“My dear, you’re late,” Lady Montbrass said, eyebrows raised.
Aoife summoned a bright, empty smile. “I overslept,” she said. “And I had to get my hair right.”
She let her fingers brush Halverton’s shoulder as she passed. A slight gesture, selling the illusion of closeness he wanted the lords to believe.
Her plate had been cleared. A fresh one sat waiting.
Kit stepped forward to serve her. Behind him, James slipped quietly into place by the sideboard. He kept his injured arm tucked subtly behind him, posture immaculate, face carefully blank.
Aoife didn’t look at him.
Didn’t dare.
He stood poker-straight, holding the pain in his silence, while the men who had caused it discussed their breakfast as though the world had never burned anyone at all.
***
The morning meal was subdued. Cutlery clinked softly. Even Lord Montbrass, who filled silence like a brass horn, seemed content to sip his coffee and chew in peace.
Lady Severcombe broke first. She set down her cup with a faint rattle.
“My maid insists she heard wailing in the night,” she said, leaning in as though sharing a joke. “She tells me the locals believe it’s fairy women mourning the dead.”
Lady Montbrass laughed, delighted. “Fairy women! These people are frightened of anything with a shadow.”
Lord Montbrass shook his head. “We passed a village yesterday where they won’t travel after dusk. Spirits on the roads apparently.”
“Oh, it’s worse near the coast,” Lady Severcombe chimed in. “They won’t even hang laundry after sunset. They think the dead will wear it.”
Montbrass chuckled. “Superstition breeds where idleness does.”
Severcombe smirked into his coffee. “Or where hunger does.”
A ripple of amusement circled the table, shockingly light, as though they were discussing eccentric relatives rather than the terror of a starving people. Each laugh grated like grit between her teeth. She kept her expression serene, hands folded neatly in her lap. Not a flicker of the anger twisting in her stomach showed on her face.
Halverton, for his part, allowed the conversation to drift without comment.
Aoife stared at her plate until the forms ceased to make sense.
“I believe you have a spectacular hothouse here, Lord Halverton,” Lord Oswin said, steering the topic in a new direction, for which Aoife was immensely grateful.
“I do,” Halverton answered proudly. “One of the finest in the empire.”
“I wondered if I might explore the grounds after breakfast.”
“I’m afraid,” Lord Montbrass interjected, “Lord Halverton and I have some matters to discuss before we leave.”
“Perhaps Lady Aoife would be so kind as to show me around?” Oswin looked at her with a genuine smile. Aoife turned to Halverton.
Halverton considered for a moment. “A fine suggestion. I’m certain the other ladies would love to join you.” He turned to Lady Severcombe. “We have some of the finest flowers on the island.”
“We’d love to,” Lady Severcombe replied.
Lord Montbrass clapped his hands together. “Well that’s settled. Shall we?” He rose, and the others followed.
They parted ways at the door: the men to Halverton’s study, the women and Lord Oswin to the gardens. It wasn’t long before the other ladies fell behind, stopping frequently to admire a sculpture or the soldiers training in the yard.
Lord Oswin waited until they were beyond hearing distance to speak. “You’re not Eldrossi, are you?”
