Page 7

“It’s a pleasure to meet you....Aunt,” said Maelin, using a curtsey to escape that touch, and struggling for composure. “I believe I must chastise Uncle Phineas for failing to let me know of his marriage.”

Varelle waved that aside. “Not to worry, dear child, besides you were off in that godforsaken watery void. Now that you’ve returned to the world of normal people, we shall have time to get acquainted, something I look forward to with great enthusiasm.” She laughed again. “So much to share, sweet Maelin. So much excitement ahead. Oh, the delights I have planned...”

“Um...”

“I know, it’s awfully early in the day for all this, so I’ll leave you to your meal. But rest assured I have nothing but the best intentions, and my goal is to make your homecoming one you’ll enjoy—and remember.” She turned toward the door. “We’ll share some time together later if that fits with your commitments. And then I can tell you all about your ball...”

With another charming laugh, Lady Varelle Theryn swept from the room, leaving behind a rather confused and wary Maelin, and the strong scent of violets.

Chapter Three

Although Cyrus Drake wasn’t experiencing any surprises this particular morning, he did have a similar plate of messages, cards, and other paperwork sitting next to his breakfast.

This was not unusual, given his position in Caelemar society and his well-known reluctance to stir himself for anything other short of a summons from the highest ranks. He knew he was regarded as somewhat of a mystery, and it amused him enough to play into that masquerade. His responses were terse and to the point.

An afternoon tea? No.

A planned excursion out into the surrounding countryside? No.

The much-lauded launch of a new Caelemar warship? Also No.

Invitations to balls were almost always ripped up and tossed away unanswered, and he did just that with the ones that had arrived at the crack of dawn.

However, his mind had spent some time on the event planned at Theryn House.

Phineas Theryn seemed to be a pleasant chap on the couple of occasions when they’d crossed paths. He’d heard about young Maelin of Theryn trying her wings at Tidehold Conservatory, and was impressed with the fact she’d become a novice Warden, but amused by her return.

She was a Theryn. Water ran in the family’s veins, and doubtless in hers as well. But not strongly enough to lure her into a life amongst the oceans.

Caelemar owed a lot to those oceans. They bordered three quarters of the city, which had been built on a promontory generations ago, and even now they played a vital role in not only commerce, but the lives of those fortunate enough to have boats.

Cyrus frowned for a moment as he searched his memory to see if the Theryns had a boat. Damned if he could recall.

It was only an idle thought though, and he let it lie dormant as he moved on to his next paper and sipped his tea.

The next minute a faint click broke the silence and he glanced at the mantelpiece where a very strange looking clock stood tall against the dark wood behind it. There were no numbers, just an oval shaped design in wood and mother-of-pearl. It was an intricate and beautiful piece, but now Cyrus stared, his brows drawing together as the oval swung open like a door and a black feathered bird appeared, thrust out by a wooden perch beneath its claws.

It screamed...raw, harsh, once and then once again.

Cyrus put down his papers, stood, and cursed softly beneath his breath. “Fuck.”

Gerald was already coming into the room. “Will you need to go out, my Lord? I can have your coat brought here immediately...”

“No,” replied Cyrus. “Two crow calls. This one’s all the way down.”

“Very good, sir. I have your belt ready.” He held out a narrow black leather belt, from which hung several small pouches, two knives of varying lengths, a coiled brass chain, a tiny mirror, and a black leather holster.

Cyrus had already taken his nightlock from the hidden cupboard on the side of the fireplace and was checking to see it was loaded. The ornate brass detailing on the grip caught the light from the window, revealing the elegant metallic script letter “D”.

“I hope you’ll not need that, my Lord.” Gerald’s voice was dubious.

“As do I,” said Cyrus, fastening the belt. “It’s early for this, too, so maybe it’s something easily settled.”

“Is anything easily settled in the Gloamtide?”

“Sometimes.”

“Then I trust this will be one of those times.”