“Hurry up and choose something, Rosalie.” Honor hopped from one foot to the other, a petulant whine growing in her voice. Papa had given us sailors’ boots, found in one of the storerooms near the dock, and they were too big for even us older girls. On the Graces, they were comically absurd.
We’d been in the cobbler’s shop for over an hour. Fisher had carried in the boxes of worn slippers and dumped the contents on Reynold Gerver’s table, demanding to know why the shoes had worn out so fast.
The poor shoemaker had hemmed and hawed as he examined his creations, sputtering that such fraying should never have occurred so quickly. He’d offered new shoes for us all, at a fraction of the standard price.
“These are awfully nice.” Rosalie picked up a pair of satin shoes with a fashionable court heel.
“And impractical,” Fisher said, snatching them from her. “Your father made it abundantly clear I’m not to allow you to purchase something delicate and pretty. Just find something like the rest of your sisters.”
Our eyes met, and my throat constricted. I’d longed for the chance to pull him aside and smooth over the mess from Pelage, but a rainstorm had rolled in shortly after we left Highmoor. Fisher had waved me away, citing his need for concentration as the rain soaked us to the skin, making the short journey to Astrea miserable.
Honor threw herself into a chair in a swoon worthy of the stage, and Verity was precariously close to knocking over a display of stacked boxes in the window.
“Why don’t I take the Graces for a cup of tea while Rosalie makes up her mind?” I suggested.
“Or cider?” Verity asked, pawing at Fisher with a hopeful smile.
He handed me the coins.
“Make sure your hoods are on,” I instructed before opening the shop door.
We raced across the cobblestones, skirting puddles of rainwater to huddle in the sanctuary of the tavern’s wide awning.
“Here, take these,” I said, pressing the coins into Honor’s hand. “There’s something I need to do—an errand—so you three go inside, and I’ll be back as quickly as I can.”
“Where are you going?” Verity asked, clearly wanting to come too.
“Nowhere with cider,” I said, scooting her toward the large oak door. “It’s cold and wet. Hurry in, you don’t want to freeze!”
They scurried inside and I darted back into the storm, making my way to Mr. Averson’s clock shop.
My stomach twisted with guilt as I remembered how unceremoniously Edgar had been removed from Highmoor. I should have stopped Camille, should have tried harder to contact him. I was ashamed at how easily I’d been distracted.
The balls were consuming more than just my nights. Whole mornings were slept away. Often we didn’t wake until it was time to primp for the next party. After so many years of staid blacks and tepid behaviors, the balls were invigorating. Intoxicating. The masks and paste jewels, the whisper of silks and tulles, the promise of handsome dance partners—they’d all dazzled me until I was blinded to my true purpose.
I’d forgotten Eulalie.
And if I was being honest, it hadn’t bothered me until now, when I was firmly rooted back at home, back in Salann, back in the Salt.
I needed to track down Edgar and apologize. I didn’t care what Camille thought. I believed his story about the shadow on the cliff, and together we’d uncover who it was.
A silver bell tinkled overhead as I stepped into the shop, out of the rain.
“Coming, coming,” a cheerful voice called from the workroom. Or perhaps it came from behind the stack of metal hands near the corner. They were taller than me, used for clock towers in town squares.
Cogs and gears littered every available surface in the shop, and rows of clocks lined the walls. The staggered ticks of passing seconds overlapped, forming a symphony of beats. It was a soft, subtle sound, but once you noticed the ticks, they became impossible to ignore.
“How may I help you today—” Edgar emerged from the workroom. When he saw me, he came to a full stop, nearly crashing into a case displaying pocket watches and chains. “What are you doing here?” he demanded, his tone coloring. “Come to kick me out of my own place of employment? You’ll find the Thaumas reach does not extend this far. Good day.”
“Edgar—wait! I’m so sorry about that. I should have stood up for you, I should have stopped Camille. I came to apologize and…and also to talk.”
“Talk?” He glared at me through his tiny eyeglasses.
