House of Salt and Sorrows (Sisters of Salt #1)
House of Salt and Sorrows: Chapter 11

My eyes fluttered open, blinking back sleepy grit from the corners. It felt far too early to be awake. The party had ended after three, perfectly timed with the tides to send the guests back to Astrea. Tinted-glass buoys filled with luminescent algae lit the docks, giving the partygoers an enchanting sight as they hurried away from Highmoor as fast as their court heels would carry them.

After the conversation with Camille in the garden, it had been difficult to ignore her words. I watched as sister after sister approached a conversation only to be met with half smiles and glazed eyes. Papa and Morella seemed oblivious to it.

I rolled over with a groan, wanting to hide under the warmth of the covers. Then a glint of light on my vanity caught my attention.

Eulalie’s pocket watch.

I’d meant to show it to Papa days ago, but it slipped my mind after seeing Verity’s sketchbook. Even now, a shiver of unease rustled down my spine as I remembered the lurid drawings.

Removing the lock of hair from the watch, I twirled it between my fingers, studying the golden strands. The bit of wire had baffled me at first—I’d always seen hair tied with ribbons or lace—but as I looked at the inner workings of the pocket watch, it suddenly made sense.

Edgar was an apprentice clockmaker.

He worked with coils of wire and springs.

Had he clipped off a bit of hair as a love offering to Eulalie?

I frowned. Eulalie’s killer was undoubtedly a rebuffed suitor, someone upset his affections weren’t returned. If Eulalie had kept this watch and lock of hair secreted away, it stood to reason she shared his feelings. Why else would she have kept them?

But such a strong, fidgeting anxiety had radiated off him in the marketplace. Edgar couldn’t get away from us fast enough.

Edgar knew something. He must.

I tinkered with the pocket watch, mulling over what to do next. I obviously needed to speak to him, but what would I say? This was too big to handle on my own. I snapped the watch shut with a resolute click and went downstairs to replace my father.

I burst into the dining room, but it was clear I’d come in at the wrong moment.

Camille, her fingers deathly white around the fork, was smashing her kippers into little bits until they resembled a massacre more than a breakfast. Rosalie was sullenly nursing a cup of tea, and Ligeia, riddled with anxiety, kept gnawing at her silver-polished nails. Lenore was still in bed, presumably sleeping off a well-earned champagne headache.

Papa sat at the head of the table, his jaw clenched and a tense weariness surrounding his eyes. “It was everyone’s first social gathering. Perhaps having so many of you out at once made people uneasy.”

Camille frowned, her lips thin and pale. “I agree with you, Papa. The cursed Thaumas sisters did make people uneasy.” Her fork screeched across the china plate before she shoved it aside.

She must have filled him in on everything she’d heard last night.

He sighed, waving away her accusation with a flip of his hand. “No one believes in curses but those ridiculous peasants in the village.”

She struck the table in a fit of rage. “Robin Briord is hardly a fishmonger, and I heard it directly from his mouth! We’ll never replace a match, none of us! We’ve all been tainted by our sisters’ deaths.”

Rosalie had tears in her eyes. “He really said that?”

Camille nodded. “I suppose we ought to consider our good fortune. We’ll always have Highmoor. Once Papa di— When I am the Duchess, you’ll always have a home here.” She snorted, her eyes dark and moody. “The House of Cursed Spinsters.”

There was a small noise beside me. Morella had crept in, still in her dressing gown. I didn’t know how much she’d overheard, but it was enough for the blood to run from her stricken face. I offered a small smile, but she pulled away, clutching her belly.

“Is my son to be cursed as well?” she asked with a glint of despair, her reedy words drifting above the breakfast table.

Papa jumped from his chair. “My love, you’re supposed to be sleeping in. After such an exciting night, you need your rest.”

“Papa, I have something I need to speak with you about,” I said, replaceing my voice as he approached us.

“Not now, Annaleigh.”

“But it’s important. It’s about—”

“I said not now! I’ve had all I can stand of everyone’s important news this morning.” He threw a warning glance at Camille before escorting Morella from the room.

