Frustratingly, Rexim returned a few days before the ball, preventing me from easily accessing his chambers. I watched his small party trot up from the shingle beach, his craggy face pale against the ocean’s stern gray. Archwater was coming, the sea was growing restless, and storm season was already here, the skies cloud choked and dour.
In the days that followed, Rexim was tense, preoccupied. A multitude of letters had begun to arrive for him, piles of them teetering inMiss Haney’s office, great stacks of them delivered to his rooms every morning. Petitions, I guessed, for his patronage and favor in anticipation of his victory in the upcoming vote.
But the Cormorants lifted the mood in the castle, their teasing and laughter ringing through the halls. If they didn’t manage to assuage Rexim’s absorptions, they appeared to banish Emment’s dark depressions, Vercha’s frantic fretting about the ball, and some, at least, of Llir’s strange and solemn moods.
The evening of the ball, I was summoned to Vercha’s room, my heart tapping out a jig. Invitees were arriving from the mainland; I glimpsed them from a window as I ascended the stairs. With full archwater a week off, the tidal range had expanded, and our low tides were just curling around the island, giving carriages clear access—but not for long.
The rain we’d expected all week had arrived and fell in misty sheets over the dark, sodden mudflats. In the distance, angry rumbles threatened a tempest, but the guests had brought their Floodmouths with them: Liveried figures in greens, reds, and golds, stiff postured and confident, trailed closely after the Hundred.
“Come away, Corith,” Vercha called. She stood at her door, shivering in a corset and underskirt. “You’ll surely catch a chill. Isn’t itbeastly?”
When I entered her room, I saw Morgen Cormorant within, resplendent in a sapphire-blue gown. She was lounging on Vercha’s bed, legs crossed, and her dark eyes followed my progress across the room.
Catua was hunched at Vercha’s dresser, her nose in a book as her maid, Hana, pinned her hair. As I passed her, the skin on my bare arms prickling, I couldn’t help thinking of the cove. Of Rhianne. I avoided looking at her as I perched near Vercha.
“Ready, Miss,” came Debry’s voice from behind a screen.
Vercha clapped her hands, vanished behind it, and a second later emerged—holding an exquisite violet gown.
It was floor-length and full skirted, the square neckline dipping concerningly low. Its sleeves were tight from armpit to elbow, where black lace dripped, forming wide, sheer bells. The fabric brought to mind the darkest roses in the gardens, the deep, rich purple of blackcurrant wine. It was embroidered with blackwork, gold pearls down the bodice, and on the top of each shoulder rose a little lace-trimmed puff.
I paled on seeing it. Took a small step backward.
“You don’t like it?” said Vercha, feigning concern. Beneath it I could hear the tightness in her tone, see the flash in her eyes as she took in my expression. Morgen’s presence seemed both a blessing and a curse: Vercha wouldn’t get openly angry, but she also wanted to impress her friend.
“No—I mean, yes, of course I do,” I stammered. “I just…don’t think I can do it justice.”
“Don’t be silly,” she said. “Debry and Hana will sort you out. In fact,” she added, turning to the maids, “you ought to do that now, before she gets into the dress.”
“Yes, Miss,” said Debry, casting a doubtful eye over me. From somewhere below came the tinkling of music.
“I’ve finished over here,” said Hana. “You can have this spot.”
Vercha propelled me to the chair.
While Catua was clasped and buttoned into her own gown—Shearwater navy with silver embroidery—I stared at my reflection as the maids descended, brandishing gold pins and ebony ribbons.
“These would go beautifully,” came Morgen’s voice. She held out a pair of dark drop earrings.
I put a hand to my earlobe as Debry commented, “Her ears ain’t pierced, ma’am.”
“Oh, yes, of course.”
Vercha turned, looking faintly uncomfortable, the reminder of my upbringing hanging between us. As keen as she was to primp me like a pet, we were unmistakably different. Her eyes darted over me. “Very well,” she said. And to Debry: “Get on, then.”
To distract myself as the maids got to work, I half listened to the string musicians tuning up downstairs and turned my thoughts to the long evening to come. Then it came to me in a flash:
The ball.
The family, the Cormorants, the guests, the servants…everyone would be downstairs, in the ballroom and the parlors. Dancing, drinking, eating, chattering—occupied and oblivious. This was my chance.
I wouldn’t be able to slip away to begin with. But as the hour grew later and the partygoers drunker, I doubted I’d be missed among the crowds. And even if I was, there were myriad excuses—the food hadn’t agreed with me, I was unused to the drink, my dress had torn and I had gone to repair it…
I stared fixedly ahead in the mirror, avoiding catching Debry’s and Hana’s eyes.
The maids, too, would be loitering near the revelries, even if they had no specific duties to perform. I’d be alone in West Tower. Free to seek out the family’s secrets—and begin the sabotage the Cage had tasked me with.
My fingers fidgeted nervously in my lap as I waited for the maids to finish pinning and prodding.
