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Whatever the master painter and his wife had told her, she had not been glad to hear it.
‘Yes,’ she said, and the aversion in that one, drawn-out word was palpable. ‘We’ve met, as it so happens. Twice.’
My guts clenched with something that was hope and dread at the same time.
‘I visited them a few months ago,’ she continued, stepping back to lean against the wall as if she was bracing herself for something. Her voice remained strangely, artificially flat. ‘We heard about their connection to you when the news of your antics at the Crimson Court spread, and I try to stay informed. So I wanted to know what they had to say about you.’
I swallowed, nodded. I should have seen that coming.
‘And then …’ She closed her eyes, face pale against the faded floral wallpaper. ‘Then I went to see them again last night. I wanted to let them know you would likely be visiting the city soon.’
My heart stopped beating for an endless second.
‘They … they know?’ The cracking sound that escaped me was barely recognisable as my own voice. ‘They know I’m—’
‘Yes,’ Rosalind interrupted, still not opening her eyes. ‘They do. And I wish I did not need to tell you this – I had hoped to meet you with better news – but they have requested not to see you and for you not to be informed about their current whereabouts. For all intents and purposes, Valter told me, it should be to you as if the two of them are not currently living in the city at all. I’m sorry. Believe me when I say I tried to change their minds, but …’
She did not finish her sentence. The thin line of her lips suggested the remainder of her thoughts would have violated multiple rules of civil conduct, were she to voice them.They wouldn’t hear of it.
The fucking idiots wouldn’t hear of it.
I stared at her, unseeing, unhearing. Outside, children were shrieking and laughing. Horse hooves clattered over the broad square, the rattle of wheels in their wake. Yet my mind was back inside Creon’s pavilion, stained glass and the briny scent of nearby sea, a letter trembling in my hands –Do not write to us.
How did news I’d heard before still dare to hit so deep, as if this was happening for the first time all over again?
‘Alright,’ I somehow managed to get past my lips, even though it wasnotalright, would never be alright, could not be further from alright. Old reflexes took over. Don’t cry. Don’t embarrass. ‘That … that is clear. Thank you for letting me know.’
She sighed. ‘I’m sorry, Emelin.’
There didn’t seem anything else left to say – nothing, at least, that I could reasonably say to the woman I’d met two hours ago and knew as little more than a strategical acquaintance. I swallowed and swallowed again, fumbled with the doorhandle to my room, and somehow dragged the corners of my mouth into something that might distantly resemble a smile. I had not known it could be physically painful to smile, but this one … I felt it like a claw in the guts.
‘Don’t let me delay you any longer, then.’ A pathetic, flimsy excuse. ‘Let me know what the assembly has to say, and—’
‘Emelin?’ she interrupted, opening her eyes.
I fell silent.
For a moment I thought she might hug me, the way her fingers clenched and unclenched at her side, like pent-up impulses barely held in check. But she only stood straighter. Only tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and hurriedly said, ‘Please remember that you are not to blame for their judgement, will you? You did not scare them. You did not turn them into cowards. Plenty of humans would have been proud to call themselves your parents – you were very, very unlucky, that is all.’
The air in my lungs turned to ice.
‘Just thought I should mention that,’ she added, averting her eyes with restless motions. ‘Well, I should really get back to work – enjoy your day, and I’ll let you know as soon as there are any developments …’
I heard myself reply something – something sufficient, presumably, because she did not look at me like I’d gone insane but rather smiled at me one last time and hurried off. And then it was just me in that old, sun-streaked corridor, where no one could see the tears dripping down my face – where I could just be small and lost and broken for one endless moment, and very, very unlucky indeed.
Chapter 21
Alyra was waiting forme on the windowsill when I finally scraped myself together and slipped into the guest room, pecking vexedly at the glass to inform me of her displeasure. The moment I opened the window, she shot inside, a storm of down and feathers, squeaking loudly in obvious but rather unexplained triumph.
‘Alyra!’ I hissed, gesticulating at her in an unsuccessful attempt to quiet her – how many floors down would they be able to hear the noise? ‘Please – you’re supposed to be asecretweapon. What in the world is the matter?’
A tangle of images washed over me.
Rosalind, seen from my familiar’s perspective as she perched on the branches of that chestnut tree in the tea garden.Something to do with the Crimson Court. And most confusing of all, the crystal-clear vision of a bird’s nest – braided twigs, soft moss and leaves, small blue-flecked eggs.
‘What?’ I said.
Alyra hopped up and down impatiently on the foot of the monumental bed.
