“Two weeks,” she reminded him. “The Hunt is in two weeks, and then everything is done and settled, and it won’t matter what he thinks.”
Ellis gave a faint shrug, and she wished she could wipe away every bit of wistfulness staking its claim. Melancholy never looked right on Ellis Beaufort. It hung off his features like a pair of hand-me-down trousers, too loose, too short.
But before she could offer any comfort, a roaring wall of sound rang out, thundering over the town and cove like the cry of a monstrous beast. Greer could feel the low vibrations of First Bellows rumble along her sternum. Her ears ached. Her head felt as though it would burst. It lasted exactly ten seconds, then died away.
“One hour till sunset,” she said needlessly. She fished a small coin from her pocket and set it on the counter, payment for the bread. “Do you need any help closing up?”
He shook his head. “I’ll be fine. Tywynn promised to stop in before Thirds.”
“And you’ll be at the barn warming?”
“Think it’ll still go on? Even with all this?” He gestured toward the window.
“Roibart Andersan would never let a little weather spoil a party.”
“Then I look forward to the first dance.” He leaned over the counter, clearly intending to kiss her once more.
The scent of browning bread warmed the air between them.
“The sourdough!” Ellis exclaimed and turned before pushing through the kitchen’s swinging door.
“I’ll see you tonight?”
She listened to the heavy clanks and scrapes of hot metal pans being removed from the oven. He didn’t respond, and Greer was certain he hadn’t heard her. She marveled at what that must be like.
“I love you,” she tried again anyway.
No answer.
With a shake of her head, Greer left the bakery.
When she stepped out from under the promenade’s cover, the pitter-patter of raindrops surrounded her in a blanket of deafening white noise. In seconds, she was soaked through.
“Wait!”
Greer stopped and turned, smiling. Ellishadheard her after all.
But he wasn’t on the walkway. He wasn’t on the threshold, watching her go. He wasn’t even at the windows.
Confused, she swept her gaze down the promenade, searching for anyone else who might have called after her.
“Starling.”
The word was soft and hissed and sounded wholly wrong. Wholly inhuman.
Greer scanned the road.
It was empty.
No one was there.
A tendril of unease unfurled within Greer, its barbs sharp and biting.
“We’ll see you soon, little Starling.”
3
Second bellows—two lumbering rolls of chaos that signaled just one half-hour left until sunset—rumbled as Greer opened the front door, her wool cloak soaked through and rainwater dripping from her dark braid.
