House of Salt and Sorrows (Sisters of Salt #1)
House of Salt and Sorrows: Chapter 30

“Would this work?” I asked, pulling out the sea-green ball gown from my armoire and holding it up for Camille’s inspection.

She wrinkled her nose. “No! You’ve worn that twice now, plus at Churning. This is a ball at Lambent! With the People of the Light! Fisher said everyone is meant to wear pale shades to honor Vaipany. You’ll stick out like a sore thumb in green.”

I settled the dress back onto the rack and shut the door. “Then I can’t go. I don’t have anything like that.”

She grabbed my hand. “Come with me.” Camille raced us down to her room and knelt beside her bed. She slid two enormous boxes out from under her duvet and handed me one. “Surprise!”

“What is this?” I gasped as I removed the lid. “Oh, Camille!” Nestled inside, on a bed of pale pink tissue paper, was the most exquisite gown I had ever seen. “Where did you get this?”

“Do you remember the ball at Bloem? With the People of the Petals?”

Of course I did. It was the single most opulent evening of our lives. There wasn’t an item in the whole of the castle not bedecked in pearls, jewels, or silver leaf.

“I had Mrs. Drexel make us dresses just like the ones I saw there. I picked them up in Astrea the night of the Churning pageant.” She swallowed. “Just before Rosalie and Ligeia…” When she met my gaze, her eyes were bright with unshed tears.

“It’s beautiful,” I assured her, picking up the gown and letting the blush-colored silk fall to the floor. The layers were so light and insubstantial, they seemed to dance on their own. Ropes of pearls coiled around the shoulders and across the back, clinking against one another.

“Try it on! Try it on!” she exclaimed, pushing aside her moment of sorrow with a pasted-on smile.

When I’d told Camille I wanted to go out, she’d squealed with delight, launching into a discussion of what dances were being held. I was surprised she’d kept such close tabs on all the social events, especially in light of our sisters’ deaths, but we all grieve in our own way.

I had no desire to go to this ball. I wanted to curl up in bed—warm and safe and surrounded by my sisters, like when we were little—and sleep. Sleep safe from Weeping Women nightmares and curses and killers. Just sleep.

But Cassius was so sure we would discover something. If there was even a chance my sisters’ killer would be there, I had to go to learn everything I could.

Camille unhooked the back of my gown, freeing me from the dark twill, and helped me slide the new dress over my head. It settled on my frame like a wispy bit of sea-foam. The pearls still held a chill as they rolled across my bare back, setting my teeth on edge.

“Don’t look in the mirror yet!” she ordered, far more excited than I was. “Help me into mine. I want to see what they look like together.”

Hers was also sleeveless, with a soft illusion neckline. Icy champagne and silver seed pearls formed intricate designs all along the sheer mesh overlay.

“You look dazzling.”

She waved aside my praise, rummaging through a box on her bureau. “I found these among Mama’s old things. We should wear them tonight. Everyone needs to know the sisters of the Salt are there.”

She handed me a strange piece of jewelry, and I turned it around, trying to make sense of it. It was the Thaumas octopus. Its body, made from the largest pearl I’d ever seen, was a ring. The tentacles formed a bracelet of delicate rose gold, twisting and wrapping up my wrist as I slipped the bauble on. Camille opted for a tiara of jeweled starfish and pale pink drop earrings.

“I gave the Graces other little bits from Mama’s jewelry box. Nothing terribly valuable, but they were pleased.”

I looked up from the Thaumas bracelet in alarm. “The Graces are coming?”

She nodded, toying with the back of one earring. “Of course. We all ought to go, don’t you think?”

“Not Lenore,” I clarified, praying Camille hadn’t pushed her into this.

She shook her head with a sniff. “It’s impossible to talk to her right now. She just sits there, staring over your shoulder as if you’re not even there.”

“She’s grieving.”

Camille’s lips twisted in a pout. “I know that. It’s just…” She let out a sharp sigh. “I don’t mean to sound callous, but haven’t we done this enough? I’m sick of mourning. I just want to live without the fear I’m going to lose another of you.”

I raised one eyebrow skeptically at her. “If I died tomorrow, would you mourn me?”