“About Eulalie, about the shadow.”
“I already told you everything I know.” His hand raised against the swinging door.
“Not everything,” I said, stopping him before he could retreat. “I saw the way you reacted when Camille called for Roland.” He stiffened as I mentioned the valet’s name. “Why?”
Edgar turned back, reluctance on his face. He removed his glasses and polished them on the edge of his canvas apron, biding his time.
“Could he be the shadow?” I guessed.
He squinted through the lenses as though they were still unclean. “I don’t know who the shadow was…but I must admit, my first guess would be him.” His fingertips trembled as if fighting the urge to wipe the spectacles again. “Every time I was at Highmoor—helping Mr. Averson with that grandfather clock, delivering a fixed pocket watch or mantel clock—he was always about, lurking, listening. Eulalie said it was just part of his job, waiting to be needed, but it felt like more than that…. It felt…”
“Yes?” I whispered, leaning in.
“Like an obsession.”
I watched the rain fall on the soggy market outside, thinking about our day-to-day life at Highmoor. It was true, Roland was always nearby, ready to help, but as he was one of Papa’s most trusted servants, that seemed only natural to me. I didn’t know much about Edgar, but I’d hazard a guess he’d not grown up in a house like ours, full of more servants than family members.
“Did Eulalie keep a diary?” Edgar asked, trying a different approach. “She learned something she wasn’t supposed to. Perhaps she wrote about it?”
Eulalie wasn’t the type to pour her heart out onto the page, as Lenore and Camille did. She’d hated penmanship lessons when we were girls and had to be cajoled into writing letters to aunts and cousins.
“I never saw her with one.”
His pale eyebrows creased together. “The more I think about it, I’m certain the shadow was Roland,” he said, circling back. “He never liked me. If he somehow found out we were eloping…”
“Wouldn’t he try to stop you, then, not Eulalie?” I asked. Edgar’s accusation didn’t feel right to me at all. It had too many holes. Even if Roland had been wildly in love with Eulalie, he must have known nothing would ever come of it. She was the heir to Highmoor. Papa would never have let her court one of its servants.
Besides…he was just so old….
One by one, the clocks’ gears turned, chiming out the quarter hour. The cacophony set my teeth on edge, reminding me I’d been gone too long already. I reached for the door.
“Miss Thaumas, wait! I—I need to know…You do believe me, don’t you? About the shadow? Eulalie didn’t trip, and she would never have hurt herself. You know that.”
After a beat, I nodded.
“I want to find out who did this to her. Who…murdered her.” His said the word with an intense precision, as if trying not to stammer over it. “Will you help me? Please?” His eyes, suddenly bright with righteous fervor, fixed me in place like a butterfly pinned onto a shadowbox board.
“Yes,” I whispered.
He toyed with his spectacles again. “I know you don’t think Roland was involved, but promise me you’ll look into it? Ask around. Even if it wasn’t him, he must have seen something. He sees everything.”
The final clock chimed, its notes slightly sharp, giving a strange importance to Edgar’s idea.
“He does,” I echoed in agreement.
“Good. Thank you. Will your family be coming to any Churning events?”
The festival was only a week away. Soon Highmoor would be turned inside out, readying for the ten-day affair.
“We always go to the pageant after First Night.”
A floorboard creaked above us, and our eyes darted to the ceiling. I’d assumed we were alone. Was someone listening in on our conversation?
“What’s up there?”
“Just storage…Mr. Averson?” Edgar called out.
“Yes, Edgar? Just taking off my cloak,” a voice called out from the workshop behind us. “This rain won’t be letting up any time soon.”
“Meet me here before the play,” he whispered.
I promised I would. “I have to get back to my sisters now.”
Edgar brushed his hair back, a smile warming his face. “Good. I’m glad that…Thank you for believing me, Miss Thaumas.”
“Annaleigh,” I offered, extending a small token of friendship.
“Annaleigh.”
