The Glittering Court (The Glittering Court, #1)(123)

“I’m sorry,” Aiana continued, oblivious to my mental revelation. “I thought word would’ve gotten to you, especially since Mister Doyle took the blame upon himself and still paid the Thorns her price.”

“How nice,” I said, lifting my head. Anger was easier to deal with than grief. I still couldn’t truly process this. “I’m sure Jasper was glad to make a profit on her after all, especially if . . .” My words gave way to a gasp as I replayed what she said. “Warren knew . . .”

“He was there when it happened.”

I jumped to my feet. “Why didn’t he say anything to me? I talked to him the morning after that storm! How could he have not mentioned that my best friend disappeared?”

“I don’t know.” Her face was filled with compassion. “The more I hear about Warren Doyle, the more certain I am that I can’t ever guess what he might be thinking.”

I felt a sob catch in my throat and swallowed it back, not wanting to cry in front of her. Understanding, Aiana got to her feet. “Mira’s at a social engagement. I can get her excused early. I think it’d be good for you to be together. You can make yourself at home, and I’ll pay one of the girls downstairs to bring up hot water for the tub.”

I could only nod by way of answer, and as soon as she left, I broke down in tears. The stress of everything came crashing down on me, and I didn’t even know what I was crying for anymore. Cedric, Tamsin . . . what good was I to the people I loved if I couldn’t keep them safe? Was this some kind of divine punishment for running out on my responsibilities in Osfrid?

I was red and puffy-eyed when the girl came to fill the tub, and she politely pretended not to notice. Sinking into that kind of bath was a luxury I hadn’t experienced in almost a month. Baths at the Marshall place had been sparse in water. And cold. Really, after my time in Hadisen, everything in Cape Triumph seemed luxurious by comparison. Aiana’s rooms were on par with a royal Osfridian estate as far as I was concerned.

The water was dark gray when I finally emerged, and my head felt slightly better. Not good, but functional. I couldn’t stand the thought of putting on my dirty claim-working clothes and borrowed a long, thick woolen robe from Aiana’s closet. A lot of time had passed, and I wondered if Mira’s event had been far away or if there’d been difficulty in getting her out of it.

In the end, Aiana delivered. Mira walked through the door with a bundle of clothing in her arms that she promptly dropped as she ran across the room to me. I pulled her into a hug and felt the tears come anew. Aiana discreetly retreated to the kitchen and bustled around in the cupboards.

Mira was the same as ever. Beautiful. Fierce. But not as dressed up as I’d expected, based on Aiana’s comment about a social engagement. The violet organdy dress she wore was well-made but too plain to be anything from the Glittering Court. She wore her mother’s shawl over it, and her hair had been tied with a ribbon behind her neck with obvious haste.

“Mira—how did this—Tamsin—”

“I don’t know,” she said, her own voice cracking. “I couldn’t believe it when I heard. Two men came back from the boat to deliver the news—witnesses who swore she wouldn’t board the boat during the storm. They say she ran off into the woods and that Warren was devastated.”

I found that unlikely, recalling his blasé attitude the morning after. The morning after . . .

The storm blew up while we were crossing the bay last night.

Failing to mention Tamsin’s disappearance wasn’t the only odd thing from that conversation with Warren. He’d also said the storm had blown up while they were on the water—not when they were boarding. And really, if it had happened beforehand, would any of them have gotten on the ship?

“The storm was bad here,” Mira continued, eyes shining. “They said it was bad for you too. And the fact that we haven’t heard anything from Tamsin in weeks . . . well, it’s hard to know what to think. If she did survive, where is she? Why hasn’t she gotten in touch? I’ve had some people . . . resources . . . searching, but there’s just been nothing to find.”

The despair sank back into me. “I can’t lose her again.”

“I know. I feel the same way. But you have to put that grief aside for now. We’ll cry for her later—a lot. I hear you have other things to worry about, Lady Witmore.” Her gaze fell on my pendant, which I’d kept on. She lowered her voice. “Or should I say Mistress Thorn?”

I shot a panicked look toward Aiana in the kitchen. “Is it obvious? Is this some telltale Alanzan charm?”

“No, not at all. They’re selling that style of necklace all over town with different flowers. I just recognized the bishop’s lace and took a guess.” Mira hesitated. “But I wouldn’t wear it to court if I were you. You can’t let anyone think you’re Alanzan. And you can’t let them think of you as some frontier woman either. You need to walk in and remind them that you’re the Countess of Rothford.”

She said that last part as she walked across the room toward the dropped clothing. “We tried to collect as much as we could for you around town. There are plenty of dresses not being worn at Wisteria Hollow, but if Jasper noticed you wearing one in the courtroom, there’d be hell to pay.”

“You think he’ll actually be there?” I asked bitterly. “He didn’t seem to care what happened to Cedric.”