Her face dropped, crestfallen. “Don’t even joke about that. Of course I would. But…would you really want me swathed away in black taffeta and jet jewelry, another year of my life put on hold just because yours was over?”

I wouldn’t, but it seemed unkind to say it so soon after Rosalie’s and Ligeia’s deaths.

“Come,” she said, taking my hand. “We’ve had enough mourning and grief to last us too many lifetimes. Tonight is about champagne, and caviar, and dancing!”

On the way to the Grotto, I kept an eye out for Cassius to make sure he was following after us. As I trailed Fisher and the Graces down the steep cliff walk, a shadowy form shifted out from behind a grove of trees.

Once inside the cave, Fisher twisted the trident around, and the wave wall slowly broke apart, turning into the open passage.

“So we’re going to Lambent,” I said loudly, for Cassius’s benefit. I’d heard a pebble crunch out on the cliff walk and hoped he could hear me. “For the People of the Light’s dance. Remember, we all need to be thinking of that as we go through the tunnel.”

Honor gave me a pointed look. “You don’t have to remind us. We know how it works.”

“We know you do,” Fisher said, twirling her through the entrance with a laugh as they vanished. “Minnow just wants to make sure Mercy hasn’t forgotten!”

“I didn’t!” she cried out, racing through the mouth and disappearing.

Camille and Verity went next, and I dared to look back at the empty Grotto. “Lambent,” I repeated before following my sisters.

The tunnel took us straight inside the new palace. The stone walls of this estate were much lighter, almost the color of a sun-stained shell, and the air was warm and dry, perfumed with burnt myrrh and lotus blossoms. I already missed the salty tang of the sea.

Sconces dripped golden wax onto the stone floor below. The smoke from the flickering wicks hung heavy, filling the hallway with a gray haze. I looked back toward the door to Highmoor, but it was shrouded in shadows.

Camille smiled over her shoulder at me as she spun Verity in giddy circles. The smoke lent a dreamy quality to the air, slowing motions and imparting a strange importance to every gesture. I blinked several times, trying to sharpen my thoughts, but felt drugged. My mind struggled to focus.

A grand foyer opened before us. On the right was the ballroom and, from the sounds of the orchestra and chatter, the festivities were already in full swing. To the left was a series of open arches leading out onto a moonlit terrace. I spotted the dark outlines of sand dunes in the distance, blotting out part of the sky. We were a very long way from the seashore.

Across the room was a fountain spouting wine. Couples in formal court fashions mingled around the circular base, sticking out cups to catch the scarlet liquid as it flowed from an ornate bronze battle scene. In it, three men hoisted another as he tried to escape their grasp. Above them flew a horrible winged figure that was slitting the fugitive’s throat with a scythe. The wine spilled out from the poor soul’s wound.

“Don’t look at that,” I said, trying to direct the Graces’ attention away from the gory tableau. Smoke burned my eyes, and as I blinked, I saw I’d been mistaken. The statue was a cherub aiming an arrow at a group of girls sitting at the fountain’s edge. The wine poured out of their pitchers.

I rubbed my eyes, trying to make them see the awful statue again. How had I misinterpreted it so terribly? Before I could take a closer look, Camille tugged me into the hall.

One wall was divided into a triad of enormous frescoes, each depicting a moment from the creation of the world. Vaipany loomed in the center, spinning the sun into existence. On the right was Seland, forming the earth out of mud and clay, his hands brown with primordial ooze. Versia was on the left, floating through a field of stars and planets. I glanced around the room, wondering what Cassius thought of it.

Large waves of golden silk hung across the ceiling, rippling toward a spectacular chandelier. Giant spheres of spinning metal were suspended in midair, protecting a massive ball of flames. I’d never seen anything like it before.

Fisher whisked Verity off to the dance floor, and two younger boys asked Honor and Mercy if they would like to dance. Camille and I watched the couples swirl by. I craned my neck, searching the crowds for Cassius.

“See that man dressed all in silver by the columns?” Camille whispered to me. I squinted through the crowd but couldn’t quite make out whom she pointed to. “We danced together last night—a minuet and three waltzes. He’s an excellent partner.” She nudged me toward him.

“What are you doing?” I asked, fighting to stay in place against her jostling.

“He’s not dancing. Go ask him.”