I hurried down the road, taking the fastest route back to the tavern, puddles be damned.
I breathed a sigh of relief when I opened the door and spotted the Graces at a table, then stopped in my tracks.
They were not alone.
“Annaleigh!” Honor called out.
A young man stood up from their table and turned at her greeting. Cassius. His face broke into a smile as he spotted me. “We meet again.”
His cheeks were pink from the cold, and his dark curls sprang out from beneath a knit cap.
“What are you doing here?” I immediately wished I could take the question back. It sounded too accusatory, too brusque. “How is your father?” I tried again, softening. I’d forgotten to ask at the ball.
“The same, I fear. I actually came to Astrea for some supplies. Roots and herbs. There’s a healer down the road who says they’ll help.”
“Is it true if you catch scarlet fever, you bleed out of your eyes? That’s why they call it scarlet, right?” Honor asked, leaning across the table in ghoulish glee.
“Honor!” I exclaimed, mortified.
Cassius seemed unfazed. He bent in close to her. “Even worse!” He straightened, catching my frown as they giggled. “I had a bit of lunch here and was on my way out when I saw these lovely ladies struggling to be seated. I thought I might step in and offer my assistance.”
“They couldn’t see us over the counter,” Mercy explained.
“That’s very kind of you.”
“The pleasure has been all mine. I had no idea how delightful a— What is this I’m drinking?”
“Caramel cider!” Verity chimed in.
“How delightful a caramel cider could be. You look in need of one yourself,” he offered, pulling out a coin.
“Oh, can I order it?” Mercy asked, snatching at the money before he agreed. “Please?”
“Me too!” Honor jumped in. “They let you sit in the big stools while you wait.”
“And me!” Verity cried, not to be outdone.
They skipped off in utter delight at being allowed to perform such a very grown-up task.
“How are you?” he asked once the girls were out of earshot. “There’s a weariness here,” he said, gesturing around my eyes.
I brushed aside his concern. “Nothing a good night’s sleep won’t solve. And you? How is your father, really?”
“Not good.” Cassius offered me a half smile. “It will be a blessing when it’s over.” He bit his lip. “That came out wrong.”
I remembered Ava’s last few hours, her gasps for air, her cries for release. “No, I understand what you mean. My sister…”
He nodded in my silence. “Your younger sisters are thoroughly charming. The little one—Verity?—she looks quite a lot like you.”
“They didn’t talk your ear off, did they?”
“Not a bit. I enjoyed the company. The past few weeks have been a rather friendless existence.”
I murmured something about relating, then paused. It wasn’t exactly as though he’d been stuck on Selkirk the entire time. He had gone to Pelage. To the ball. “I hope not all of them have been without pleasure.”
When he smiled, his eyes danced, flickering shades of deep blue. “Of course not.”
“I wasn’t sure if I’d get to see you after…I hoped we’d run into each other again.”
“Did you?” Cassius bit back a pleased smile.
Without the sparkling bit of mask to hide behind, my words felt too bold, too brazen, but I remembered what he’d said at the ball. Regret was the darkest nightmare of all. “I really did.”
His smile turned to a full grin. “I’m glad to hear it.”
My cheeks burned with pleasure, and I looked away from him, feeling too shy to meet his eyes.
On the wall behind him was a large tapestry of Arcannia. Each section was woven with a different-colored thread.
I pointed to it. “Where’s your home?”
He turned to study the map. “A little bit here, a little bit there. I’ve lived just about everywhere.”
“A sailor?” I guessed.
“Something like that.”
“Which was your favorite?”
He shifted his chair closer to mine, offering us both a better view of the tapestry. “I liked them all, I suppose.” He gestured to a bold yellow swatch in the middle of the kingdom. “That’s Lambent. I was there for a bit in my childhood. Have you ever been?” I shook my head. “It’s a long, hot desert, with hills of sand as far as the eye can see. The sun beats down, drying everything out.”
“How do people live like that? So thoroughly cut off from water?”
