I had never read aloud before so many. I swallowed, catching the eye of Ban Morin, who was smiling at me with that disconcerting, wolfish gleam of tooth. I looked down. If I kept my eyes on the page, and didn’t look up, I might be able to do this. I wished Baldbeak were there, or Mieka.
I willed my hands to be steady, took a deep breath, and started to “read.”
The familiar rhythm of the words calmed me somewhat. I kept my eyes on the page, letting them dart from one line to another as if I were really reading, remembering where I should raise and lower my voice; where I should pause; where I should add emphasis. I almost relaxed. It wasn’t until I heard a muffled gasp from the audience that I looked up, feeling myself tense again.
The Hair was floating. I had forgotten about that. Most of it was still contained by the elaborate updo, but feathers of red had worked their way free and were coiling about my neck. I kept both hands steady on the book, but my brief glance upwards at the audience had reminded me of the rows of suddenly intent faces, and now I felt as hot as the fire behind me.
I reached the end of the passage, with a sick surge of relief, and closed the book. The stray hairs fluttered back to plasterthemselves against my sweaty neck. Perhaps no one had even noticed or thought anything of it. Perhaps they had merely been interested in the words. I looked at Milady.
“Thank you, Netta,” said Milady. “You may go.”
Behind her, Ban Morin was tapping one of his cold, gold rings against his teeth, watching me. They were all watching me. I tucked the book under my arm, mumbled something, and started to make my way out, aware of the faces turning to watch me go. I looked back, just once, and was aware again of the mysterious smudge, the patch of rubbed-out air that had evaded my gaze at dinner. I could no longer make out the figure behind it, but I felt, somehow, its fierce attention.
Chapter Thirteen
The Tightening Noose
‘A simple stitch that loops back upon itself to form a puckering knot, excellent for securing the start or end of a piece, or for borders and edging, as a way to prevent the fraying of the fabric.’
—An Exhaustive Compendium of Stitches
Both Holy and Base, 4th Edition
The morning after the reading, I awoke to Baldbeak tapping at my bedroom window, as usual. He had brought some friends, the whole flock of them from the looks of it, and they were all peering in at me.
I swung my feet out of bed and onto the carpet, aware of the ache in my limbs. In the small spoonful of sleep I had managed to attain, my dreams had been confused. Had it really been Patrick last night? If it had been, surely he would have found a way to talk to me? Could he get me out of here? Or, as had happened when I left Quell with Milady, would I be leaving my situation here for one that was even worse, orchestrated for his own purposes?
My breakfast had been placed on the little table by the armchair before I awoke, but by some miracle, I had finally been left alone, with no maid to be seen. Honeycakes with raisins and acup of tea, still hot. I nursed the tea against my chest and carried the plate of honeycakes across the room. My stomach was too knotted to welcome food. Baldbeak and his friends could feast.
I opened the casement window, letting in a shimmer of snow-soaked air. Baldbeak hopped from foot to foot.
“Are you cold?”
The nights grow colder.He fluffed himself up.
“I’m sorry you have to stay outside.”
I crumbled a honeycake onto the sill. Baldbeak snapped up the bulk of it, but more ravens swooped down upon seeing it, and they all fought to peck and gulp.
My friends, Baldbeak explained.
“Yes, hello. Nice to meet you, too. There’s plenty. Calm down.”
They shouldered and shoved each other for the crumbs, relentlessly honest in their pursuit of the food. Baldbeak watched them fondly.
I heard the door open and slammed the window shut. There was no hiding what I had been doing, though—the room was filled with the cold, old-blood smell of snow. The maid assigned to watch me came in—Cattin; I had asked her name the day before. Her eyes went to me, then the window, but she didn’t comment on it.
“Filthy things,” she said mildly when she caught sight of the ravens.
“Are all the … guests still here?” I asked her.
“Most of them.”
Most of them? The thought that Ban Morin might still be here, that I might bump into him down one of the long corridors, made me feel sick for reasons I could not quite define to myself. I leaned against the sill and started picking at the skin around one of my fingernails.
“You stop that,” said Cattin. “You want Milady to scold you for not keeping your hands tidy?”
“I can’t help it. There’s a bit hanging off.”