I squirmed from her clutch. “I’m not asking a man to dance!”

Camille sighed. “That’s so old-fashioned.” She left me, wading into the sea of people.

I looked back to the chandelier, studying its kinetic frenzy. I could think of no mechanical means to engineer such fluid movement—and to make it appear as if it were floating, no less. A warning panged deep within me. Dark magic was at work here.

“I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure of meeting.”

Jumping, I turned and saw Camille’s man in silver.

Up close, I immediately recognized him. Another series of dragons was stitched across the pale velvet of his jacket. Deep-set eyes, so pale blue they were nearly white, ran over me, like the writhing arms of a jellyfish closing around its prey.

He reached out with a brazen hand, cupping my chin and turning my head this way and that. His fingers were too long, too thin, too angular, and I cringed from his grasp.

“No, I certainly wouldn’t forget such a face. I’d be honored to have such a pretty partner. Shall we?”

The dragon man held out his hand, grabbing mine when I hesitated. He whirled me toward the dance floor with practiced charm.

“Actually, I believe we have met. Twice, in fact,” I commented. I needed to learn as much about this ball as possible, especially as it appeared I was on my own. Cassius had still not made an appearance. “You were at the ball in Pelage.”

“I was,” he said, leading me into a complicated series of steps. His eyes brightened in recognition. “I remember dancing with you—you’re one of the Thaumas girls! I know your sisters well.”

“Do you?”

He smiled. “They certainly make for the loveliest dance partners.” He spun me away from him, his eyes roaming the hall. “But I don’t see the triplets here tonight.” His teeth winked with a predatory warning. “I do hope nothing happened to them.”

I nearly tripped as alarm bells began to ring deep within me. “Why would you say that?”

He raised his shoulders in an elegant shrug. “What would you have me say?”

With a flick of his wrist, he twisted me back into his arms. “You never asked where our second meeting was,” I sputtered, turning my face from his as he maneuvered me into a dip and leaned over, breathing in my scent. I had the horrifying premonition he was about to lick the hollow of my throat.

“On Astrea, of course. The night of the Churning pageant, if I’m not mistaken. The night two of your sisters went missing.”

My breath stole away from me. How would he know that? “What were you doing in Astrea?”

He blinked once, his pupils suddenly impossibly large, like the flat, dead eyes of a shark.

“Tell me, Annaleigh, why do you ask me things you already know?”

I pushed him away from me. “I never told you my name.”

The dragon man laughed. “No, but she did.” He nodded toward the center of the room, where Fisher swayed back and forth, letting Verity stand on his toes.

Knowing this stranger had spoken to Verity made me want to cry. “Stay away from my sisters.”

He grabbed my elbow, drawing me close. “We’re taking up space on the floor just standing here. Dance with me.”

His grip was too tight, and I couldn’t free myself. Before I could raise my voice to protest, Camille and a new partner spun by.

“Isn’t this exquisite?” she called out.

My stomach churned as I watched her swirl away. Why couldn’t she sense the danger I felt? She looked as carefree as a butterfly, fluttering from partner to partner.

“Dance, Annaleigh,” the dragon man urged, bringing me back to the present. He drew his thumb across the curve of my jaw, running it over my lips. Stuck in his grasp, I leaned as far away as I could, but I still felt the heat of his breath on my cheek. “Dance for me.”

This man had something to do with my sisters’ deaths, I was sure of it. I had to replace Cassius. Had to get help. Had to escape this ballroom and the smoke clouding my thoughts. Had to run from the music. It was a half note off, too sharp, setting my teeth on edge and making it impossible to hear, let alone dance to.

“Get away from me!” I screamed, and shoved at his chest with all my might. As I turned to run, I expected noises of surprise and concern, gasps from onlookers as I created quite a loud scene.

But there was no reaction.

I stopped in my tracks, staring at the couples on the floor.

None of them had noticed my outburst. It was like the moths. I’d seen them, but later Papa had not. Tonight, I was seeing and hearing things that crowds of people in the same room as me were not.

First that macabre statue and now this music—no one but me noticed anything wrong with it. I whirled around, searching for Cassius. Why couldn’t he see how much I needed him?

