I’d been told the Brigant answered correspondence here in the mornings, which was why it was the best time to collect laundry from his bedroom, but today he was absent, the study still and silent. I lowered the bucket and inched forward, gripping my washcloth tightly in my hand.
The thought came again, insistent, tugging at me: What clues about Zennia might this room hold?
I turned my head, listening, but no one was about. A clock on a side table clucked a steady rhythm. Moving to the great expanse of mahogany that made up Rexim’s desk, I glanced quickly through the papers scattered across it.
A letter, half written, to someone called Orlagh, its topic some dense, philosophical rebuttal that I could make no sense of. I shifted it aside. Another, this one addressed to Rexim, bearing a House crest I didn’t recognize. Again the subject was uninteresting—no mention of the family, just people I didn’t know—but beneath the letter lay a large, leatherbound book, splayed open, its pages covered in figures.
An accounts book.
I leaned in, scanning it closely. My eye snagged on a couple of lines:“Emment—Illir allowance. Emment—Tima allowance.”Substantial sums at the start of each month. Plenty of figures inked in red. I was certainly no mathematician, but I got the impression the Shearwater finances weren’t exactly robust. The “savings” figures were steadily declining.There was a scribbled note in the margin:“Can’t crack open hoard.”What did that mean?
Creak.
I whirled, my stomach pitching, to see a figure standing in the doorway.
Tigo was dressed in his purple livery rather than his usual earth-stained overalls. His gray-streaked hair was neat, tied back with ribbon, and his dark eyes narrowed as he took me in.
“I’ve been sent to find you,” he said. “You’re late. The guests have arrived for the Brigant’s luncheon.”
Of course.That’s why he was so put together, why Rexim wasn’t here, why the halls were so quiet…Vercha had mentioned some visitors were coming, and Miss Haney had said something about it yesterday—I’d been so distracted by Zennia’s strange letter, the secrets swirling beneath this island’s surface, that it had flown right out of my head. I swallowed.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I completely forgot.”
His gaze moved slowly to the desk behind me; I hoped my body blocked his view of the ledger. Quickly, I held up my grimy washcloth. “Damp dusting,” I added, forcing an awkward smile.
“Did Miss Haney not tell you this room is off-limits?” Tigo folded his violet-clad arms. “She cleans it herself. The rest of us cannot enter.”
I lowered the washcloth, my cheeks growing warm. Miss Haney’s tour had been swift, overwhelming. It was certainly possible she’d mentioned that rule and that, as with her instructions for the luncheon, my darting mind had failed to register it.
“I don’t think so,” I squeaked, looking apologetic, and Tigo held my gaze for a few seconds more.
“Well, now you know,” he said, stepping back. “You’d better come quickly. She’s right on the verge.”
—
We arrived to find the housekeeper barking orders. When she spotted my grubby breeches and creased blouse, she immediately sent a maid to fetch my new livery, which they’d measured me for the previous day.
“You can use my office,” she said, thrusting the clothes at me. “Well? Don’t stand there gaping like a fish! Hurry!”
I changed rapidly, catching a fleeting glimpse in the mirror of a high violet collar, the embroidered House crest.
When I returned, Rhianne and Mawre were there, too, and Miss Haney directed us to the Painted Chamber. With its high, ornamented ceiling, opulent chimneypiece, and floor-to-ceiling windows, it seemed built to receive guests. And indeed, Rexim Shearwater was there, sitting easily in a carved gilt chair near the fire. A few plush couches were arranged artfully around him, and on one sat the siblings, pristine in their finery.
“As part of our set,” Miss Haney whispered in my ear, “you’re expected to be present at audiences like these. This one…” She swallowed. “Well, just follow the others’ lead.”
She positioned us off to one side of Rexim, whom I eyed with a mixture of wariness and loathing. His “test” still lurked in the back of my mind—and my limbs were still laced with cuts and bruises.
I glanced at the siblings. Emment looked bored, Catua expectant, and Llir oddly tense. Llir’s gaze passed over us Orha, lingering on me, taking in my new livery. Vercha, smiling, fingered her laconite, and I noticed just how much of it they were all wearing. In the presence of us Orha, the stones whined faintly, their high, discordant notes putting me on edge.
“What is all this?” I whispered to Rhianne, hoping we were far enough away to go unheard. “Just a social call?”
She shook her head narrowly. “Politics,” she murmured. “He’s been having them every few weeks for a while now.”
Miss Haney, who had vanished a few moments earlier, now reappeared and pushed the doors wide. “Brigantess Osprey,” she announced, stepping aside, “and the eldest son of Brigant Turnstone.”
The first to enter was a small, slim woman, though, despite her size, she exuded a strong presence. Striking, with pale hair piled onto her head, she flashed with jewels and more laconite than the Shearwaters. Her ice-blue eyes swept the room, then all of us—a sharp intelligence, almost a cunning, in her gaze.
Behind her sauntered a man around Emment’s age: olive skinned, well-dressed, with black curly hair. With a smirk, he caught the eldest sibling’s eye, and in response, Emment offered a tight, awkward smile.
