With a pressing sense of dread, an uncomfortable queasiness, I’d been moving around the castle with a note in my pocket:
Midnight. The Ruined Tower. We Must Speak.
The only chance I had to get anywhere near Avrix was at the Shearwaters’ and the Cormorants’ first rehearsal for their play.
They’d finally settled on one:Cithre’s Folly.Tragic, salacious, controversial, it told the story of the eponymous Cithre, a Brigantess, and her affair with her Orha servant—the latter character, of course, being the villain.
Morgen, directing a wink at us Orha, insisted the work was based on a true story. Emment was diverted, Vercha amused, and Llir—as always—hard to read. Catua, I noticed, had gone slightly pink, and Rhianne had crouched to inspect the fire.
I lingered on the periphery with a pitcher of water as the group cavorted with swords they’d taken from the armory and down from the walls of the entrance hall. Emment was playing the villainous Orha, and he stalked the floodboards, flourishing a dusty cloak with a gold fringe. The eldest Shearwater seemed to relish the role, taking on the persona with bright-eyed fervor—almost a wild, feverish devotion.
As I watched him darkly, a fleeting image came to my mind: Emment dragging Zennia; him spitting with rage, embarrassed by her outburst after the fight. Had he hurt her before they got into the boat? Shoved her—dead or injured—into the waves later? Or had it happened on the crossing, out on the water? Perhaps she’d tried to fight back, to escape…
Maybe Kielty had followed them to the docks. Maybe he or one of his group had taken a boat out behind them, watching. Keeping tabs on the Shearwater heir, knowing the mission they’d been tasked with by Leadership…
I blinked, snapping back to the room. Avrix was passing, twirling a blade.
“Refreshment from the kitchens,” I said, stepping forward. “Iheard your sister say rehearsing was thirsty work, so I thought…” I held out the pitcher of water.
He paused with the twitch of a dark brow, then sheathed the sword in one swift movement. “This one’s a keeper,” he announced to the room, making the skin on my neck grow warm.
As I handed over the pitcher and goblets, I slipped my folded note into his palm. He hesitated, but only for a split second, before striding over to Morgen, dipping a hand into his pocket. After that, I didn’t see what he did with the note.
I could only hope he’d meet me at midnight.
—
The Shearwaters and the Cormorants stayed up late that night.
I fretted that they would carry on rehearsing, keep drinking and dancing, until dawn lit the sky, and Avrix wouldn’t be able to steal away at all. But in the end, as I hovered near the steps to East Tower, I heard them cross the entrance hall a little after one o’clock, Morgen’s rich laughter echoing under the high ceiling.
I slipped into the shadows and out a back entrance. The air outside was salty and smoky—Tigo and Rhianne had been burning branches up on the gorse slopes that evening.
Low tide was less than an hour away. The bay was cloaked in inky navy, but I could hear the rushing of the retreating ocean. I jogged down the path in near-total darkness—my feet knew its rises and hollows by now—and soon picked out the deep black of the eerie tower ruins, blotting out the stars.
It wasn’t long before footsteps scraped on the path. Avrix’s slim figure materialized from the darkness, garbed in a night-robe over a silk shirt and hose. I tried to calm my juddering heart and shoved my hands deep into the pockets of my breeches.
“You came.”
He smiled, his eyes betraying a hard glint. Of what—impatience, interest?—I couldn’t tell. “But of course. We have a job to do together, do we not? And time is moving on. You were right to summon me.”
I stepped a little closer. “Yes, that’s what I needed to talk to you about. I’ve had to ask the Ca–”—my eyes flitted around us, the darkness disconcerting—“thepeoplewe discussed to come earlier. In three days, actually.”
He merely squinted, contemplating me in silence. “Oh?” he said eventually, lightly. “And why might that be?”
“Brigant Shearwater wasn’t pleased the night of the ball. Because of…well, because of this.” I gestured to the crumbling tower, or what was left of it. “He wanted to get rid of me, but Vercha spoke to him. I have one week to impress him, but he could change his mind at any time.”
“Yes,” Avrix said, raising a thick eyebrow. “Vercha said there’d been some trouble. I was sorry to hear it. But why should that matter?” He gazed at me as though trying to decide something. “Forgive me for saying it, but should you be…dismissed,Ishall still be here to complete the assigned task.”
I frowned. “You’re leaving, too, aren’t you, in a few days? Our…friends were originally going to come at next pallwater. They told me I need to time the damage just right, and I’ll need to be here to pass on my information. The secrets. Besides, there’d be no one left to warn them if anything changes, if Rexim leaves…”
He was nodding shallowly, brow furrowed in concentration. “As I said, my own contact and I were rather rushed. I’m sure you were given more instruction than I was.”
Up at the castle, lamps were burning in West Tower, but aside from that, the fortress was shrouded. As I looked back at Avrix, my cheeks grew hot. “There’s something else I need to tell you. My tools…they got washed away when I…”
He gave me a pained look. “I’m sorry they sent you down there. Lucky I’m here, eh?” The grimace became a grin. “The family’s bedchambers will have to wait until daytime, but the armory and the statues…I was going to go there now.”
“I can be your lookout,” I said, mirroring his smile.
