House of Salt and Sorrows (Sisters of Salt #1)

Beneath the wide swish of tulle skirts, I flexed my feet, glad the fairy shoes had flat, padded soles. We’d been standing in the receiving line for what felt like hours. If I’d been in heels, I’d be limping to dinner. Camille needled me in the ribs with her sharp elbow.

“Pay attention,” she mouthed.

“This is my wife, Morella, and my eldest daughters, Camille and Annaleigh,” Papa said, greeting another couple. He shook the gentleman’s hand and kissed the tips of the woman’s fingers. “And the birthday girls, Rosalie, Ligeia, and Lenore.”

We pasted on another round of smiles, murmuring a hello and thanking them for coming.

Rosalie flashed open her fan with an impatient flutter, sneaking a look at the receiving line behind Papa. “We’ll never get to the dancing,” she hissed.

I glanced around the ballroom, hoping some of the visitors had ventured into other parts of the manor. Hadn’t we greeted more people than this? The hall, which could easily hold three hundred people, felt half full. A string orchestra played underneath the murmurs of the crowd, making the room seem livelier than it really was.

Perhaps the fog had detained some of the guests on the mainland?

At least the ballroom did not disappoint. Velvet drapes, navy with silvery tracings, were artfully swagged throughout the room, creating private nooks perfect for romantic assignations. Lush purple flowers dripped from fluted columns. The chandelier gleamed and sparkled, its crystal drops twisting and hanging down to form the arms of the Thaumas octopus. The center of the chandelier made up the body, refracting the light of a thousand burning candles. The massive beast covered half the ceiling.

But the most spectacular sight was the stained-glass wall. It had been covered for years in black curtains, as if its mere presence stirred more joy than was proper in a house of mourning. Squares of blue and green glass gave way to teal and aqua higher up, with a frosting of white at the top, transforming one wall of the ballroom into a veritable tsunami. The light from dozens of tall braziers on the patio illuminated the wall like a brilliant jewel, casting cerulean and beryl highlights across the guests.

I caught sight of the Graces running through the crowds, chasing Aunt Lysbette’s tiny toy poodle and giggling with mad glee.

Camille leaned in, whispering under her breath, “Those were the last guests, thank Pontus. I’m starving.”

“Do you remember any of these people’s names?” I asked as we headed in.

“Besides the relatives? Just that one.” She nodded discreetly to Robin Briord. He was standing in a group of young men looking up at the chandelier. Camille’s cheeks flushed with a look of hunger that had nothing to do with our impending dinner. “When should I go talk with him?”

Someone tapped on our shoulders. “No big, fancy greetings for me, then?”

Turning, I couldn’t help my squeal of delight. “Fisher! Is that really you?”

The years of working on Hesperus had changed him. He’d grown taller and filled out, becoming a man, with laugh lines framing warm and familiar brown eyes. When he folded me into a brotherly embrace, I felt the power behind all his new muscles.

“I didn’t know you were coming!” said Camille. “Annaleigh, did you?”

“Hanna mentioned it this morning, but I forgot to tell you.”

She raised one playful eyebrow at me. As girls, we’d both been madly in love with Fisher, trailing after him with all the eagerness of the desperately unrequited. It was the only thing we’d ever truly squabbled over.

“Seems an awfully big thing to forget. I’m sure it was unintentional.” Her tone was teasing, but an edge darkened her words. “How long are you here for?” she asked, turning her attention to Fisher. “It’s been so long since we’ve seen you. Hanna must be thrilled you’re home.”

He nodded. “Your father asked me to stay on till Churning. He wanted to make sure I was at the big First Night dinner.”

First Night, only weeks away, was the start of the Churning Festival, celebrating the change of the seasons as Pontus stirred the oceans with his trident. The cold water from below mixed with the cold air above. With fish diving deeper to spend the winter in a state of semihibernation, the villagers used this time to repair their boats, mend their nets, and spend time with their families. The festival lasted for ten days and grew progressively wilder as it wore on. Families of Papa’s finest captains were invited to welcome in the turning of the sea with a feast at Highmoor. Even in the midst of our deepest mourning, it was the one celebration we always observed.

Camille beamed. “Wonderful. I can’t wait to hear about all your adventures at Old Maude. But first I’m on a mission of my own.” She strode away, cutting a roundabout sweep toward Briord, her eyes focused on his every movement.

Fisher took my hand, spinning me around. “You look awfully pretty tonight, little Minnow. So very grown up. Save me a spot on your dance card? Or is it already too full? Mother always said I took too long to get in motion.”

I opened my pretty paper fan, holding it out to him. It doubled as a dance card, though the spokes were surprisingly empty. Uncle Wilhelm, after much prodding from Aunt Lysbette, had asked to have my first two-step, and a distant cousin had requested to lead me in a fox-trot. I assumed once dinner was over, it would fill up. I was a sister of the guests of honor, after all.

“Lucky me,” Fisher said, looking over the blank spaces. “May I be so bold as to request a waltz?” He scrawled in his name with a flourish.

“Take them all,” I said, only half joking. My sisters and I were all schooled in the art of dancing—Berta had us waltz about the drawing room, with Camille always making me lead—but I had no aptitude for witty banter or delicate flirtations. The prospect of an evening of forced small talk made me break into a sheen of sweat.

He studied the card before selecting a polka. “I’m afraid that’s all I can offer, Minnow. I’ve already promised dances to Honor and the triplets.”

“Well, it is their birthday,” I allowed with a smile. “No one has called me that in years.”

