The noise came again: the padding of footsteps.
Snatching up the stone and hefting the ewer, I hurried back into Rexim’s bedroom, where I dithered, weighing up whether to hide under the bed, but being found there…it didn’t bear thinking about. I dropped the stone back into the drawer—there was no time to make sure it was precisely where it had been—and returned the ewer to its station by the washstand. Darting back to the living room, I grabbed the shirts I’d brought with me as a decoy and hovered by the door, straining my ears.
The footsteps were coming down this corridor.
A faint whine still issued from the wardrobes behind me. Whoever was coming would hear it, too, would come in to check…there’d be no hiding. And they’d hear if I closed the door; they were almost upon me…
Heart hammering, making a split-second decision, I strode into the corridor and away from the footsteps.
A second or two later, a voice came: “Hello?”
Turning, I called on all my years of training. Schooled my face into an expressionless mask.
Llir Shearwater had rounded the corner into the corridor and stood staring at me, saber held loosely in his hand.
“My lord,” I said, dipping my head shallowly.
His green eyes darted from me to Rexim’s door. “You,” he said quietly. “What were you doing in there?”
I gestured with the shirts, hoping they hid my shaking fingers. “Mawre gave me these to return to your father’s rooms, but I’ve realized they are Emment’s. Can you point me to your brother’s chambers?”
He watched me in the dim light spearing through the arrow slits, shadows moving over his sharp-edged features. He hadn’t yet changed after his fencing session: His hair was rumpled and his cheekbones were shiny. With the usual tight collar of his doublet absent, his damp linen shirt gaped open at the neck, exposing an upturned triangle of smooth, pale skin.
I’d always found it painful to hold eye contact with anyone—it felt like slowly lowering my palm over a lit candle. But the longer I forced myself to hold Llir’s gaze, the more an odd, exhilarated feeling bubbled inside me. And it wasn’t an entirely unpleasant sensation.
His eyes picked over my pristine livery. Then, sliding his saber into his belt, he padded toward me. “You’re settling into your new role?”
I tensed, remembering his swift swipe with that sword. If any of the Shearwaters found out what I was doing, would they even wait to turn me over to the authorities? Or would they lock me under the castle, exact their own justice?
He stopped in front of me, and, as with Vercha at Madam Mora’s, his nearness distracted me, amplified my nerves. But there was something different abouthisnearness.
Before the awkward silence could stretch out any longer, I shifted the pile of shirts, keeping my features neutral. “Yes, I’m settling in well. Thank you for asking.”
“Miss Haney sings your praises,” he said, folding his arms.
I finally had to look away, my face warming slightly, my heart still pattering. That restless silence descended again, a theme in most conversations I had.
He hesitated a second, as though mentally debating something. Then he said, “I’m…sorry for what my father did last week. When I said I’d run into you on the causeway, I didn’t think—” His eyes flicked from me to Rexim’s door. “Well, I suppose I said itwithoutthinking. Then, later, he asked me—”
“It’s only natural,” I interrupted, my tone chilly, “that you would all be concerned about your new Floodmouth’s capabilities.”
After what happened.The unsaid words hung in the air.
His brow twitched. “I wasn’t—”
“If you don’t mind, my lord, I am expected in the washroom.”
He blinked, clearly unused to interruptions. But I felt spiky now, remembering Rexim’s test. Irritated, exposed…and a little ashamed.
His gaze had hardened. He tilted his head. “You know, I’ve been told we ought to be wary of trusting you. That you ask too many questions and stray where you shouldn’t.”
I stared at him.Tigo.He must have said something. I remembered the Veil, how narrowly I’d escaped.
“Asking questions is surely expected of new staff? And as for straying where I shouldn’t…” I felt my cheeks heat, knowing I was once again in Rexim’s domain. “I’m allowed to be up here. How could I do laundry otherwise?”
The corner of his mouth curled upward very slightly, but it didn’t reach his eyes, which were fixed, assessing.
“Emment’s rooms,” he said eventually, scrubbing a hand through damp hair. “Up there, turn left, then take the steps to the next floor.”