“There are oasis springs here and there. And there are great beasts called camels, with giant humps and ungainly legs. They walk like this.” He used his fingers to pantomime a four-legged creature walking across the table. “They carry the People of the Light, worshippers of Vaipany, across the sands.” He pointed to a mountain range, sewn in stitches jagged and blood red. “When I was eight, we spent a brief time in the Cardanian Mountains.”
My breath sucked in. “That’s where the Tricksters are, isn’t it?”
Cassius nodded. “And the god of unholy bargains, Viscardi.”
I winced. Even hearing that name spoken out loud made my head ache. Would the Trickster take it as an invitation to join us? “What was that like?”
“It’s a poor community. People there make their living picking the Nyxmist plant. Its flowers are bright red, like cranesbill. It only grows there, very high, near the snow line. The oil is prized by healers and is said to cure nearly any sickness. You can instantly tell who in the village harvests the flowers. Their hands are perpetually stained red by a dye the plant secretes.”
“How awful,” I murmured, imagining a town full of people with bloodied hands. “Is that what they’re called? The People of the Flowers?”
“The People of the Bones,” he corrected.
My nose wrinkled. “I don’t think that’s a place I’d care to visit. Why were you there?”
Cassius laughed. “I wasn’t making bargains, if that’s what you think!” His voice lowered. “My mother had business to attend to.”
I couldn’t imagine Mama shepherding us around the kingdom, actively pursuing her own livelihood, and was instantly intrigued. “What does she d—”
“This was my favorite,” he said, cutting me off, and stood up to tap the northernmost section of the map. “Zephyr’s domain. Tiny pockets of postulants make their home on rocky outcrops. They decorate their villages with blue streamers and banners and flags. Dozens of windmills spin all day, their spokes making a grand symphony of clatter.”
Had he interrupted my question in his excitement, or had he purposefully avoided it? “The People of the Gale,” I supplied, studying him.
“Yes, exactly!” A clock hanging over the bar chimed the hour. “Is it really three already?” he asked, squinting. “I’m afraid I must be going. I came over on a neighbor’s boat. He swore he’d leave me behind if I was late.”
“Cassius, I…” As his eyes lit on mine, my thoughts flew from me. I wanted to know more about him, so much more, but as he pulled on his raincoat, my mind was suddenly blank and my mouth empty. “Do you like strudel?”
His eyes twinkled in amusement, and I wanted to cringe. What had gotten into me? I felt bewitched, as if someone else was in control of my body. Someone who wanted nothing more than to run her fingers through Cassius’s dark hair. Someone who wanted to pull that head full of curls toward her and finally be kissed. Someone who wanted…My cheeks burned as my mind raced with improprieties.
“Well, that depends,” he replied, his voice light and teasing. “Are you inviting me out for strudel, Annaleigh?”
“No!” The collar of my dress felt unspeakably tight, and I was certain my cheeks were stained apple red. “I just…There’s a bakery down the road that’s well known for it…if you like that kind of thing.”
“I love strudel,” he confessed. “Cherry is my favorite, and I find it even better when shared in pleasant company. But I really must go today. Could I meet you there tomorrow?”
I opened my mouth, eager to accept, but a scream cut me off. It came from outside, followed by shouts for help.
Cassius leaned over me, peering out the window. For a brief second, I could smell his cologne, warm and amber. As he pulled away, I longed to smell it again.
He and several patrons rushed out of the tavern. There was another scream, and my blood ran cold. It sounded like Camille. Had something happened to one of the triplets? The Graces hopped down from the barstools, looking as if they were going to run into the street as well.
“Stay here,” I told them, throwing my cloak over my shoulders. “At the table. I’ll be right back.”
A group gathered farther down the street outside the clock shop. I let out a sigh of relief as I saw Camille and all three of the triplets on the outer edge. They clung to each other, tears in their eyes.
“What’s going on? What happened?” I asked, unable to keep from squeezing their arms, making sure they were all right.
