With preparations for the guests complete, Miss Haney was no longer stalking the castle, so after breakfast and my morning chores, which I slogged through heavy eyed and foggy headed, I dashed up the stairs to the culverhouse to check for any response from my contact. But though the crow was back, nestled deep in its recess, there was no reply attached to its leg, nor in the basket where the birds dropped their deliveries. “K” probably hadn’t even started his shift yet.
Reluctantly I dragged my feet down to the little stone harbor on the island’s west shore. The day was bright and blustery, perfect for sailing, and my high-collared livery was enough to keep off the chill. Avrix had said the water looked inviting, and I had to grudgingly admit he was right. Pallwater meant it was swaddling the island—not quite calm, with the wind from out east, but gently choppy, slapping at the rocks.
The Cormorant twins were already there: Morgen in billowingbreeches and a jacket, her black hair caught in a beaded caul, and Avrix a beacon in a scarlet doublet. Their Orha stood to attention nearby, while Tigo and the others lingered on the shingle. Behind me came excited voices, and I looked back to see the siblings skittering down the path, Catua out front, racing the wolfhounds.
“Marvelous,” Avrix said on seeing me. “Our second rudder. We have a complete set.”
Despite his own late-night wanderings in the castle, his features bore no evidence of fatigue. Anxiety plucked at me—would he bring up last night?—but he only flashed a white-toothed grin at me. I couldn’t help flushing in the face of that smile. The twins were so handsome they were almost hard to look at—like catching the glare of the sun in the sky.
“Ebba, with me,” Morgen said easily. “Orran, you can join Avrix’s boat.”
“Mixed teams?” said Emment, striding toward us. “Excellent idea. We’d outnumber you otherwise. Cat, fancy joining me and Avrix?”
“Good, we get Morgen and Mawre,” said Vercha, linking arms with Llir, who was buttoned in dark velvet. The breeze stirred his hair as he glanced from me to Avrix. I was infinitely glad it was the latter I’d run into in the early hours and not the Shearwater.
“With deepest apologies to our spectators, of course,” Avrix added, looking over at the others—Tigo, Rhianne, and the Cormorants’ equivalents. I caught the eye of their Sparkmouth, Nemaine, but the towering woman only stared back dispassionately. “We’ll have to come up with another activity that plays more to your talents.” He shot them a winning smile.
Tigo’s folded arms gave the impression that he’d much rather be watching from a clifftop anyway, while Rhianne gazed out at the bay with envy. I’d have gladly swapped places with her, but there was no escaping. I trailed after Emment and Catua to the boats.
Rexim’s sailing vessels were impressive. A pair of compact fore-and-aft rigs, with bright-white lateen sails made for speed. I wondered what the Brigant would say if he knew his offspring were taking his boats for a spin. At least we were right in the middle of pallwater—no tides to speak of, the sea solid blue.
I eyed Emment’s profile as I clambered in next to him. Since arriving, he’d determinedly avoided my eyes. But if the tragic ending to his boat trip last month was still affecting him, he gave no sign of it. His dark hair was wind tossed, his silver gaze keen.
“Corith, Orran, we’ll need you at the stern,” said Catua, her round face pink from the breeze. Golden locks whipped out from her braids as she tugged at one rope, then fastened another.
She knew what she was doing, and so did Emment, who pushed us off, letting the sails fill and billow. “Vercha’s never been a sailor,” he said, throwing a glance at our competition. “But Mawre’s cool as an icehouse under pressure.”
“And Llir always used to beat me in the dinghies,” Catua added with the shade of a glower.
I shuffled down the boat, trying to adjust to the waves’ pitch and roll. In the other vessel, Llir was murmuring to Mawre, shading his eyes, pointing up at their sails. Vercha had folded herself down nearby, and Ebba, the Cormorants’ Floodmouth, peered over the side.
Avrix had stepped to our bow, staring westward. “I really do envy you this bay,” he called back. “Our cliffs jut out too far and too high; we rarely get out on the water like this. But I warn you: Though she may not have had much practice, my sister is competitive. A natural rallier.”
And indeed, Morgen was striding the deck, barking out orders at Ebba—and Mawre. The latter showed no evidence of displeasure, though I caught her eyes lingering on Morgen’s turned back.
“Are we ready?” Avrix shouted across the shallow swells.
“Waiting for you,” came Vercha’s arch reply.
The Cormorant chuckled. “Very well, then. Once around the island—leeward—on three!”
My abdomen heaved, my heart jumping wildly. I wasn’t ready. I hung over the gunwale.
Beside me, the Cormorants’ Gustmouth, Orran—thin, white-haired, face faintly lined—set his shoulders and moistened his lips.
“One.”
I shut my eyes against the breeze, bringing to mind my leaping anxiety. It shone deep red like a far-off fire, growing by the second, sending out sparks.
“Two.”
You can do this.
I plunged my fingers into the surf and felt the shock of cold on my skin. There was an openness to the churning waters, almost a ready eagerness to buoy us along.
“Three!”
I opened my eyes just for a second, darting a look at the second boat. Mawre was standing tall at the stern, black hair whipping against her shoulders, the sails snapping outward, ballooning. Not waiting to see what their Floodmouth was doing, I squeezed my eyes shut and leaned out farther.