A young man in a sparkling gold vest stepped into my path, interrupting my train of thought. “May I have this dance?”

I shook my head, turning in the other direction. “I’m through with dancing.”

“But the party has only just begun.” He darted in front of me, surprisingly agile.

“I’m tired. Perhaps another time.”

“One dance.” He linked our elbows, twirling us in a circle.

“I’d really rather—”

“Come.”

He navigated us farther into the crowd with a series of steps I struggled to keep up with. The orchestra played a lively mazurka, and the couples around us moved too quickly for me to break free.

The opening note of another song rang out, hitting the wrong pitch. I felt as if my ears were about to bleed.

“Oh, I do love this song. Pretty, pretty lady, might I tempt you into another round with me? It would be my honor.”

“I’m afraid she’s spoken for,” a voice said from the side of the room.

I turned, hoping to see Cassius, but it was a short, stalky man smoking a cigar. He exhaled a strange cloud of lavender-colored smoke into my face, making my eyes water. After one last drag, he stomped it out and whisked me away.

I wiped my eyes, trying to clear them and gather my thoughts. There was something I’d needed to do, but I couldn’t seem to remember what it was. I swept my gaze over the room to jog my memory. The ballroom was so lovely. So sparkly, and sumptuous, and…exquisite.

The short man and I danced past Camille, and her partner said we ought to switch after the waltz. I readily agreed. I danced two numbers with him before a little boy all in saffron, looking very much like the son of the house, asked if he could cut in.

Charmed by his impeccable manners, I ended up dancing three times with him. He told such funny jokes, the time flew by. Then a blond man tapped my shoulder and asked so nicely, I accepted his offer for a quadrille.

“Do you know where the refreshment tables are?” I asked mid-dance. “I’m not accustomed to such warm weather.”

He pointed to the far end of the room.

A beautiful spread of tables boasted rows of crystal cups and three different kinds of punch. There was a miniature castle of stacked petits fours and trays of exotic meats, smoked, roasted, and pickled. At the center of it all, in the place of honor, was a magnificent tiered cake. Thirteen layers tall and surrounded by hand-painted edible flowers, it was stunning.

Before I could partake of this feast, I felt someone behind me. It was the dragon man again. He looked utterly resplendent in his tails. The velvet was thick and luscious and tailored to his form with precision. “May I have this dance?”

I was about to consent—I’d had such a marvelous time with him before—when something shifted inside me.

Had I?

I blinked and he seemed to lose a shade of his splendor. I noticed a patch of stubble he’d missed shaving, and his eyes seemed far more sunken than they had only a moment before.

Odd.

“Thank you, but I believe I’m going to sit this one out.”

“Nonsense! It’s the last dance before the fireworks. Dance with me, Annaleigh.”

I held out my hand, ready to accept, but then noticed the buffet again. I’d been thirsty before. I’d come to the table for something to drink. Such a silly thing to forget.

“I’m going to get a glass of punch, but thank you.”

“Wouldn’t you rather something stronger?” He pushed back his jacket, revealing a slim flask. He took a long swig from it before offering it to me. I waved it aside. “Get your punch, then,” he sneered. “But then we dance.”

That sneer. The tone of his voice, husky but holding back such a rank, entitled anger. It sounded so familiar. I suddenly remembered his thumb brushing my mouth, full of dark desire, and snapped to my senses.

Why had I forgotten that? Why had I forgotten everything? I wasn’t here to socialize and dance the night away. I was meant to be searching for information on who would want to harm my sisters.

“I’m not dancing with you.” I kept my voice strong and decisive and turned on my heel, looking over the buffet, steeling my mind for the task at hand.

Find a cup.

Pick a punch.

But even as I coached myself through such a simple process, my feet worked in open rebellion, itching to dance.

“Which punch, Annaleigh?” I muttered, grounding myself in the moment.

I finally chose the pink one. Dozens of iced strawberries floated on top. We hadn’t had any in months, since the cold weather set in, and this looked simply enchanting.

No. Not enchanting. Just punch.

Taking a large sip, I immediately spat it out. Something wasn’t right. There was a strong metallic taste, as if a dozen copper florettes were mixed in.

A strawberry seed stuck between my teeth, wedged deep enough that no amount of ladylike prodding with my tongue could dislodge it. I worked it free with a surreptitious swish of my fingernail.

