At last they stepped back and Vercha came to inspect me. My hair had been pulled up to the back of my head and braided in some sort of intricate knotwork, threaded with ribbons and glinting pearled pinheads. In the orange light from the lamps and the fire, it wasn’t its usual lackluster copper but a deep, rich bronze picked out with gold.
My cheeks had been rouged, my eyebrows darkened. Vercha watchedmy reflection expectantly, and I offered her a wavering smile. “It’s lovely, thank you.”
Her rosebud mouth curled into a satisfied smirk, and she gestured to Debry. “Help us into our gowns.”
Vercha’s dress was a vision in pale gold, all intricate lacework and jewelled embellishments. Gold ribbon stood out against her long umber hair, and at the edge of my hearing, I caught the hum of her laconite.
From somewhere below us, a clock chimed eight.
“Come,” Vercha trilled, holding a slim arm out to Morgen. The Cormorant took it, and they swept from the room. I tried my best to navigate the floorboards with the new weight of my dress, the wide reach of its skirts. My chest felt as though a band was constricting it, and it wasn’t merely the tightly buttoned bodice.
“Into the fray,” I heard Catua mutter, and we all headed toward the imperial staircase.
On the landing, lamps were burning brightly. A low drone spoke of masses of laconite; below it, the rumble of laughter and conversation.
I brought up the rear, staying close to the sisters, but before I could head down the staircase after them, a hand caught my elbow.
“Floodmouth.”
I turned.
It was Emment, steering me into an alcove, clutching a glass of something effervescent. His collar and cuffs were stark-white lace and his padded doublet was a brilliant vermillion.
I tugged my arm away, feeling awkward in my dress, and glared at him, taking in his regal features—the man who’d been the last to see Zennia alive. Facing him brought back flashes of the crossing: his “confession,” his silhouette sobbing on the sands.
“You got the regals I told Miss Haney to pass on?”
“Yes,” I said shortly. Saying thank you seemed…wrong.
He swallowed. “I suppose I owe you my life. I take it you’ve not spoken of that night to anyone?”
I hesitated, thinking of Rhianne’s wide-eyed gaping. But I didn’t think she’d tell anyone, except perhaps Tigo, and he, it seemed, was the island’s premier secret keeper.
“I haven’t.” I dropped my eyes to hide the lie. “But I think your family might be grateful if you refrained from almost drowning yourself in the bay a third time.” I recalled Llir’s wild look, wading out to the boat. The way he’d carefully shouldered his brother’s weight.
Emment’s gaze was already a little unfocused, but his handsome face flinched as he registered my words. Then the shade of a sneer touched his expression. “Thank you for your concern,” he said, eyes running over me, “but wise counsel isn’t part of our servants’ job description.”
My hackles rose. I matched his stony stare. It was back: that dark and ominous feeling, lurking somewhere low in my midsection. The one that had stirred when I’d spoken to Rhianne, when I’d learned that Zennia had died at pallwater, on a day when the sea had seemed serene…
“The story you told me,” I said, chest thudding. “I wondered if you might have left something out.”
He seemed surprised. “What are you talking about?” he replied, careful, despite his tipsiness, to keep his voice down.
“It’s just…it doesn’t sound like my friend. I knew Zennia well, back at Arbenhaw. She should have been able to deal with a few waves.”
I knew I was treading dangerous ground. This was my employer, Rexim’s heir. I shouldn’t be speaking to him like this. But I was angry at his demeanor. Angry about the fights. Angry that his whims had led to the “accident.”
It took him a moment to process my words. He frowned, loomingover me in the cramped, low-ceilinged space. “What are you saying? You don’t believe me? Well, that’s up to you. I know what I saw.”
“Do you?” I whispered. He’d been drunk after our trip. I was willing to bet he’d been in a similar state when he’d dragged Zennia back to their boat, too. “Maybe your memories of that night were…impaired.”
Emment’s already wine-flushed cheeks grew redder. His gaze drifted to the wall behind me, but I got the impression he wasn’t really seeing it, that his mind had flashed back to that night in the bay. His frown now looked more like worry than anger. Then at last, blinking, he seemed to snap back. “That’s—that’s ridiculous—” he started, but he was interrupted by Vercha calling my name.
“I’m sorry,” I muttered. I’d gone too far.
I eased my way past him, nudging his glass, which his fingers were squeezing unnaturally hard. The bubbling drink sloshed over the rim. As I hurried away, I glanced over my shoulder and saw him staring hard at my retreating figure.
23
