Holly abandoned her own car in the lot and hoofed after him.
Her heart pounded from both exertion and excitement. What was Ryan up to? A siren’s ability to make people forget, even temporarily, would lend itself to a lot of scams.
Her mind was running wild with the possibilities when Ryan turned in to the parking lot of the grocery store.
Ohhhkay. That was disappointingly normal, but she supposed a steady diet of fish might get boring. She pictured Ryan loading up on junk food, then at the till making the clerk “forget” that he hadn’t paid.
She hung out by the side of the building, pretending to be waiting for a ride, but after ten minutes, she got antsy and went in.
She grabbed a basket by the automatic doors, then strolled through the store, picking up a couple of random items while she scanned the aisles for Ryan.
He wasn’t shopping. Instead he was stationed at one of the checkouts, wearing a green apron.
Why was a siren working in a grocery store? Surely he could talk his way into a better job, like on a whale-watching boat? It didn’t fit.
Was she wrong about him? Was he human, after all? Driven by curiosity, Holly lined up at his till.
She could tell the exact moment he saw her. His entire body stilled, and his jaw hardened. He stared straight at her, and her heart gave a quick thump before he resumed bagging groceries for the white-haired lady ahead of her.
Her turn. Play it cool, or brazen it out? No point in secrecy—he’d already guessed she was following him, and no one was behind her in line.
Nerves fizzing, she watched him scan her box of granola bars and pack of gum. “That’s right, it’s me again. Surprise.”
“Did you find everything you were looking for?” he asked, his voice hostile.
“Actually, no. I was looking for fresh fish, but I didn’t have any luck.” She grinned cheekily.
Holly expected Ryan to look exasperated or pissed off. Instead, for a brief, unguarded moment, he looked spooked. Afraid. Before the shutter came down again.
“That’ll be four ninety-five.”
Feeling flat, she handed him a five. This hadn’t gone the way she’d thought it would. She’d expected him to banter and flirt with her like he had on the beach, not shut her down. It dawned on Holly that to Ryan, she represented a threat.
He was afraid she’d betray his secret.
Nobody had ever been scared of Holly before. It made her gut twist, that she’d put that expression on his face. He gave her the change in silence.
She abandoned wittiness and spoke carefully, trying to show discretion. “I may have imagined part of it, but I know you saved my life. I just wanted to say thank you.” Her throat ached. “I promise I won’t mention it again.”
Her eyes stinging as if she’d lost something precious, she picked up her groceries and left.
Chapter Six
The Aerie
A spike of fear pushed Leah out of bed at the first pink of dawn. The deadline. If she didn’t send Duke Ruben a message through the hypocaust today, he would break her mother’s fingers.
But she had little news. Would a message merely reporting her arrival satisfy him? Or would he decide to spur her efforts by punishing her mother? She couldn’t take the chance. And, she admitted to herself, she wanted to impress the duke. To show him she was just as much his daughter as Jehannah.
Leah dressed in the near darkness, then crept out of the communal bedroom to the second floor.
She tiptoed into the Mirrorhall and wandered among the mirrors. A firewasp bounced off the polished surfaces. Leah felt its frustration as her own: nothing here would interest the duke.
She found herself standing in front of the huge Four Worlds mirror, amazed anew at how the mirror was set right into the uneven stone. How had Qeturah built such a marvelous thing? With gold from banditry? Or was it magic, like the ice? Leah trailed her fingers over the cold, slick surface. The mirror fascinated her, but any mention of the Mirror Worlds would only make the duke impatient. He cared about this world and his duchy only.
What else had she learned since coming here?
She’d learned that Sabra was a liar. Leah’s hands clenched as she remembered Qeturah’s casual revelation at supper that neither Zamara nor Niobe had otherselves. She could’ve failed Qeturah’s test without consequences, instead of setting herself up as Sabra’s rival. Sabra had not been at all pleased.
But Duke Ruben wouldn’t care that she’d made an enemy. Despair choked Leah. She had no idea what to look for.
And even if she did scrape up some information, she would only have to do the same thing again in another four days. Inevitably, she would fail. And then—would the duke begin with her mother’s left hand or her right?