“He’s dead,” Camille sobbed, trembling hands wrapping around me. “He’s really dead.”
My heart stopped as I searched the crowd, looking for Fisher. “Where is he?”
She shook her head and folded herself back into Rosalie, brushing away tears.
“Fisher?” I called out, pushing my way through the pressing crowd. “Fisher?” My voice cracked, turning into a shriek as I shoved my way to the front of the circle.
“Annaleigh, no!” Cassius said, suddenly beside me, pulling me back, away from the rain puddle.
Glancing down, I screamed.
It wasn’t rain.
Edgar lay in a growing spread of blood, his body broken and smashed on the cobblestones. His spectacles lay feet away, one of the lenses cracked. Fisher knelt next to him with his ear pressed to Edgar’s chest, searching for signs of life. After a long moment, he looked up at the crowd and sadly shook his head.
A woman fainted, falling into a deep swoon and causing a flurried commotion as her companions tried to catch her.
“What happened?”
“He was at the second-story window and just…fell,” a man near us said, pointing up at the storefront.
Cassius tried shielding me from the chaos, turning me away from the sight of the body, but I squirmed free.
“He jumped?”
The man shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“I heard his sweetheart died recently,” a woman near us mentioned, overhearing our conversation. “It was all too much for the poor man.” She made a tsk of sadness before returning to her business.
This didn’t make any sense. I’d just spoken with him. We had a plan to meet next week. He wanted to find out what happened to Eulalie. To find out who had…
Who had killed her.
I looked up to the sharp pitch of the shop’s roof and the open window, remembering the creaking floorboard. Someone had been up there with him. Edgar hadn’t been alone.
Whoever pushed Eulalie from the cliffs had been with Edgar before he fell. I was certain of it. Breaking free from Cassius, I rushed toward the shop, ignoring his protests. If I didn’t get up to the second floor right now, I would miss the killer.
I skirted around where Edgar lay and smashed into Fisher’s chest.
“Annaleigh, what are you doing?” he asked, grabbing at my wrists to stop me.
“I need to go in there. To go upstairs. Fisher, you have to help me!”
“Help you what?”
“Find the killer! They’re inside!”
“Killer?” he repeated, fumbling to keep hold of me as I writhed from his grasp. “Annaleigh, there’s no killer. I saw it happen. He jumped.”
“He was pushed!”
“No, he wasn’t.”
“Let go of me!” I screeched, stomping at his feet.
Fisher’s arms surrounded me, holding in my flailing arms. “Calm down, Annaleigh. You’re making a scene.”
He pulled me against his chest, and I caught sight of my sisters, their eyes wide with horror. Cassius’s eyebrows were furrowed with concern. Dozens of onlookers surrounding Edgar’s body watched my fit. I let out a shaky breath, feeling myself deflate.
I turned away, unable to stand their gazes upon me. I looked up to meet Fisher’s eyes, beseeching. “Fisher, I know you’re mad at me, but please? Please come with me and look? I was visiting Edgar earlier. We heard a floorboard creak upstairs. Someone was there. Someone was listening to us! I have to know who.”
“I’m not mad at you, Annaleigh. I—I’ve been embarrassed about what happened, but not mad. I could never be mad at you.”
“Then help me, please? We need to find them before they get away.”
He raked his fingers through his hair with a loud sigh. “I’ll go look. But I promise, there was no one at the window but Edgar. Stay here.”
“Be careful!” I called after him.
Now alone on the steps of the shop, I didn’t know what to do. A group of men covered Edgar’s body with a sheet and pushed the crowds back onto the sidewalk. I wanted to join my sisters and Cassius, but suddenly I was terrified of getting too close to the body. The white sheet was quickly turning red. I turned away, studying the display of pocket watches in the window as tears sprang to my eyes.
He hadn’t jumped. He couldn’t have.
Fisher returned moments later, his eyes dark as he shook his head. “I’m sorry, Annaleigh. No one was there.”
