clipped and neat as her handwriting. “I’m so relieved. It’s been a challenge, these last couple of weeks without a Floodmouth.”
Couple of weeks.So that was when it had happened. We spent nearly a week on the road to get here, meaning Zennia died just a week before I left.
The Brigant had been quick to demand a replacement.
Miss Haney came toward me, put her hands on my shoulders. I tried not to flinch as she looked me up and down. Being touched, touching others, had never come easily. The only person it hadn’t felt wrong with was Zennia.
The housekeeper didn’t seem too happy about my attire, but, lacking the means to do anything about it, she sighed and said, “Never mind. We’ll get you fitted for some livery. And you can accompany Miss Vercha to the next market day, on the fourteenth. I’ll advance you your first wages to get some new clothes.”
I fought to betray no reaction to her words.The fourteenth.Of course. Whoever had arranged my mysterious meeting must have known market day would be a good excuse to visit Port Rhorstin.
I nodded, which seemed to satisfy her, and she beckoned me onward. “Right. This way.”
The gatehouse gave access to a wide, grassy outer ward. Through the barbican gate was a smaller inner ward, its ground tramped down to bare, packed earth. After the rain, it was sticky with mud, and I held my ivory skirts—in hindsight, a poor choice—as high as I could without baring too much wrinkled stocking.
When we reached the keep’s entrance, Miss Haney seemed to dither.
“Ordinarily, we’d use the servants’ door,” she said, frowning, “but since you’re the family’s guest this evening…”
At that, my stomach knotted unpleasantly, my heart striking up a patter against my ribs.
She led me into a gloomy, high-ceilinged hall, all wood panelling, gilt edges, and candelabras. The walls were hung with dozens of dour portraits, intricate tapestries, cruel-looking weapons of war. An imperial staircase dominated the space, and perched on each of its wooden newel posts was a carved shearwater: beak open, wings raised.
As Miss Haney ushered me through the hall, I spotted a girl coming down the stairs. She was about my age, wide framed and round faced. Her blond hair, done up intricately with pins, glinted in the lamplight, her earrings winking, and her snub nose was buried in a dog-eared publication.
“Miss Catua,” the housekeeper said in an undertone. “The youngest. Never without some periodical or another. She picks them up in Breawr, when the family visits the city. Giving her some funny ideas about things, if you ask me, but it’s not my place to say anything, of course…”
Soon we came to some carved double doors, and before I could take even a second to steady myself, Miss Haney was rapping smartly on the wood.
“Do not speak unless asked a question,” she whispered. “And donotrefer to your predecessor. At all.”
My insides jumped as the doors were pulled open, revealing two stiff-backed, navy-clad footmen and, beyond them, the Shearwaters’ banqueting hall.
“Corith Fraine,” Miss Haney called, “presenting for dinner.”
I stared, beginning to sweat beneath my blouse.
The vaulted ceiling was two stories high, and a gallery ran across the far end of the room. The walls, whitewashed between deep-black beams, hosted the heads of stags; wolves with hungry gazes; even a bear, teeth bared, silently bellowing. Along one wall was the biggest hearthI’d ever seen, big enough to warm a giant, surrounded by carved stone. Two lanky wolfhounds lounged in front of it. When they spotted me, their tails thumped lazily on the floor.
There’d been murmuring in the room as the doors were pulled open. Now an expectant silence fell. All eyes turned to me. I felt Miss Haney prod me forward.
“Ah,” came a deep, rich voice. “At last. Miss Fraine.”
Opposite me, sitting at the head of the huge table, was the man I presumed to be Rexim Shearwater.
