Page 57

The line disconnects. Hugo takes the telephone from me and hangs it up. “Lacrimosa Arriscane,” he says, and his voice has the same lilt as when he spoke Tharnish. “You have been looking for me, I think?”

There’s a rush of movement from outside the booth as Camille and Alastair hurry over toward us. Alastair grabs hold of Hugo by the collar of his sweater and hauls him away from me. They stare at each other, and I see a cascade of emotions flash through Alastair’s mismatched gaze. Fear and anger, pain and raw betrayal.

Then he draws back and punches Hugo right in his face. I cry out, startled. Camille catches Alastair’s arm, hauling him back. “We didn’t come all the way here tofighthim!”

Alastair hisses, shaking out his hand; his knuckles are alreadybeginning to swell. Hugo, hunched over in pain, still makes a muffled sound of amusement. “Who knew you could throw a punch?”

Camille glares meaningfully at Alastair’s swollen hand. “He can’t.”

Hugo straightens up. His nose is bleeding thickly, dripping down over his mouth and onto his chin. He looks at Alastair intently for a long moment, but Alastair turns away, refusing to meet his eyes.

“Hugo,” I say, and everything feels blurred, shaken. “Wherewereyou just now?”

“The Salt Priests left when they saw you approaching. They dislike unannounced visitors. They never let themselves be seen. But I—I recognized Alastair, and you. I knew you wanted me.”

I swallow, my throat gone dry. I’m afraid of the question I’m about to ask, what answer he will give. “I need you…,” I begin, then hesitate as I search for the right words. “I need you to explain what you did to Therion.”

Hugo pulls out a handkerchief and wipes his nose. But when he grins, there is blood in his teeth. It makes him look feral, vicious.

“Year after year, the Salt Priests make sacrifices and receive no answer. But finally, just before this spring, our priests saw a vision of Therion wed to a girl in the depths of a mine. I remembered the stories Alastair had told me, about the girl who lived near his house whose family owned a salt mine. So I came to find you.” He pauses, then spreads his hands in supplication. “And that is all I can say right now. If you want to hear the rest, you’ll have to take me with you. Back to Saltswan.”

Camille laughs, incredulously. “Why should we do that?”

“Because,” Hugo says, and his grin fades, his bloodstained mouth turned serious. “I’ve run away from the Salt Priests.”

We return to Saltswan at eventide, after a tense, silent drive that felt like it would never end. Hugo slept the entire way, in the back seatwith his fisherman’s sweater folded up like a pillow under his head. I sat beside him. Asleep, he seemed much younger, the lines of him smoothed into false innocence.

I looked at his hands and remembered the way he had caught my hair up around his fists like a rope. His nose was still clotted with dried blood that he hadn’t bothered to wipe away, and I felt meanly glad that Alastair had hit him.

As we pull up in front of the house, the sides of the cliff are bathed red by a furious, brilliant sunset. The ocean lies flat and still, and the sky is clear. The air smells of pollen and petals, all the grayness of the compound left behind. It’s an impossible springtime beauty, soft in a way I don’t think I’ll ever feel again.

“Wake up,” I tell Hugo, shoving his arm. “We’re here.”

He sits up with a yawn, and we all clamber out of the car. As we go toward the house, Alastair takes out the iron key to unlock the front door. But before he can touch the handle, the door opens. Alastair stumbles back, shocked, and Camille clutches my hand. Her fingers are cold, trembling.

In the doorway stands Marcus Felimath. A brightly lit lamp blazes on a table in the hall behind him. He is wreathed as though in fire, and the light casts his shadow out over us like a funeral shroud. “Get inside,” he says, teeth clenched.“Now.”

The four of us go wordlessly into the house. Camille is still clutching my hand. Alastair clears his throat, straightens his shoulders. “Father. We didn’t expect you.”

“And that is your excuse? You are supposed to be here, amending your mistakes. Not driving off to gods-know-where.” Marcus fixes his son with an icy scowl, eyes narrowing as he notices Alastair’s swollen hand, his bruised knuckles. He flicks the briefest glance at Hugo, and his expression sours with realization. “Andnotbrawling with some stranger. Who is this?”

“Hugo Valentine,” Alastair says. His expression is cool, the aloof mask I’ve seen him wear so many times. “An old acquaintance. We met unexpectedly.”

Marcus makes a dissatisfied noise, then turns to Camille and gestures impatiently at the stairs. “Take him to the bathroom and do something about his face.”

Camille hesitates, giving Alastair an agonized look. Marcus folds his arms. Ducking her head, Camille indicates for Hugo to follow her up to the second floor. Once they’re gone, Marcus returns his attention to us. His frown deepens when he notices me.

“Lacrimosa,” he says coldly. “I thought your brothers had shipped you off to that school in the city.”

Years have passed since I’ve seen Marcus Felimath. Time has honed the edges of him like a whetstone sharpens steel, silvering the hair at his temples, scoring lines between his brows. He looks fearsome and unrelenting, like a bad memory turned real.

“Yes, they did.” I hesitate, knowing I can’t tell him the truth. But Marcus watches me keenly. I’m certain if I lie to him, he’ll know instantly. I scrunch my hands into my skirts, try to fit together an explanation.

“It’s term break,” Alastair says, coming to my rescue. He takes a half step forward, angling himself between his father and me.

“That still doesn’t explain what you’re doinghere.” Marcus arches a brow, glowering at me in disgust for a moment longer before his attention returns to Alastair. “I was called back unexpectedly on business and thought I should check on you, especially after our discussion on the telephone. It seems my instinct was correct. Still, I’m surprised to find you have company. We’ve offered the Arriscane family enough charity without taking in their strays.”

A flush of shame burns over my cheeks, and I bite the inside of my mouth until I taste blood. I feel as though he’s taken me between his finger and thumb, crushed me like an insect. Rage curdles in mystomach, but I cannot speak—I’m so aware of all the secrets that lie, barely hidden, beneath the surface of this moment. The truth about my brothers, about Therion, about me.