House of Salt and Sorrows(59)

“And now we, the People of the Salt, celebrate!” the High Mariner exclaimed.

Perfectly timed, the doors opened and four butlers entered, hoisting a tray high above their shoulders. A sailfish, almost ten feet long and roasted, was on the silver platter, propped up on its pectorals. The navy dorsal fin fanned wide, showcasing Cook’s talents. The silver body gleamed, and for a moment, everyone could imagine this great predator in the wild, flying out of the water with muscular grace.

Cook came out to take a little bow. Once Papa had carved out the first ceremonial fillet, Captain Bashemk pantomimed challenging the fish to a duel, striking its long sword with his butter knife. Wine flowed freely all evening. The women sipped with restraint, but the men were already a little worse for wear, and we still had six courses to go.

Father placed the fillet on Morella’s plate with a loving look. Offering her the first piece was a sign he esteemed her above everyone else in the room. Camille’s lower lip pushed out, dangerously close to petulance. She turned toward Cassius and muttered something that made him laugh.

Cook carved up the other servings as everyone exclaimed over the fish’s beauty. It was a complete extravagance, roasting an entire sailfish for a party of just twenty-four. I knew the remainder of the fish would be served to the staff for their First Night celebration later that evening, but looking at the proud beast, I was sorry he’d been caught. He should have been out in the Salt, not between gleaming vegetables and fruits.

As the High Mariner sat down to eat, the table’s conversation picked up again.

“Some of your girls had a birthday ball recently, eh, Ortun?” Regnard asked, swirling his glass of wine with unnecessary panache.

“My triplets,” he said. “It was a lovely party. We were sorry you missed it.”

“We ran into a squall coming back from Antinopally. Damned storm took us three days off course.” He peered down the table. “You’re all, what now, fourteen?”

“Sixteen, Uncle Regnard,” Rosalie corrected, flashing him a smile.

“Sixteen! And all still at Highmoor?”

His voice held a note of teasing, but a prickle rippled down my spine all the same.

“None of you are spoken for, then?” Jules asked, shooting a quick glance at Camille.

Ivor raised his eyebrows, looking me over again.

Sterland chuckled. “Ortun, you need to marry these beauties off before they run you out of house and home!”

“You’ve no idea, good sir. No idea at all. The cost that…You know, there’s a story about that.” Papa stood, commanding the attention of the room. “A mystery, actually.” His voice was colored by the wine, more relaxed than he’d been in days. “As you know, I have eight beautiful, lovely, talented daughters. And it’s true, they do cost quite a bit to keep up with, but it’s never bothered me before. Pontus has blessed our family with wealth, and it’s a privilege spending it to keep my girls happy and beautiful. However, recent events have given me pause. You see, there’s something wrong with my girls’ feet.”

“Their…feet?” the High Mariner asked, looking to each of my sisters in turn.

The guests eyed each other nervously, everyone wanting to peek under the table to see what horrible talons hid under our skirts.

“They go through shoes faster than anyone I’ve ever known. I bought them new shoes, costly slippers, just before the triplets’ birthday. All worn out. I let them go to town to buy new ones—already, those are frayed and unraveling. Every other day, they’re begging to go into town for new shoes, and now I hear from my own staff that the triplets have been asking to borrow the maids’ extra shoes.”

I shot a quick glance at Rosalie. They’d all promised to stop dancing for Churning. She looked into her lap, avoiding my gaze. Even the Graces looked cagey.

“At first, I thought it was to keep up with the latest fashions, acquiring more and more for their collections, but no. The leather is cracked and worn thin, splitting at the seams.”

“How odd,” Amelia said. “Perhaps something is wrong with the cobbler’s goods?”

“That’s what I thought, that’s what I thought!” Papa cried, taking a great gulp of wine.

Morella reached up to pull him to his seat, but he squirmed from her grasp, eager to continue his tale.

“I arrived home from Vasa just days ago and had to make an immediate trip to Astrea to berate and rail against this poor cobbler for selling my daughters bad shoes. But it wasn’t him. The fault, you see, lies with the girls.”

The guests shifted toward us. Cassius stared at me, pondering Papa’s words. I looked down, a rush of heat flaring across my cheeks. Pressing a fork into my fillet, I pulled the fish apart until it was nothing more than a pile of flakes.

The cold, dead eyes of the sailfish seemed to glare at me too.

“?‘No other customers have complained,’ the cobbler says. Not one. Just my girls. They must be sabotaging them, but I’m at a loss to say how or why. Perhaps you can get it from them.”

“Let’s see these shoes!” Captain Bashemk exclaimed.

“Yes!” his first mate cheered, emboldened by drink. “Show us the shoes!”

“Ladies?” Papa asked.

We stared at him blankly. This was not how First Night was supposed to go. He swished his arm, indicating we stand up. After a moment of hesitation, we pulled the skirts of our dresses to the side, showing our shoes. I was wearing my second pair of slippers from Astrea. I’d not gone dancing since Edgar died, and the leather was still strong and free of scuffs.