I intended to flick it aside without a second thought, but it was much larger than a strawberry seed should have been. I brought it up for a closer inspection.

It was a fish scale.

I rubbed the silver speck between my fingers, puzzled. How on earth did a fish scale end up in a bowl of party punch? I turned to let a servant know about the contamination, then froze. The festive red floats I’d taken for strawberries weren’t fruit at all. Hacked-up bits of seafood bobbed in the punch, a veritable chum stew.

The punch was made of blood.

My stomach rolled over, threatening to toss up every bite of dinner I’d eaten. The cakes and the trays were gone, replaced with butchered carcasses of fish. A fluke here, a dorsal fin there. The yellow satin of the tablecloth was soaked red around these cuts of meat. Tentacles, long and ropy, flailed off the table, spiraling to the floor below.

My nostrils flared against the stench. This seafood had not been freshly caught. It was weeks old and had turned. So many people milled around, clearly unaffected. How did they keep dancing before such a massacre?

Then it hit me. Only I saw this. Only I smelled this. I was the only one who noticed any of this night’s horrors. Hundreds of people were here, but I was the only one to see this world for what it was.

How was that possible? How was any of this possible?

There is one way, a tiny, dark voice whispered in my mind.

I shook my head, as if warding off a buzzing mosquito.

None of this is real, it persisted. No one else sees it because it’s not really here to see. You’ve gone mad, my girl.

No. That wasn’t it. That wasn’t possible.

I wasn’t mad.

There had to be another explanation.

Does there?

Shaking my head, I scanned the room again, searching for Camille and the Graces. We were going. We were leaving this awful, evil place and then—

I let out a shriek only I could hear.

Where the cake had once been rested a large platter. A sea turtle—the biggest one I’d ever seen—was showcased on a bed of dead eels. His great shell had been hacked, slashed, and sliced. He had not died an easy death. Tears welled in my eyes.

I dared to creep closer to the proud beast. He was enormous and obviously quite old. Barnacles dotted his back, and his flippers were scored with battle scars. I reached out to trace one of the long lines, but my hand stopped as the turtle’s head shifted.

Was he alive? Surely nothing could have withstood the wounds racked across his body, but there it was again, the slightest spasm of his head. I rubbed his flipper, letting him know he was not alone. Even though he was in pain and scared and probably about to die, I wanted him to know someone loved him and was sorry.

The head flopped toward my touch, and I dared to dream I might save him. My sisters and I could snatch up the platter and race it back to Highmoor. I’d fill the solarium’s pond with salt water. He could live there until he recovered enough to return to the sea.

His head jerked again, and I leaned in. If he was about to open his eyes, I wanted to be the first thing he saw. The beak moved, and my heart jumped in anticipation.

The turtle’s eyelids burst open as a string of fat white maggots fell from the hole. They poured out of the poor loggerhead’s skull onto the platter. His body was full of them, ready to explode.

I turned away, certain I was about to be horribly sick, and ran into the leering dragon man. He caught hold of my elbows, keeping me from falling.

“Are you enjoying the refreshments?” he asked.

There was such a lightness in his voice, so completely at odds with what I’d just seen, it gave me hope the bloody mess was an illusion, just like the fountain. Turning back, I expected to see the cake and pretty punch bowls, but the gore was still there, spread across the tables in a sadistic buffet.

“I feel faint,” I confessed, my head swooning with the smoke. “Can you replace my sisters or Fisher? Can you replace Camille?”

My knees gave way, and he lowered me to the floor, his hand at the back of my neck. The room faded in and out of darkness. As the dragon man leaned over me, streaks of sweat ran down his face.

I wiped my fingers across his cheek. They came back black and oily.

The Weeping Woman.

“Dance with me,” she whispered into my ear.

My stomach heaved, threatening to lose control, and I forced myself away from the wicked wraith. The floor felt sticky as I crawled forward. Sticky and moving.

Maggots spilled off the turtle’s platter onto the dance floor, writhing in time to the orchestra’s cheery tune. The floor was thick with their repugnant bodies. There were thousands of them. They crawled on me, into my shoes, under my skirts, and I finally opened my mouth and screamed.