House of Salt and Sorrows(34)

“Fisher said somewhere on Salten there’s supposed to be a door for the gods. They use them to travel quickly about the kingdom. Far, far distances across the kingdom…” I trailed off meaningfully.

She frowned. “That sounds absurd.”

“Well, of course it does. But wouldn’t it be fun if it wasn’t? We could go anywhere we wanted. Do anything we wanted and be back before supper.”

Camille pushed aside a lock of hair. “Fisher thinks it’s real?”

“He told me about it.” I didn’t need to mention he’d also written it off as nonsense.

“Where’s it meant to be?”

I shrugged. “He didn’t know.”

Camille glanced at the grandfather clock, a soft smile growing across her face. She looked happier than I’d seen her in days. “The Graces will be getting out of lessons soon. I suppose we could see if they want to make it a scavenger hunt.”

I beamed. “I’ll find the triplets.”

As I entered the hall, I heard Camille snort from the couch. “Nineteen years old and on a treasure hunt for a magic door.” She glanced up at me. “At least the Graces will be excited.”





“A magic door?” Honor repeated, dubious of my claim. Her eyes shifted to Camille.

The eight of us were in the solarium, enjoying an impromptu tea party Fisher brought in. We’d found the triplets there, reclining on wicker chaises, reading poems and snorting with laughter. I caught the last two lines, and it appeared they’d found more of Eulalie’s contraband volumes. Rosalie, spotting the Graces, slid the book in her skirts.

Mercy munched on a biscuit and mimicked her sister’s skepticism. Her dark hair, pulled back with a bow, fell to the side like silk. “Like in fairy tales?”

“Yes, but for the gods to use,” Camille said. “And it could be anywhere, so we’ll have to look very hard.”

“What does it look like?” Verity asked. Even she seemed doubtful.

I’d been certain the triplets would be the hardest to convince and that we’d have to rein in the Graces.

“It will be fun!” Fisher promised. “Or would you rather stay here with Berta? I’m sure she can dig up more lines for you to copy while we’re out.”

The three quickly changed their tune and downed their tea with gusto.

“Where should we start?” Rosalie asked, helping Lenore and Ligeia up. “Where would a god keep his door?”

“You said Pontus used it for meetings about important matters. Maybe Papa’s office?” Mercy reasoned.

Lenore wrinkled her nose. “He always keeps it locked. We won’t be able to get in.”

“What about the cove on the far side of the island?” Ligeia suggested. “Maybe he comes directly out of the sea.”

Honor rolled her eyes. “It’s too cold to go into the water. Besides, when the door opens, all the ocean would flood in.”

Fisher nodded. “Good thinking, Honor.”

Camille skimmed her fingers around the rim of her cup. “It must be concealed somehow…otherwise we would have seen it before now.”

Rosalie’s face brightened. “I think I know where it is!” In an instant, she was racing down the pathway, pushing through fronds and low-hanging vines.

The rest of us trailed behind at a more leisurely pace. The solarium was too humid for sprinting.

“Come on, come on,” she urged from the top of the stairs. “And we’ll need our cloaks!”



* * *





“It’s freezing!” Verity squealed, holding the flaps of her cloak tightly across her body.

A brisk wind whipped across Salten, bringing the brine up off the sea. The long grasses were yellow and dry, and a skim of ice crackled across the fountain. It wouldn’t be long till Churning.

“Where are we going, Rosalie?” Camille called out, fighting to be heard over the gale.

“Follow me!”

We trudged after her in single file, heading directly into the gusts. It was easier to just keep my head down and follow the trail made by the feet in front of me. The grass died away, and we were on black rocks. Specks of dirt and salt blown about by the wind stung my eyes.

When I dared to look up, I saw we were heading for the Grotto. A narrow path veered off the cliff walk, taking us down, down, down to a small cave hollowed out of the crag. Inside was our family’s shrine to Pontus. Four times a year, at the changing of the seasons, we brought offerings of fish and pearls and left them at the silver altar.

I hated those trips.

The trail was precarious. One wrong step and you’d plummet to the surf below.

Our little game suddenly seemed like a terrible mistake.

My eyes fell on a slab of rocks rising out of the sea like an angry fist. That’s where Eulalie’s body had been found. If Edgar was to be believed, she was pushed off the cliffs not far from where we now stood, and her killer was still on the loose.

Once inside the cave, I breathed a sigh of relief. We just needed to search the shrine and head back. There should still be enough weak sunlight for us to see the path. We could continue the search safely at Highmoor, until everyone tired of the game.

“Where should we start?” Rosalie asked. She’d marched us here so full of triumph. Now that she was here in the crowded space, doubt crept over her features.