Part 42 (1/2)

The sunlight went thin. A putrid smell wafted in through the window. With a thumb he stroked the rich silk handkerchief in his hand.

”Where did you get this, dearest?”

She gave a little laugh, but the sound was tight and false. ”Our father gave it to me years ago. I had forgotten I had it. I only just found it again.”

”Don't lie to me, Sas.h.i.+e.”

”It's no lie, sweet brother, I found-”

”I said don't lie to me!”

He grabbed her wrist, pulling her up and out of the chair. A gasp escaped her, though whether from surprise or pain he did not know. He did not lessen his grip on her.

”When did he give it to you?”

Her face had gone white. She said nothing.

”I know this thing. I've taken it from you once before. He was here, wasn't he? Westen. How long ago? Tell me!”

She shook her head, tears springing into her eyes.

A heat rose in him; a rus.h.i.+ng noise filled his head. His fingers dug into the flesh of her wrist. ”By G.o.d, you will tell me, or-”

She threw her head back and looked up at him. ”Or what? You'll strike me? You should see yourself. How like our father you look!”

It was as if she was the one who had struck him. He reeled away, holding his hand to his head. The handkerchief fluttered to the floor. She darted forward and s.n.a.t.c.hed it up.

Eldyn had gone cold. His stomach churned. ”Sas.h.i.+e-”

”You're wrong,” she said quietly, folding the handkerchief and tucking it in her sleeve. ”He didn't give it to me. I found it this morning when I looked out to see if I could see you coming. It was on the doorstep.” Now she glared at him. ”Though I wish he would come.”

”You don't mean that.”

”I do mean it! I hate being alone all day long. I hate staring out the window and seeing other people talking and laughing and going places. I hate this place. I want to leave!”

”Then pack your things.”

Her mouth opened, and she gaped at him.

Eldyn could not be angry with Sas.h.i.+e. She didn't understand, but he did. The handkerchief was a message. Or rather, a warning.

”I said pack your things. Anything we can't carry, we leave behind. We leave here at once.”

Now it was she who was afraid. ”But where are we going?”

”Somewhere safe. Somewhere he can't find us.” Except where that was, he did not know. He said only, ”Now, get your things.”

A quarter hour later, the door to the little apartment over the shoemaker's shop swung back and forth on its hinges. The dim rooms inside were empty of life-until a rat crept from a corner and up onto the table to claim the feast of biscuits that had been forgotten there.

CHAPTER NINETEEN.

I VY!” ROSE CALLED again.

With a gasping breath, Ivy sat up in bed. Rose stood nearby, her face illuminated by a single candle. The eaves of the house shuddered as another gale struck them. A storm had blown in during the night.

”Are you all right?” Rose said, her face worried. ”You were crying out for Mr. Quent.”

Ivy held a hand to her head. She had dreamed of the Wyrdwood again, just as she had several days ago. It was the same as before: the swaying trees, and Mr. Quent, and the flames.

”I'm fine,” she said. She managed a smile for her sister's sake. ”It was just a dream. I can't even recall it now.”

Rose put down the candle and sat on the edge of the bed. ”You must miss him very much.”

”I do,” Ivy said, and now her smile was stronger. ”I cannot wait for you to meet him, dearest. Lily will think him old and awfully serious, I have no doubt, but I think you will like him very much.”

”Do you like him?”

Ivy drew her knees up beneath the bedcovers and circled her arms around them. ”I love him with all my heart.”

”Then I will love him too,” Rose said, smiling. ”I won't be able to help it.”

Ivy smiled too, all thoughts of the dream vanis.h.i.+ng.

An hour later they took breakfast in the dining room as rain lashed against the windowpanes. It was too wet to go out, so Ivy resigned herself to a long day shut upstairs with her sisters. It would have been more comfortable to sit in the parlor, but it was not their day to use it, and she would not ask Mr. Wyble to make an exception-even though she suspected her request would be granted. He seemed very pleased again this morning and even remarked that the Miss Lockwells should stay as long as they liked at Whitward Street. The sum Mr. Quent was paying her cousin must have been generous indeed.

They had just finished breakfast when a pounding came at the front door. None of them could imagine who would come to call on such an awful day-or indeed, who would come at all. Moments later the housekeeper arrived in the dining room. While usually disinclined to any sort of hurry, it was clear from her huffing she had run up the stairs.

”I have a message,” she said. ”It is from a magnate!”

Mr. Wyble leaped from his seat. ”Excellent news! Lady Marsdel must require my services again. Give it here.”

”But it is for the eldest miss.”

Mr. Wyble frowned, but before he could speak, Ivy hurried forward and took the letter. ”Thank you,” she said.

The housekeeper regarded her through squinted eyes, then gave a shrug and departed. Mr. Wyble's looks were all curiosity (colored with some degree of disappointment). However, before he could ask any questions, Ivy took her leave. She waited until she reached the attic to open the letter; she was not surprised by its contents. It was a brief message from one of his servants, requesting only that she meet the lord inquirer later that day at a respectable inn located near the Halls of a.s.sembly. It did not mention the note she had received from Mr. Quent but did state: Please bring anything you might think of interest to his lords.h.i.+p.

Ivy could not help feeling a small bit of pride and pleasure at that last part. How like a spy she felt! She could imagine she was a character in one of Lily's books, carrying secret messages for the king. However, it was not to serve the king that she did this task but rather to serve Mr. Quent, and that thought gave her real pleasure.

She arrived at the inn just before the appointed hour. The inn was called the Silver Branch, and given its proximity to a.s.sembly, it was frequented by many members of the Hall of Citizens and not a few members of the Hall of Magnates. It was sometimes said that laws were voted on in a.s.sembly but they were made at the Silver Branch. Spirited debates about the best way to govern could be heard there at all hours, and it was not unheard of that, when the beer flowed as freely as the rhetoric, words were traded for fisticuffs.

Fortunately, a.s.sembly was not in session at the moment, and the inn was quiet as Ivy entered. A man took her coat, and when she spoke her name she was shown to a private parlor. Entering, she saw not the elderly lord she expected but rather the back of a young man who stood by the window, gazing out through rain-speckled gla.s.s.

”I'm sorry,” she said. ”I must have been shown to the wrong room. I'll go ask if-oh!”

The young man turned around, and his brown eyes went wide. His expression was shocked, but it could not have been more so than her own. For several seconds each could do no more than stare at the other.