“Breakfast?” I managed.
Amryssa nodded.
We hobbled down the grand staircase together. In the breakfast room, sunlight stabbed through the windows, the air already verging on musty. By midday, the temperature would be unbearable in here, but we’d be in the rooftop cupola by then, seeking a reprieve in the meager breeze.
Apparently, Olivian had beaten us down. He sat at the head of the table, his black locks springing in every direction. He’d managed to don a waistcoat, though he’d neglected to fasten his topmost shirt buttons.
He didn’t acknowledge us. He simply glared at the corner, which apparently he’d been doing for some time, because his chipped plate lay untouched. I followed his gaze to a brass torchier, then shrugged.
If he’d rather stare at the furnishings than interrogate me, fine. I just hoped the news of Kyven’s untimely death would arriveafterI’d had my coffee.
Amryssa collapsed in a high-backed chair. I went to the sideboard, where an array of platters and teapots awaited—Miss Quist’s work, which never ceased to amaze me. No matter how brutal the nightmare, our cook always dragged herself from bed early and stocked the breakfast room with biscuits and eggs and a variety of other foods I couldn’t have forced down my raw, stinging throat if I’d tried.
Amryssa shrank from the steaming tea I set before her. She looked so frail that she reminded me of the starling that had once crashed against these very windows. The bird had fallen to the gravel outside, and when I’d scooped it up, I’d found a creature of the poisoned bayou in my palm, with an extra eye in the middle of its forehead and seven toes on one foot. I’d tried torevive the poor thing with my dagger, but, when that had failed, I’d settled for hoping the bird had savored the wind in its last, explosive moments, and died with a song in its throat.
Because I didn’t hate animals the way I hated people. Animals were innocent, only cruel when they had to be. Meanwhile, people injured each other for fun.
Not Amryssa, though. No, she’d saved me, back when I’d had nothing and no one.
Now I lowered myself beside her, taking the seat closest to Olivian. Once he tired of his staring contest with the torchier, he might start talking, and I liked to act as a buffer when I could.
“Last night was awful,” Amryssa murmured. “I swear someone’s turned my stomach inside-out.”
“Tell me about it.” I tipped milk into my coffee. Steam arose, pulling my attention up to the spotted mirror above the sideboard, which cast my reflection back at me.
The milk pitcher slipped from my hand and thunked against the table. Holy Zephyrine, I looked like shit.
My black hair hung in clumps. The skin of my face sagged as if dripping from my bones, and the melting-candlewax effect only served to sharpen my already severe nose. Dried blood crusted my chest, and my brows were little more than dark slashes over the haunted pits of my eyes.
I hunted for my napkin. A quick scrub cleared the rusty flakes from my chest, but the girl in the mirror was still haggard enough to look forty instead of twenty-seven. Beside me, Amryssa appeared almost untouched, as if the heavens had beamed down a bright ray of light.
Well...whatever. I wasn’t here to impress anybody. I tossed the napkin aside.
Amryssa lifted her tea. She sipped tentatively while I rubbed soothing circles against her back. Her shoulder blades mapped out ridges and valleys beneath my palm.
Damn, but she’d gotten skinny. I really would have to coax her into eating more and staring out the window less.
Amryssa’s cup clinked against its saucer. “And what of the prince?”
I glanced down the length of the table. Olivian stared blearily back, apparently invested enough in my answer to have abandoned his confrontation with the torchier.
“He got in last night,” I said slowly. “I watched Kyven pull up from my balcony.”
The seneschal grunted. “And you instructed him? Told him how to chain himself?”
I gnawed at my lip. “I told him everything he needed to know.”
Not a lie, really.Die screaminghad pretty much summed it up. But tossing in a few legitimate details to make things more convincing wouldn’t hurt. “He sent his attendants inside, first. There were two of them—one tall, one short. I’m sure we’ll be meeting them soon.”
Or not. The nightmare had snuffed Kyven from existence like a beetle crushed beneath a bootheel, and the royal attendants—if they’d survived—would probably flee back to the capital at once. If I were them, I wouldn’t have lingered in Oceansgate a moment longer than necessary.
Olivian nodded, seemingly satisfied, then frowned down at his plate, as if surprised to find it empty.
A rare sense of charity welled up. Normally, I steered clear of the seneschal’s struggle with lucidity, but now I’d killed his plans. Stabbed them through the heart. The least I could do was offer him eggs. “Are you hungry?”
His gaze snapped up, as if he’d already forgotten me. In all likelihood, he had. “Hungry?”
“Yeah. You know...food? Coffee? Tea? What would you like?”