Ill, Leah pressed her hand to her stomach. Her reflection copied her. She must not fail—
Footsteps.
Leah dropped to her hands and knees as Qeturah strode into the Mirrorhall. Her pulse drummed in her ears. Any second now she would be exposed…questioned. Should she pretend to be searching for a lost button?
A firewasp buzzed in her ears. Leah turned her head—and noticed a two-foot gap between the bottom edge of the Four Worlds mirror and the stone floor.
She scuttled underneath and pressed her back against the wall of an alcove. Safe. Except Qeturah would be able to see her through the top left pane of glass.
Breathing through her mouth, Leah searched for a hiding place. Her gaze lit on ladder steps carved in the stone wall, leading straight up into a vertical shaft.
Without giving herself a chance to think about whether or not it was a good idea, Leah started climbing.
Eight steps took her above the ceiling of the Mirrorhall. She balanced precariously there as Qeturah’s footsteps paused right in front of the mirror.
“Look at a mirror. Damn you, look,” Qeturah muttered.
Which otherself was Qeturah talking to? Curiosity stirred, but Leah’s fingers were cramping, so she climbed higher. The firewasp buzzed in the chimney’s narrow confines, angrily seeking escape.
At the top of the stone chimney, she found a small landing and a metal door blocking an archway.
Leah hesitated, but not only did she desperately want to put the door between herself and the twenty-foot drop, the whole place reeked of secrets. Secrets she could use to placate the duke.
She unbarred the door and cautiously pushed it open. The metal hinges made no sound as the door swung wide, revealing a large, triangular room. One whole side lay open to the outside, more balcony than window, chilling the air. The firewasp flew away, finding what it sought. Not so she.
Disappointment twisted her stomach as she stepped farther inside. It wasn’t a secret room, only a defensive lookout hewn from the rock.
Leah stilled. In a shadowy back corner, on a large bed, a young man with black hair slept.
She saw a resemblance to Qeturah in his strong cheekbones and well-shaped mouth. Her son?
Palms sweating, Leah backed toward the door.
Halfway there, he groaned, and his eyelids fluttered. “Water.” A pitcher sat on the floor beside the bed, but instead of reaching for it, his eyes slid closed again. His lips were cracked, and hectic color burned in his cheeks.
Fever.
Her fear drained away. Even if he woke, by tomorrow he would only remember her dimly, if at all.
Curious, she moved closer. Leah didn’t know why Qeturah’s son was hidden up here—locked in, no less—but her instincts told her Qeturah wouldn’t be pleased to find her up here.
Stooping, Leah poured some water into a clay cup, then offered it to the youth. “Here.”
He didn’t respond, his eyes still closed.
Leah could feel the heat burning off him from six inches away. He needed water. Concerned, she shook his shoulder. “Wake up.”
The instant she touched him, his eyes snapped open. He grabbed her wrists and rolled her over onto the bed, staring down with fever-bright eyes and bared tee
th. His dark hair fell in shaggy locks around his face. He looked feral.
She ought to have been afraid—her mother had warned her never to enter a bedchamber occupied by a nobleman—but she had the strange sense that while he could be dangerous, he would never be dangerous to her.
“You spilled the water,” she said accusingly.
His eyes dilated, black swallowing up the brown iris. “You. I know you. Don’t I?”
She shook her head, and he released her, falling back onto the mattress with a groan. The straw tick rustled.
Leah climbed off the bed. “You need water.”
He watched her with the close attention of a predator as she refilled the cup.
“Sit up.”
At her command, he shifted onto one elbow, causing a small bag strung on a cord to fall out of the neck of his white nightshirt.
When she put an arm around his back to steady him, the heat of his skin seemed to burn through her sleeve. She set the cup to his lips and tipped a small amount into his mouth. He drained every drop, his gaze locked on hers.
“More?”
He nodded, and Leah extracted her arm. He leaned against the wall as she poured more water then guided the cup to his mouth.
“That’s enough for now,” she said when he finished. “You don’t want to upset your stomach.”
