Avrix slipped by and, a second later, was gone, lost among the revellers. I was left to pick my way down the staircase, trying to blend in, wondering what was going on.
Guests were darting this way and that. Some were clustered in tight, anxious circles, their eyes on the windows, which showed only pitch darkness. I could still hear the drumming of rain on the glass and, under it, the ever-present purring of laconite.
I was halfway down the stairs when the siblings strode into view. Vercha’s eyes swept the chamber—I couldn’t escape that sharp gaze—and spotting me, she stalked over, handsome features set hard.
“Where have you been?” she hissed, grabbing my elbow.
“Er—” My excuses floated right out of my head. I was still dumbstruck by Avrix’s revelation.
“Never mind,” she said, tugging me down the stairs with her. Her face was oddly pale. “Come quickly. They need you.”
The next figure I was faced with was Llir. Remembering our dance, what I’d admitted to myself after, I flushed, but he only looked as strained as Vercha. Someone had pulled the keep’s doors wide, and people milled there like agitated insects.
Behind Emment and Catua, Rexim’s burly frame appeared.
“Here she is, Father.”
Spots of red colored his cheeks. “Floodmouth.” His venomous tone made me falter. “Get down to the east cove and corral the others.Now.”
I had no idea whatothershe was talking about, but I willed my legs to move toward the doors. There, the rage of the storm was palpable. A few guests had braved it and stood huddled under parasols, their hems soaked through, their eyes fixed east. Most collected in front of the doorway, and as I elbowed through them I glanced back, glimpsing the siblings. Vercha was gripping Catua’s arm. Emment spoke rapidly to a pair of nobles. Llir locked eyes with me, watching me go.
Then I was through, thrown into the furor.
I called to the rain, but my nerves were taut as bowstrings. It half listened, sparing me the worst of the downpour, but by the time I was midway across the outer ward, my dress—my stupid, hells-damned dress—was drenched and heavy, weighing me down.
Thunder cracked directly overhead. I ducked, then stumbled toward the cove path. All around me, the rain sheeted down, the bay invisible,cloaked in black. Slipping and sliding, I made my way east. With the castle lit up like a Feast Day tree, there was just enough glow to see the rough track ahead.
Under the storm, I heard a low, muted roar. It brought to mind the terrifying swells of peak archwater, but I knew that was still a week away. And anyway, this noise…it seemed continuous, an insistent droning at the edge of my hearing.
Our tower reared out of the darkness ahead like the neck of some colossal sea beast. I passed it, blinking rain from my eyes, edging forward carefully, conscious of the clifftops close by.
A few moments later, I walked smack into a body.
“Oof. Who’s that? Hey, Osprey, we’ve got another one!”
Voices. Squelching footsteps. Somewhere, a woman moaning.
“How long?” someone said.
“Two minutes. Maybe less.”
I turned in a circle, peering through the deluge. Dark, blurry figures moved around me on the slope, muted flashes of color—Orha’s vibrant livery.
Then a hand grabbed me. “Hey.” Amber eyes. Light brown skin. Curly black hair plastered down over drawn brows. “You’re a Floodmouth too?”
“The Shearwaters’,” I said, teeth chattering.
“Finally,” the young man bit out. “Where were you? We’d have got down here much quicker if you’d been here to guide us. Come on.” He urged me onward. “There’s not much time.”
“Until what?” I demanded, trying to shake off his grip. His livery was the deep orange of House Osprey.
He spun me around, made me face the unseen ocean. “Wait for it,” he said, breathless and grim.
I squinted eastward. All was black, thickly cloaked.
“I don’t under—”
A stark white flash. Lightning. It streaked down, revealing roiling clouds above.
