“Stop wasting time at stupid balls,” I replied. In the distance, the Colorfalls shone in a hazy glow. Was the egg all right? Had Caylus made any progress?
“Then go,” Kiva said. “I’ll cover for you.”
My heart leapt at the idea, surprising me. It wasn’t just the need todosomething or to escape this ball that coursed through me. I wanted to see Caylus.
Kiva smirked like she knew exactly that. “Good luck.” She disappeared inside.
Not wanting to give anyone time to notice I was gone, I didn’t bother returning to my room to change. Flying down the stairs into the courtyard, I commandeered one of the waiting carriages. The driver’s expression bemoaned my soaking dress and hair, but he complied, making quickly for the Colorfalls.
Nineteen
Rain pelted my face and chest as I stepped out of the carriage, wind whipping my hair in a violent flurry. I could barely see, the streets lit by dying sona lamps and patches of moonlight through the dark clouds. Torch flames danced dangerously in the wind.
It was near midnight, and the windows to the bakery were dim, but I knocked heavily on the door until light flared to life inside. The light grew stronger until it peeked around the edges of the curtain-blocked windows, and I stared expectantly at the glass until the face of the new girl appeared.
She pulled open the door, looking annoyed. “We’re closed, miss.”
I brushed past without an explanation and hurried up the stairs. At the top, I pounded on the door, calling Caylus’s name until he answered. It took a moment for him to undo the locks and open the door. I stepped inside, and he closed it, redoing the locks. Then he simply stared at me.
I grimaced. “I know. I’m a mess. I promise to clean the floor.”
He blinked rapidly, as if suddenly remembering that was something his eyes required of him. “Uh, no. No. That’s not what—no. You look nice.”
I smiled, and he returned it, eyes lingering in a way that chased the chill of the rain from my skin.
“I just put the kettle on,” he said. “If you want tea. And I’ll…” He trailed off, already moving. “Stay here.” He sprinted up the stairs two at a time and returned a moment later with a bundle of clothes. “They’ll be too big. But they’re dry.”
“Thanks.” I took the clothes and crossed the hall to the only other room downstairs: Caylus’s bedroom. I moved toward a small washroom in the back, cringing at the trail of water left in my wake. I stepped inside, then paused. I’d never seen Caylus’s room before. I stuck my head back out.
It was nearly empty. Besides a bed pushed into one corner, there was a small nightstand and nothing more. He spent most of his time in the workshop, often including nights, but still. Not even a book? A forgotten teacup? The table and bed had a fine layer of dust, as if no one ever used them. And while most of the downstairs smelled of herbs and fresh bread, the empty room smelled musty.
Frowning, I retreated into the bathroom. A towel hung from a rack it seemed Caylus had installed himself, judging by the places where his hammer had hit the wall instead of the nail. I dried off, setting my dress inside the tub before pulling on the clothes. The tunic fell almost to my knees, and I had to hold the pants with one hand, but they were both made of soft cotton smelling faintly of tea leaves and petrichor. Like Caylus.
After rolling up the pant legs and with one hand clasped on the waistband, I returned to the kitchen to find two cups of tea waiting. We carried them upstairs, Caylus bringing a plate of scones and muffins. I swiped one as I dropped into my customary chair beside his workbench. Gio lay curled in a ball on a sweater Caylus had abandoned to the cat, and I ran my fingers along his soft fur.
Caylus retrieved the egg from the locked trunk, setting it in its stand. The familiar humming that came from it worked its way through my veins, and I drew a breath that felt like the first one I’d taken all night. Being in that ballroom, surrounded by those people—I’d felt like I couldn’t spin fast enough to protect my back.
Here, I could fall asleep to the hum of the egg and Gio’s quiet purring, while Caylus worked by lamplight late into the night.
“Why don’t you sleep in your bedroom?” I asked.
He stopped flipping through a book to look at me, green eyes slightly wide. In the yellow-orange light of the lamp, they looked hazel. He went to respond, then stopped. Looked away, then back. Finally, he said, “There’re no windows.”
When these words didn’t erase my confusion, he added, “I don’t like rooms without windows. They…” He trailed off. My gaze dropped to his hands; they’d started shaking. He clenched them into fists, and when the shaking didn’t stop, he pressed them flat on the workbench. The lamplight illuminated the jagged look of his scarred fingers.
I smoothed my right hand down my left, the skin bumpy from old burns. “When the crows were killed, I was outside the rookery. My mother came running. She told me to stay, and I did while she ran inside.”
Caylus’s eyes found mine, emboldening me. I kept talking. “The rookery was on fire. It was the middle of the night, but it was as bright as midday. I saw someone fall. I thought it was her, but it was my mother’s friend, Estrel. I didn’t think before I grabbed her. She was on fire, and the flames burned me too.”
I lifted my hand for him to see. He knew the scars were there, but I wanted him to really look at them. Under his gaze, they didn’t feel wrong. They felt like something else, like a symbol of my survival.
“For the longest time, I let these represent everything I lost, but I’m done. I won’t let my scars define me. Not anymore. From now on, they’re a symbol of what I have left to fight for. Of what I won’t let Illucia take from me.”
Caylus closed his eyes, his hands pressing harder into the wood. Slowly, as if afraid of spooking a wild animal, I stood and placed my hand over his. Gradually, his shaking stopped, and he collapsed into his chair. I pushed myself onto a clear space of the workbench and waited.
“My family’s in Seahalla,” he began softly. “My mother was a baker, and my father…” He clenched his jaw. “My parents were poor, so my siblings and I learned trades. I apprenticed with a blacksmith. That’s where I learned…” He trailed off again, gesturing at the workshop.
“When I was thirteen, my dad lost his job. He started drinking. Picked up gambling.” He pulled his hands into his lap, wrung them. “The Drexels run the gambling houses. He took me with him one day, and I figured out pretty fast if you kept track of the cards, you could cheat the game. I didn’t know that’s what I was doing, but my dad did. He pulled me out of my apprenticeship and started bringing me to the gambling house whenever he went.”