When she turned away, he caught her wrist in a weak grip. Knowing she could break free at any time, Leah didn’t struggle. “Yes?”
“Who are you?” He stared at her, as if her answer were the most important thing in the world.
She tried to soothe him. “I’m nobody. Just a serving maid.”
He frowned up at her. “No, you’re not.”
Her heart skipped a beat. Had her finer clothes given her new station away? “What?”
“You’re not nobody. You’re her. Why did you fly away?” he asked, clearly caught up by some fever dream.
“I’m a serving maid,” she said firmly. “Your mother, Duchess Qeturah, sent me to tidy up.”
He didn’t correct her, so her surmise about his mother’s identity must be right.
She pulled her wrist free and began to putter around, pretending that she couldn’t feel him watching her.
A sword and scabbard hung from a hook on the wall beside a wardrobe. A hypocaust grate sat in one corner. A table with some books stood off to the side—copies of ones in the schoolroom: a book of maps and a history of the duchies.
She used a broom to sweep all the dust out the balcony window. It made her nervous to go so close to the edge of the dizzying three-story drop, but the view was spectacular: Thunderhead’s steep cinder cone outlined against the red sky.
A thump made her turn. The boy had fallen out of bed. She hurried to help him up. “What are you doing?” she scolded. “You’re sick. You need to stay in bed.”
“You were too close to the edge.”
Was he worried that she would fly away? But when Leah took a closer look, she saw a gouge in the balcony ledge, as if a chunk of stone had crumbled away. A shudder ran through her.
Still… “Next time,” Leah panted as she struggled to lift him back onto the bed, “just tell me.”
“Next time.” His voice sounded strangely triumphant. “Next time, I will.”
Their eyes met and Leah felt a spark of—heat? Flustered, she moved away. “Do you need another cup of water?”
He nodded, so she poured another and held it to his lips. He groaned with pleasure. “My thanks.”
Leah blushed in confusion at the simple words. Nobles never thanked their servants. Duke Ruben would never—
The duke. Reminded, she turned to leave. “I should go.”
He put his swaying body between her and the door. His nightshirt hung past his knees; he had strong calves and big feet. “No,” he said hoarsely. “Stay.”
“I can’t,” she said, gently. “I’m sorry, but I have other duties.” Like spying. The thought pricked like a thorn. “Let me pass.”
His brow furrowed. “First tell me your name.”
Leah’s pulse thudded hard. Why did he want to know? When a noble wanted to summon a servant, they usually called them by job, like Cook or Maid.
“Leah,” she said after a pause. Nobody here knew her by that name. Telling him her true name felt…intimate.
“Leah,” he breathed.
She edged around him toward the door.
He propped himself against the wall, blocking her. “Don’t you want to know my name?” he asked plaintively.
Leah did want to know, but she shouldn’t. She kept silent.
“My name’s Gideon,” he said, leaving off his title—yet another sign that he was feverish. He bent forward, and his brown eyes locked on hers. “Say it. Say my name and that you’ll come back to the Aerie tomorrow, and I’ll let you pass.”
Instinct warned her not to give in too easily. “Perhaps. I might come back tomorrow, Master Gideon.” Boldly, she ducked under his arm and whisked out the door.
Once she’d shut it, she leaned against the metal, breathless, listening. Certain that on the other side of the door, Gideon was doing the same.
Long, heavy moments passed before she heard movement. She waited—to make sure he made it safely back into bed—then eased away, only to stare in consternation at the heavy bar on the door.
It felt wrong to lock him in—what if he called for help?—but if she left it differently than she’d found it, then Qeturah would know someone had visited the Aerie. Leah set the bar in place.
She listened carefully at the top of the ladder. Hearing nothing, she descended to the bottom and crawled out from under the Four Worlds mirror.
Sabra gave her a hard look when she joined the others for wheatcakes and honey. Qeturah cleared her throat, but instead of chastising Leah for her tardiness, she announced that she would be away for a day, trading in the nearest village, one duchy over.
But you can’t go. Gideon’s sick. Leah kept the words inside by harshly telling herself it was good that Qeturah was leaving. It gave her something to report to the duke.
