I’d changed into my violet Shearwater livery and also picked up my bluebird mask, shoving it deep into a pocket of my cloak. I remembered Rexim’s warning to his son:“No Veil.”If Emment went there, I meant to keep an eye on him.
I watched the eldest Shearwater with a mixture of wariness and intrigue as he clambered in after me, making the boat rock. We hadn’t spoken since I’d run into him the night of my arrival, and I was sure now that he’d been avoiding me, that seeing me was a reminder of Zennia. This past week, the heir’s moods had seemed even blacker, so much so that I was sure Rexim had cornered his son before departing.
“He was shaking harder than I’ve ever seen anyone…”I burned to ask Emment about that night—if he’d seen anything odd; if Zennia had said something…But I was already known for asking too many questions. Would it get back to Llir? Would his suspicion of me snowball?
My contact seemed confident there was more to the story, and I was desperate to discover how the Cage had come to know it. Had Emment said something to someone at the Veil? Had somebody else been out there that night, watching?
“So you’ve been rowing yourself there and back at pallwater?” Iinquired.
Since you lost your last Floodmouth.The unsaid words hovered between us.
“Of course not,” he replied, settling back against the boat’s bow. “Ferda ferries me. And I top up his wages.” Through the gloom, he flashed me a disarming grin, pulling out a silver flask and swigging from it. But as he watched the ocean, there was something dark and distant in his expression.
When he belched and offered the flask to me, I stared at him flatly until he shrugged and tucked it away.
“I suppose it interferes with all your—you know.” He pinched his fingers back and forth in an imitation of speaking, to which I could only give another deadpan stare. I had no idea if it would or not; liquor hadn’t exactly flowed at Arbenhaw…
In truth, with full pallwater only days away, the ocean was like a lazy cat by a fire. I could still sense its alien quality, its vastness, but it was no longer hell-bent on ravaging the bay. By now, the tidal range had shrunk down to mere feet, and the sea stretched along the midpoint of the mudflats. Around the island, it was deep but peaceful, and though it still took some cajoling—a little discomfiting with Emment watching—it listened. We meandered off, rippling along next to the flooded causeway, and I wondered if my own paltry allowance would see a few extra regals this month.
Before long, we disembarked at the little stone harbor, halfway between the mainland and the island. There stood a large horse and a puzzled-looking errand boy. Emment must have messaged ahead for a mount.
“My master said there’d only be one of you,” the boy complained. “Now I’ll have to walk back.”
“Bad luck,” said Emment bracingly.
I wanted to offer the poor boy my seat in front of Emment. But then I wouldn’t be able to keep a close eye on the Shearwater.
“Sorry,” I muttered as we mounted and set off. The boy’s outline quickly disappeared into the darkness. Emment was a confident horseman, and he rode fast. The beast clattered down the causeway, mane tossing, as the lights of Port Rhorstin grew brighter and brighter. When I glanced about us, I saw nothing but blackness: The mudflats were shrouded, the crescent moons veiled by cloud.
The town front was busier this close to pallwater. Golden light streamed from windows, and lamps lined the streets. We emerged from the pale marsh reeds, night toads croaking, and into the bustling dock area, where fishermen sang sea shanties. Groups of people thronged on street corners, music spilling from open doorways up the hill.
Dismounting, Emment brushed himself down, straightened his collar. “Our stables are over there,” he said, pointing to a low building. “Meet me back here at”—he checked his pocket watch—“about midnight.”
“What?” I said, jumping down after him and staggering. What was I, a lone Orha, supposed to do until then? “No. I’m coming with you.” I stepped toward him.
Emment wheeled, and I started at the look on his face: lip curled, eyes flashing. “Stay away from me,” he barked. Then, seeming to remember himself, he blinked and tugged his coin purse from his belt. “Here,” he said gruffly, emptying out gold. More than Vercha had handed over for my clothes. More than I’d ever seen in one place.
When I didn’t reach out, he grabbed my hand, pouring the coins into it. “For a drink and a meal somewhere. Argyle’s is a safe bet—just tell them you’re one of ours.”
Frowning, I shoved the coins into my pocket. I couldn’t deny it was a tempting prospect: whiling away the evening on my own, enjoying a good meal, leaving Emment to the cards…But the fact that he was so keen to be rid of me made me even more determined to see what he was up to.
“Fine,” I said lightly, smoothing my features. “I’ll meet you at midnight.”
Seeming satisfied, he turned and strode into town, and I grabbed the horse’s reins, jogging north to the stables. As I went, I kept my eyes trained on Emment’s back, noting which street he was turning down.
I dropped the horse off with a single tossed coin and darted back out as quickly as I’d come in.
Then, keeping the milling townsfolk between us, I tailed Emment Shearwater into Port Rhorstin.
15
Itsoon became obvious where Emment was headed. West from the docks, up the hill—to Queen’s Wharf.
Twice he turned and scanned the street for me. The first time, I ducked behind a burly dockhand, tugging my hood up over my face. After that, I made sure I kept to the road’s edge, slipping into an alley when he looked around again.
It seemed I’d managed to escape his notice, as he strode to the Veil without another backward glance. In the evening dimness, the building glowed: red brick contrasting with bright-white plaster, firelight gleaming from diamond-leaded windows. As I watched from an alley across the street, he skipped past the queue, the doormen nodding at him. Clearly, being heir to the land it was built on stood him in special favor with the establishment.
I cursed under my breath. He was lost to me now. Unless…
