House of Salt and Sorrows(60)

Regnard bent over, examining Lenore’s feet. “Ortun, you’re right. These shoes are thoroughly worn out. How do you even keep them on your feet, child?”

Lenore froze, terrified to be called out in front of so many people. “Papa won’t buy us any others,” she admitted, cringing.

“Ortun, surely you’re joking,” Amelia asked. “It’s winter now. You can’t have your daughters traipsing around barefoot in the snow.”

Papa seemed more amused than angry. “Find out what mischief they’re up to and I’ll fix that. I’ll even buy you a pair, Millie! The prettiest slippers in all of Salann!”

Everyone laughed.

“No, I mean it, I mean it!” he cried gaily. “I’ll buy pairs for the whole table if you can figure out what is going on!”

“I don’t think I’d do well with shoes as dainty as Miss Annaleigh’s,” Captain Morganstin said, chuckling, as he leaned over to study mine. “But, Ortun, you’ve been exaggerating. These shoes look fine to me. There’s not a scratch on them.”

“That’s true, that’s true. Annaleigh is the only one who hasn’t come around asking for more,” Papa agreed, his eyes increasingly glassy. Morella set a glass of water in front of him, but he patently ignored it.

“How curious!” Amelia said. “What are you doing differently, Annaleigh?”

Camille’s stare weighed on me, and I raised my shoulders, admitting nothing.

“See? Can’t get a word from any of them!” To Morella’s relief, Papa sat down, resting his elbows on the table. “It’s maddening. I’m almost willing to offer up my estate to find out what’s behind all this!”

“Say, now, there’s an idea!” Captain Bashemk exclaimed, needling Ethan in the ribs. “Kill two birds with one stone! Whoever solves the mystery wins your blessing to marry one of the girls! And I’m sure we all know who he’d pick!”

He didn’t need to tilt his head to his right to indicate his choice, but he did. Camille. Obviously. She was the prettiest and the cleverest. And she was the daughter set to inherit Papa’s fortunes. Though the Salann Islands were small, we were mighty, and that could prove to be an enticement too great to ignore.

Papa downed the last of his wine and waved for a refill. Half of it was drunk in one large swallow. He blinked heavily, struggling to put the connections together. Finally, he looked up, smiling. “It’s not a bad idea, is it?”

I peeked down toward the triplets. They looked as bemused as I felt. What was going on? Surely Papa couldn’t be serious.

“Darling, perhaps we ought to save this idea for another time,” Morella suggested lightly. “We’re meant to be celebrating Pontus and First Night, aren’t we? I’d hate to offend our esteemed High Mariner….”

The priest waved her off, eager to watch this drama play out.

“We could send a messenger to the other lords of Arcannia,” Papa said, still thinking. “They could help spread the word. We’ll let anyone in the kingdom who wants to try his hand come and see.”

“Anyone at all?” Fisher asked, setting his wineglass on the table with a heavy thunk. He was the only one who knew our secret. “They wouldn’t have to be titled?” He waggled his eyebrows at Camille.

Ligeia elbowed him hard in the ribs.

Regnard nodded, his head going up and down with great care. Amelia shot Morella a look of apology. Was there any man at the table who wasn’t drunk now? Cassius sat perfectly still, but his eyes bounced around the table, following the discussion with interest.

“Better yet, better yet!” Captain Bashemk said, shouting in excitement. “Five strapping lads sit at this table. Let them have the first crack at it!”

“Six,” Sterland corrected from the depths of his wineglass.

“Come now, Henricks, don’t you think you’re a bit old to be chasing after young ladies?” Captain Bashemk said with a laugh.

Sterland leaned back in his chair, his mouth slack with inebriation, staring down the row of us. I looked away as his eyes met mine. Though he wasn’t a true uncle to us, not by blood, it still felt wrong.

“Hardly. In fact, if Highmoor is truly on the line, it’s only fitting I try my hand for her first. You owe me that much, Ortun.”

Regnard momentarily sobered, glancing between his friends. “Sterland,” he warned. “Not tonight.”

“I…owe you?” Papa bristled, his hand tightening around the stem of his wineglass. “I owe you nothing.”

“Here we go again,” Regnard muttered.

But Sterland wasn’t one to back down from a fight. “If not for you—”

“If not for me, what?” Papa snapped, his voice rising with the color in his cheeks. “If not for me, you’d have nothing. No education, no career. My family created you, and this is how you repay me? Harping on perceived injustices? Living in a delusional past? I’ve had enough!”

His knuckles turned white, squeezing the glass until it shattered, raining glittering shards. Blood welled up across Papa’s face. One of the flying pieces had struck his cheek, slicing deep.

“Ortun!” Morella exclaimed, dipping her napkin into water and trying to wipe the cut.

“Stop meddling with me!” he roared, lashing his arm out to knock hers aside. Heavy plates were swiped off the table and smashed to the floor.