Zamara successfully begged to be allowed to accompany Qeturah, but Qeturah decreed that everyone else would stay behind.
After breakfast, Leah followed the other girls to the kitchen hypocaust. While they waited for Qeturah, the two cousins chattered.
During a pause, Leah interjected a question. “Does Qeturah have any family?”
“She’s related to Duke Eliyah,” Zamara, the plumper of the two, said.
“No, she’s second cousin to Ashmount’s duchess,” Niobe corrected her.
“She has no husband?” Leah asked.
“She’s never been married,” Zamara said.
“Though she was betrothed,” Niobe added, “to the third son from Ashmount, but he died before the wedding.”
“You mean the third son from the Humpback,” Sabra objected. “It couldn’t have been—”
Leah interrupted the genealogy lesson. “But she has no close family living here in the valley?”
“No.” All three girls agreed on that point.
So either Leah was mistaken about Gideon being Qeturah’s son, or he’d been born out of wedlock, perhaps to her dead betrothed. Such a scandal would explain why Qeturah had hidden him away; no duke would send his daughter to foster with a fallen woman.
Glancing up, Leah was struck by the careful way Cook avoided looking at the girls as she peeled potatoes. Cook knew about the boy in the Aerie. Of course. Someone had to be feeding him.
But Cook was fat. Leah couldn’t imagine her going up that ladder any more than necessary. With Qeturah away, would she check on Gideon? What if his fever worsened?
Leah tried to calm herself. Qeturah was probably checking on Gideon right now. But when Qeturah swept into the kitchen moments later, she didn’t cancel the trip, only tapped her toe as they took turns bleeding into the hypocaust flame.
Zamara and Niobe both grimaced as if the sight of blood disgusted them.
Sabra cut her finger deeper than needed: three drops fell, but no message arrived. Jaw tight, Sabra stepped back, and Leah made a small cut to her palm. She was already stepping away when the hypocaust emitted a burst of flame.
“Quickly!” Qeturah thrust a sheet of paper at her.
Leah held it hesitantly over the hypocaust. She expected it to catch fire, but the paper was merely singed, words burned into it: “Jehannah, please let us know when you arrive. Your mother worries. Duke Ruben.”
Leah’s stomach lurched at the mention of her mother. She had to send him a message soon.
“Has the dragon attacked?” Qeturah asked, brows knit together. She took the paper from Leah’s nerveless fingers and scanned it. “Ah. Good. All is well.”
If only it were.
…
Leah sat in the schoolroom laboring over her message to the duke. Though Qeturah had assigned another discussion topic before leaving at midday—the rise to power of the illegitimate Duke Yosef—nobody was working on it. Niobe embroidered the bodice of a dress, and Sabra prowled around and sighed with boredom.
Her mother had taught Leah to write, but Leah had never used a quill before, and the paper was ink spotted by the time she wrote out her simple message. “Father. Arrived safely. Three other dukes’ daughters here. Qeturah gone to nearby village.” She signed it Jehannah.
Sabra rudely read the message over her shoulder—then snatched it up and tore it to pieces.
Leah leaped to her feet, angry color rushing to her cheeks. “What’re you doing?”
Sabra smiled. “We’re not allowed to use the hypocaust to send messages while Qeturah’s not here.”
“It’s true,” Niobe confirmed reluctantly. “Qeturah forbade it after someone”—she glanced meaningfully at Sabra—“got caught sending love letters.”
Leah’s blood boiled. “You could’ve told me. There was no need to rip up the message.” And ruin all her work.
Sabra’s eyes narrowed. “Didn’t you tell me this morning you intended to wash your bed linens today?” Meaning, of course, that Leah had better wash her own and Sabra’s linens, or she’d tell Qeturah who Leah wasn’t.
Her temper cooled. “So I did.” Resolving to search Sabra’s trunk for a love letter to blackmail her, Leah marched out of the schoolroom. Along the way, she pocketed the quill and ink bottle, praying that the stopper stayed in. If the ink spilled down her skirt, it would brand her a thief.
Through Fire & Sea Page 7
