Papa downed the last of his wine and waved for a refill. Half of it was drunk in one large swallow. He blinked heavily, struggling to put the connections together. Finally, he looked up, smiling. “It’s not a bad idea, is it?”
I peeked down toward the triplets. They looked as bemused as I felt. What was going on? Surely Papa couldn’t be serious.
“Darling, perhaps we ought to save this idea for another time,” Morella suggested lightly. “We’re meant to be celebrating Pontus and First Night, aren’t we? I’d hate to offend our esteemed High Mariner….”
The priest waved her off, eager to watch this drama play out.
“We could send a messenger to the other lords of Arcannia,” Papa said, still thinking. “They could help spread the word. We’ll let anyone in the kingdom who wants to try his hand come andsee.”
“Anyone at all?” Fisher asked, setting his wineglass on the table with a heavy thunk. He was the only one who knew our secret. “They wouldn’t have to be titled?” He waggled his eyebrows at Camille.
Ligeia elbowed him hard in the ribs.
Regnard nodded, his head going up and down with great care. Amelia shot Morella a look of apology. Was there any man at the table who wasn’t drunk now? Cassius sat perfectly still, but his eyes bounced around the table, following the discussion with interest.
“Better yet, better yet!” Captain Bashemk said, shouting in excitement. “Five strapping lads sit at this table. Let them have the first crack at it!”
“Six,” Sterland corrected from the depths of his wineglass.
“Come now, Henricks, don’t you think you’re a bit old to be chasing after young ladies?” Captain Bashemk said with a laugh.
Sterland leaned back in his chair, his mouth slack with inebriation, staring down the row of us. I looked away as his eyes met mine. Though he wasn’t a true uncle to us, not by blood, it still felt wrong.
“Hardly. In fact, if Highmoor is truly on the line, it’s only fitting I try my hand for her first. You owe me that much, Ortun.”
Regnard momentarily sobered, glancing between his friends. “Sterland,” he warned. “Not tonight.”
“I…owe you?” Papa bristled, his hand tightening around the stem of his wineglass. “I owe you nothing.”
“Here we go again,” Regnard muttered.
But Sterland wasn’t one to back down from a fight. “If not for you—”
“If not for me, what?” Papa snapped, his voice rising with the color in his cheeks. “If not for me, you’d have nothing. No education, no career. My family created you, and this is how you repay me? Harping on perceived injustices? Living in a delusional past? I’ve had enough!”
His knuckles turned white, squeezing the glass until it shattered, raining glittering shards. Blood welled up across Papa’s face. One of the flying pieces had struck his cheek, slicing deep.
“Ortun!” Morella exclaimed, dipping her napkin into water and trying to wipe the cut.
“Stop meddling with me!” he roared, lashing his arm out to knock hers aside. Heavy plates were swiped off the table and smashed to the floor.
“I…I’m sorry,” Morella said, sinking into her chair, looking small and so much younger than she was.
“Ortun, calm down,” Amelia ordered. “You’re drunk.”
“And if I am? This is my house. My home! You can all be turned out into the cold if you don’t like it.” He pointed an unsteady finger at Morella. “Including you.” He drained his wineglass in two slugs. “More!” he demanded.
As a footman raced over to oblige, Morella dabbed at her eyes, swallowing back tears. Though it didn’t happen often, Papa could fly into dangerous rages after drinking too much. They were like storms on the Kaleic Sea, ruining a perfectly sunny day with gale-force winds and biting rain, only to be over moments later. My heart went out to Morella, but it was better to just stay low and let his anger pass.
After a painfully long moment of tactful silence, Ethan spoke up, his voice cracking with bravado. “If you’re serious, my lord, I’d love to try and solve the mystery.”
No surprise there. I’d seen him taking in the beauty of Highmoor since his arrival, with eyes so wide, they practically bugged out of his skull.
“As would I,” Ivor said, his voice as gravelly as a crocodile. He winked at me, and I turned my head away.
“Splendid!” Papa’s voice rang out drunkenly above the guests.
Jules clapped his hands in glee. “When do we start?”
