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THE DOOR OPENED. The room beyond lay in darkness, broken only by a swath of moonlight. There was no reason to be frightened, yet some nameless, faceless terror iced Con’s veins. Still, he stepped inside. The fear in him was worse.
The walls of the room were curved, disorienting, and everywhere he looked were clocks—standing, hanging, scattered over tables and stands, lined up in cabinets. Brass hands winked, catching the dim light. Con moved farther in, his heart pounding, and stopped at a narrow table. The tiered rows were padded with dark velvet, and they were lined with not clocks, but compasses, their needles pointing in unison toward the windows. Turning now, he saw that compasses stood in the cabinets and hung on the walls amid the clocks.
He was too late. He knew it with a certainty that closed his throat: he would fail. Con ran toward the window, but he didn’t move. The needles on the compasses began to whirl. Running, gasping, he reached out, knowing he’d never reach it in time. Someone screamed.
Con’s eyes flew open, and he jerked upright in the bed. His lungs labored in his chest, his heart thundering, and he clenched his muscles, fists curled so tightly his fingernails bit into his palms. Sweat dried cold on his skin.
It was a dream.
He glanced around him. He was in his own bed, in his own room. It was only a dream.
Through the open doorway to the adjoining sitting room, he could see Wellie perched in his cage, regarding Con with bright black eyes. That scream must have been the parrot’s screech.
The bird moved from foot to foot and rasped out, “Wellie. Good bird.”
“Yes. Good bird.” Con’s voice came out almost as hoarse as Wellington’s. He sank back onto his pillow, closing his eyes. It had been nothing but a bad dream and easily explained—today was Alex’s wedding day. He was worried about oversleeping and failing in his duties. The problem was he’d been having the exact same nightmare for weeks.
CHAPTER ONE
WHEN CON AWOKE AGAIN, sunlight was shooting through a crack in the drapes straight into his eyes. For the second time, he bolted upright. Heaven help him. After all that, he’d overslept. He jumped out of bed and began to shave.
Wellington called Con’s name and flew into the room, taking up his favorite position atop a bedpost. “You wretched bird—screeching like a banshee in the middle of the night, yet not a word when it’s time to get up.”
Wellie let out a noise that sounded disturbingly like human laughter. Con grinned and patted his shoulder for Wellie to perch on it. Con stroked a finger down the parrot’s back.
“It’s just you and me now, boy,” he said softly. “Alex is going on to better things.”
There was an odd pang in his chest; Con had felt it more than once lately. He couldn’t be happier for his twin—Sabrina was perfect for Alex and loved him madly. Alex was over the moon about marrying her. There was nothing in the world Con wanted more than his brother’s happiness. And yet...he could not help but feel as if a piece of him was leaving.
With a sigh at his own selfishness, Con set Wellie aside and headed downstairs. He found Alex in the dining room, gazing out the window—shaved, dressed and ready to go eight hours before the ceremony. Casting an eye over his twin, Con said, “Eager or terrified?”
“A little of both.” Alex let out his breath in a whoosh. “Thank God you’re finally up.”
“Why didn’t you wake me?” Con asked, going to the sideboard to fill his plate.
“Because it was four o’clock in the morning. Wellie woke me up screeching, and I couldn’t go back to sleep. I didn’t think you’d care to be awakened.”
“Where is everyone?”
“The women have gone to Kyria’s to help with the last-minute preparations. Though what any of them could do to set up a party, I cannot imagine.”
“Mmm. Maybe Thisbe has a formula for it.”
Alex grinned. “Or Megan and Olivia have investigated the subject.”
“I’m sure Mother will enjoy trying to persua
de the servants to go on strike.” Con returned to the table.
Alex took a seat across from Con. “Not like Wellie to sound off in the middle of the night like that. One has to wonder what set him off.”
“Does one?”
“Con...did you have that dream again?”
“Yes. It’s not important.”