My breath fell out in a rush as they left. I jammed the watch into my pocket. Purple floral arrangements still dotted the table, and the smell of wilting lilies curdled my stomach. I poured a cup of coffee, leaving it black, and sat down with a sigh.

“So dramatic,” Camille muttered.

I ran my finger over the cup’s handle. “No one likes the situation we’re in, but we don’t have to torment her with it.”

Camille turned on me. “Since when did you become her champion? You hated her too.”

Rosalie and Ligeia eyed the door, judging whether they might leave the room unscathed.

“I never hated her. She’s carrying our new brother or sister and having an increasingly difficult time with it. Shouldn’t we allow her a little kindness?”

“How much kindness would she show us if her little sun god was inheriting Highmoor? Do you honestly think she’d allow eight spinsters room and board? We’d all be out faster than Zephyr’s arrows.”

Verity came in, hopping down the last step. “Who’s faster than Zephyr? No one can outrace the wind god!”

I shot Camille a warning look. The Graces didn’t need to know of any discord between us and Morella.

“You’re sure to be, wearing those shoes,” I exclaimed, spotting her fairy slippers peeking out from her robe. She’d worn them ever since they’d arrived. I wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d slept in them.

Verity smiled, twirling to best show them off, then spun to the buffet, standing on tiptoes to peer up at the pastries. Camille helped her make a plate. She put a generous serving of kippers on first before adding the berry tart Verity pointed to.

“I feel like going back to bed,” Rosalie admitted, sprawling her arms out on the table and lowering her head. “Spending all night not dancing was exhausting.”

“No fair! I still have lessons!” Verity exclaimed. She climbed into her seat and waited for Camille to bring the plate over.

“Fish first.”

Verity glowered up at her. “Yours are still on your plate.”

“I’m the oldest,” Camille shot back.

Verity stuck her tongue out but eventually dug in. “What are you doing this morning, Annaleigh?”

The watch burned in my pocket, but I couldn’t bring it up now. Not with a fight festering just below the surface. “I ought to walk the beach for more kelp. Morella is nearly out of lotion.”

“The beach?”

We all turned to see Fisher standing in an archway. “Fancy company? I could row you out to the little islet with all the tide pools. You should be able to replace whatever you need.”

I sensed Camille’s eyes on me but nodded, smiling up at Fisher. “After breakfast?”

He grinned.

Striding in, Papa said, “We need to talk.” Scanning the room, he caught sight of Verity. “Darling, why don’t you take your breakfast upstairs today? It can be a special treat.”

Her eyes lit up. “Are they in trouble? Camille didn’t eat her kippers.”

“She didn’t? Perhaps I’ll speak to her about that.”

Pleased, Verity scooted out of the room, tart in hand. The fish were left behind.

“Fisher, would you excuse us? I need to speak with my daughters. Privately.”

Fisher vanished down the hall.

Papa waited a beat before starting in on us. “Morella is very upset,” he said. “Inconsolable.”

Camille bristled, clearly not backing down. “Imagine how we feel. We’re the ones in danger of dying off, long before that baby is born.”

He sighed. “No one is dying off.”

“Then she has nothing to worry about, does she?” She slumped back into the chair. “I suppose you want me to apologize for having a conversation that wasn’t about her that she chose to eavesdrop on?”

Papa raked his fingers through his hair. “Just don’t bring it up again. Not around her, not among yourselves. I’m placing a moratorium on the curse. Which doesn’t exist,” he added. “Now, I have to travel to the capital this afternoon. I’ll be gone at least a week, maybe more. There’s an ugly bit of business King Alderon has requested his Privy Council weigh in on.” He sighed. “Morella is more tired than she lets on and could use a little looking after while I’m gone. Pampering, even. Understand me?”

Rosalie, Ligeia, and I nodded. After a pointedly long moment, Camille did as well.

“Good,” he said, and strode out of the room without a backward glance.

I longed to run after Papa and show him the watch, but he was in too foul a mood to listen. He’d snap at me, and I’d lose any chance at being taken seriously. I stared down into the depths of my coffee, wondering what to do next.

Fisher poked his head in from the hall. “Annaleigh? All ready?”

I pushed the cup aside. “Coming!”