He has come to get us?
“Maybe. I don’t know if I want to go with him, though.”
He clicked his beak.
For why?
“I don’t know if what Milady said about him is true, but it might be. I don’t trust him.”
But we cannot stay here. Although, I have found a flock.
“I’m glad you have friends. Look, I want to get away, but I don’t want to go with him.”
A general sense of skepticism.
“I know, I know. We might have to. But I want to think of something else. I have to.”
I grabbed the gloves, tugging them on over my sweating hands. The book was next. I was already sick of it—properly, physically sick to my stomach of its weight and smell, of the pages that dried my fingertips as I turned them and the words that left my throat raw. I grabbed it and started back to the drawing room.
The door was slightly ajar. I managed to push it open silently and enter the murmuring dimness without drawing too much attention to myself, although I could feel Milady’s bright blue gaze and the mocking eyes of the silver-haired man. They were sitting together at the far end of the room. The other chairs were lined up in rows, facing expectantly towards the fireplace. As my eyes cast about helplessly, I again heard a low mutter of laughter brightening the room for a brief moment like a struck match. The same laugh I had heard at the dinner table.
Milady crooked a finger. “Come.”
The drawing room was so shadowed, lit only by the fireplace and the burning coals in the hookah pipes, that I nearly tripped over the carpet. Milady, luckily, stood out, with her shining gold hair and the glint of metal thread embroidered on her dress.
“You took your time. I trust you are sufficiently refreshed.”
“Yes.” I swallowed. To my surprise, Milady shifted slightly on the couch and smoothed a cushion before patting it invitingly.
“Join us.”
I hesitated, glancing at the silver-haired man. He smiled, that one protruding incisor tooth glinting in the firelight, just a little. I gathered my skirts and tried to lower myself elegantly. Milady had managed to arrange her skirts in perfect folds, but I ended up with something like an over-played fabric concertina.
“Netta, this is Sawl Morin, Margrave of Sterne.”
I scrambled to remember Mother’s old stories. Margrave. That meant this man was both powerful and rich, although that didn’t come as a surprise. He would have holdings, probably extensive ones, and possibly a private army also. I held out my hand.
“Pleased to meet you. Er, again.”
Should I have waited for him to speak? Was he meant to hold out his hand first? Was I meant to touch his hand at all, or was there some other more proper greeting? A strand of the Hair sprang into a tight curl at the back of my neck, in protest.
The silver-haired man—Sawl Morin, his name was Sawl Morin, and at least now I didn’t have to ask for it—seemed amused. He took my hand in both of his, trapping it, and I felt an almost uncontrollable urge to wriggle my fingers.
“Pleased to meet you,” he echoed, with a twitch at the corners of his mouth that suggested a smile. That pointed tooth again. Something about it made me uneasy.
“You will address him as Margrave,” said Milady.
“Please, Milady.” He released my hand. His hands had been perfectly dry, but mine were sweating. “She may call me Ban Morin.”
“An honor,” said Milady.
“Ban Morin,” I repeated, the words sitting oddly in my mouth. The man smiled. A curl of Hair freed itself from the pins that were desperately trying to contain it at the nape of my neck, twisting itself around to the front as if to get a good look at the Margrave.
Ban Morin raised Milady’s white-gloved hand to his lips. “It is a rare treat for me, also. I wish I could attend your parties more often. The border roads, however, demand a great deal of my attention.”
“Netta is going to read to us,” said Milady. “Isn’t that nice?”
The room held masculine scents as a glass held wine, scents warmed and deepened by the fire: leather, sweat, smoke, brandy, hair oil. Only Milady’s perfume floated above it all, elusive and sweet and sinister. I took up my position before the fireplace, feeling it hot at the backs of my knees. It gave me a little strength, the warmth, but my hands still shook. Milady took the chosen book from me, examined it, and then passed it back, nodding.
