The Storm Crow (The Storm Crow, #1)(56)
He smiled faintly, his eyes bright as spring leaves. “You’d have gotten along with my little sister.”
“Does she live in Seahalla?”
His smile faded, his expression clouding. When he didn’t answer, I started to ask but clamped my mouth shut when I caught the look in Caylus’s eyes. The same look that always seemed to be there, only ten times darker: pain.
“You support the rebels,” I said quietly, “but you aren’t one. Why?”
His hands closed into massive fists in his lap. “I’m…tired of fighting.”
My eyes flickered to his scarred hands as I remembered the way he’d dislodged Ericen’s grip on me with ease. I’d thought he was a street fighter or a soldier. Maybe he had been, once. I didn’t ask, smothering the urge to run my fingers along the lines of his scars like I had so often done my own, as if it might help me understand them.
We spent the next hour waiting for a mixture to brew, during which Caylus made tea. A light rain tapped against the window as he delivered a cup of steaming bergamot tea to the only clear space on a workbench beside me, a fresh scone beside it.
Hours later, the only thing we’d learned was the shell seemed to have an affinity for iron. It stuck to the slippery surface like tree sap, and I couldn’t be sure, but the humming seemed slightly stronger.
“This isn’t working,” I said at last. My eyes were tired, and my hand cramped from writing.
Caylus sat back. “It isn’t working yet. We’ll try again tomorrow.”
Caylus locked the egg away in a padded trunk. Though the idea of leaving the egg anywhere I wasn’t made me uneasy, transporting it in and out of the castle was too risky. Still, as I climbed into the carriage to return to the castle, I felt like I’d left a piece of myself behind.
Eighteen
The next couple of days followed a similar pattern. Caylus worked at the bakery in the morning, so Kiva and I used that time to train. That morning, I found her already at the training grounds, Auma a nearby shadow, watching her dance with Sinvarra. They’d continued to have lunch together despite Razel’s warning.
At first, I’d worried she might get the girl into trouble, but when I mentioned it to Kiva, she said she’d already tried talking Auma out of it for that very reason. Auma had made it very clear that she could take care of herself and would make her own decisions.
In the afternoon, I returned to Caylus’s to run through experiments. While we waited for things to brew, I helped him with other little projects for his newest inventions, but our results yielded nothing.
Ericen was nowhere to be seen. When I asked Razel at dinner where he went, she simply smiled her knifelike smile and turned back to conversation with her newest male guest at the table.
My unease never settled. The eyes of the Illucian servants held mine with quiet dislike, and I never turned my back on a soldier. Each time I saw the blue-and-gold Illucian banners, my skin flared hot, my hands itching for my bow with each sneer of an Illucian guard. The added appearance of decorations for the upcoming ball only made me sick.
With every failed experiment, the warmth of my bed called out to me, free of scowling faces, but I didn’t listen. Each morning, it was a struggle, but I dragged myself from beneath the comfort of the covers, pushing against that pull to sit, to wait, to spiral deeper and deeper inside myself, and each day, it got a little easier.
On the evening of the promised ball, I left Caylus’s a bundle of nerves. Earlier that week, Razel’s seamstress had offered to make me a dress, but I’d declined. I had one. I’d never gotten to wear it, as it had been made in anticipation of the day I would become a rider. Another thing I’d thrown in my closet and planned never to look at again yet couldn’t leave behind.
Servants helped me dress, one even spending a good half hour bundling my curls atop my head, despite the fact that they would escape within the hour. Several long pieces twirled down my back and around my face.
The dress fit wonderfully. I stood before the floor-length mirror in my room, admiring the misty gray and silver material. It clung to my upper body, a single gossamer strap curving over one shoulder and around my neck in a tight circlet lined with silver to keep it rigid. The skirt stopped just below my knees, overlaid by bands of sheer cloth reaching the floor, enveloping me in a shroud of mist. A maelstrom of black feathers had been done in delicate needlework from below my waist to my shoulders, and small hematite stones glittered along the bodice in the fading sunlight filtering in from the high windows.
My heart ached. I looked like my mother.
A knock at the door preceded Kiva entering. Her pale hair had been braided back, her typical guard uniform replaced with an all-black version. Sinvarra was strapped to her hip, polished and gleaming in the light of the sona lamps.
“Wow.” She blinked. “You look great.”
“Thanks.” I managed a smile. The crow design of my dress wouldn’t go unnoticed, but I didn’t care.
We left together, the castle corridors darkening as storm clouds gathered over the setting sun. The frosty chill of the night had crept inside, but it grew warmer as we descended the stairs toward the ballroom filled with people. Voices echoed through the halls, the great doors of the entrance hall pinned open to reveal a line of carriages in the circular courtyard.
Gold-and-blue cloth hung from the banisters, matching flowers lining every surface. Rich savory smells floated down the halls from the kitchen, mixing with the sweet mouthwatering scent drifting out of the bake house.