But Llir’s…I’d had no chance to sneak in there. Whenever I found myself with a free half hour, either he was in there, bathing or changing, or his valet was, tidying up after him. Desperately, I’d wondered if I could sneak in while Llir was sleeping, but the prospect of his waking made my stomach clench with horror—no excuse would save me then.
But turning up to the Veil without the rest of my information…that made me anxious and nauseated, too. The Cage knew something about Zennia, about what had happened that night. If I failed in this, they’d cut me loose.
Or maybe they’d decide I knew too much about their mission. My contact hadn’t seemed particularly threatening, but that didn’t mean this “Leadership” weren’t. No. I had to fulfill our agreement.
Crack!
I winced.
Avrix applauded. “Best of the lot! You’ve a fine eye on you, Cattie.”
Not long after, the party dispersed. The sky was murky, the air heavy with damp.
“Do let me show you the new harp in the music room,” Vercha said to the twins, holding out a gloved arm.
“I think I’ll stay out with the dogs for a bit,” said Llir, lingering by Tigo and Rhianne.
“Yes, me too,” said Catua, handing Avrix his gleaming pistol. The wolfhounds, lying nearby on the grass, thumped their tails as the younger Shearwaters approached them.
Emment followed after Vercha and the Cormorants, and the Cormorants’ Orha stepped quickly behind them.
I dithered, unsure which group to trail after, before Vercha said in passing, “Don’t worry, you’re relieved. We won’t need you till dinner.”
As Llir lobbed a stick down the lawn for the wolfhounds, a tingle of adrenaline snaked down my spine.
“At long last,” Mawre muttered, and strode off, arms folded, no doubt to tackle her ever-towering piles of laundry.
I knew I should dedicate the precious time to chores, too. There was water to draw, linens to churn. But my deadline was weighing me down like an anchor. Heart hammering, I hurried in the direction of the castle, shadowing Vercha and the others to West Tower at a safe distance, so I wouldn’t be spotted.
With the sweet notes of the harp drifting behind me, I dashed up the spiral steps two at a time. The dinner bell wouldn’t ring for another hour or so, but the siblings would change in their quarters before that…
Pausing at an arrow slit, I peered down beyond the gardens. Llir and Catua were disappearing into the pinewood. A peal of laughter rang out from the music room, and I took a steadying breath. I was safe; I was alone.
The tower’s upper floors were empty of servants. Only my ownsoft steps broke the silence. Stopping outside Llir’s door, which was shut tight, I listened carefully before easing it open, but all was quiet when I stepped over the threshold. I’d never set foot in his chambers before, and trespassing here felt…different to the others. There was a quiver to my stomach I couldn’t explain.
Llir had two rooms conjoined by an archway: a study with what seemed to be a walk-in closet, and a bedroom with a window that showed a leaden sky. Everything was rich brown wood, clean and gleaming, the gray drapes pulled closed, no torches burning. The surface of his writing desk was bare, but in one of the drawers I found pencil sketches: of birds, the bay, an older woman’s profile.
In the bedroom was a bathtub, a pair of boots on a stool. A silver-embroidered coverlet on the four-poster bed, and a dent in his pillow that drew my eye.
Opening his wardrobe, I thumbed through doublet after doublet, a jittery feeling fizzing in my chest. It felt strange—too intimate—to be touching his clothes, to be breathing the scent that wafted out at me: lavender soap, the bare hint of sweat. Dimly I registered that it was drizzling outside, thin drops pattering on the mullioned windows.
It was only after a minute or two that I realized there was no laconite in his bedroom. Puzzled, I retraced my steps to the study and finally found some, shut up in the closet. It sang at me weakly, a thin whine, like a fly. There was plenty of false laconite here, too, and I clinked through it, frustrated. He had more than his siblings and father did.
It was then that I heard a rustle from the study, the slightest creak of a floorboard outside, just audible over the stones’ faint ringing.
I froze.
Llir’s valet, maybe, bringing fresh towels.
The closet door was open a fraction, a sliver of the study visiblebeyond: a tapestry on the wall, part of the rain-spattered window. I waited, stock-still, for a few long minutes, but nothing moved, and there were no other sounds.
I pushed the door open and stepped into the study. It was empty. I huffed a laugh at myself. Perhaps a dislodged doublet had slipped off its hanger. And this castle was old—of course there’d be creaks. Or maybe by now my nerves were so frayed, my sleep so disturbed by my looming deadline, that I was hearing things.
In any case, my duty here was done.
Starting across the carpet to the main door—it was open a crack; had I left it like that?—I paused as a scent wafted suddenly over me. Rain, brine, the tang of pine needles. Something a little musty, like wet fur.
I glanced back, but the window was shut tight. The only sounds were the patter of the drizzle and the familiar crooning of laconite in the closet.