“I’d warrant you’re far too grand a lady these days to strip to your skivvies and go swimming in tide pools.” After a beat, his eyes sobered. “I was truly sorry to hear about Eulalie…. I wanted to come to the funeral, but there was that storm. Silas didn’t want to be caught alone.”

I nodded. It would be nice to have someone to remember Eulalie with, but not tonight.

“Where have they put you at dinner?” I asked, diverting the conversation back to something cheerful and meaningless.

“I haven’t had a chance to scour the place cards yet.”

Setting my hand on his elbow, I guided us deeper into the hall. “Shall we take a look?”

Mercy flopped into the chair next to mine, breathing deeply. Her curls, pinned at the sides with silver roses, wilted. Though she tried to hide it, I caught her yawning behind her hand.

“Why don’t you go to bed?” I asked. “It’s nearly midnight. I’m surprised you three haven’t been sent upstairs already.”

“Papa said we don’t have to be little girls tonight. Besides, I can’t miss this party! Camille or you could die, and we’ll never have another one.”

“Mercy!”

She scowled. “What? It might be true.”

I sighed at her insensitivity. “Who were you dancing with?”

“Lord Asterby’s son, Hansel. He’s twelve,” she said, giving the number grave importance.

“You looked like you were having fun.”

Her eyebrows pinched. “He only talked about his horses, telling me all of their sires, five generations back. He said he didn’t want to dance at all but his parents made him.”

“Hansel Asterby sounds like he needs to learn some manners. I’m sorry you didn’t get on with him.”

“Are all boys so very dull?”

I shrugged. Though not a total shock, Cassius hadn’t been among the guests. Consequently, every other man seemed a shade less by comparison.

“You haven’t been dancing much,” she observed. “And Camille looks peeved.”

I followed her gaze to where Camille stood near the crowd surrounding Lord Briord. Her face was pinched, her laughs too loud. “He hasn’t made an introduction yet.”

Mercy pushed her chin into her hand—had the orchestra been playing a softer tune, she would have been asleep in an instant. “We should ask him why he’s stalling. I don’t think he’s talked to any of us but Papa. It’s so rude. Even if he doesn’t fancy Camille, it’s the triplets’ birthday. He should at least wish them many happy returns.”

I’d noticed as much. I was also keenly aware my dance card had never filled up. Without Fisher’s kindness, I would have looked like a sour old maid.

“Someone should make him.” Mercy glared over the rim of her cup.

Lenore joined us, her full skirts piling up over the arms of the chair like a plum-colored waterfall. She downed a glass of champagne in one swallow. “Octavia’s wake was livelier than this.”

“You’ve not been dancing either?” I guessed.

“Just with Fisher. It’s my birthday. Can’t I insist someone ask me?”

Mercy shot me a knowing look.

“I don’t understand it,” said Lenore. “We all look lovely.”

“We do,” I agreed.

“We’re all well mannered and have many fine and admirable qualities,” she continued, taking on the affected accent of an Arcannian mainlander.

“Mmm.”

“We’re rich,” she spat out, and I began to suspect that was not her first or second glass of champagne.

“That we are.”

“Then why are we sitting in the corner with no dance partners?” She slammed the glass on the table. It fell over but did not break.

“I intend to ask Lord Briord exactly that!” Mercy was across the dance floor, weaving in and out of couples with righteous indignation, before we could stop her.

“We should go after her.” Lenore made no effort to get up. “She’s going to embarrass herself.”

“She’s going to embarrass Camille,” I predicted.

“Won’t that be fun?”

Lenore flagged down a server carrying a tray of icy champagne coupes. She grabbed two, giving the second to me. I waved it off.

“I’d almost summon a Trickster here and now, just to have someone to dance with!” she groaned, downing her drink.

“You shouldn’t say things like that,” I warned her. “There are enough whispers about our family as it is. Besides, if Papa catches you, he’ll have your head.” As if on cue, he and Morella waltzed by, beaming radiant smiles at each other. It was hard to believe they’d sat at Eulalie’s funeral only weeks before.

Setting aside the empty glass, Lenore picked up the one meant for me. “What?” she asked, seeing my pointed stare. “It’s my birthday. If I’m not dancing, I might as well be lousy with champagne. Look,” she said, pointing. “Even Camille agrees with me.”

I glanced across the dance floor in time to see Camille throw back a coupe of liquid courage. She took a deep breath and pinched her cheeks, drawing bright spots of color to her face. Her lips moved, clearly practicing her speech for Lord Briord.

As she made her way to him, I’d never seen her look lovelier.

Reaching the outer edge of his circle, she paused, tilting her head toward their conversation. A moment passed, then another, and the rosy hue drained from her cheeks. She held one hand up to her mouth, and I feared she might be sick.

She pushed a path away from the group, staggering back and bumping into a waltzing couple.

“What’s the matter with her?” Lenore asked.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Camille apologized to the dancers before finding her way to us. She pulled me to my feet and dragged me off like a swimmer caught in a passing ship’s wake. “We have to get out of here!”

“What just happened?”

“Now, Annaleigh, please!”

Camille didn’t stop until we were deep in the garden. Thousands of tiny candles dotted ledges hidden throughout the topiaries. It would have seemed magical had the fog ever lifted. Now the little lights played strangely with the mist, creating shadowy phantoms, there one moment and gone the next.

“Camille, calm down.” I sat on the edge of the fountain.

She threw a fist toward the house. “This was nothing more than a stupid farce!”

“I don’t understand what’s going on. Tell me what happened!”

I hugged my arms around my chest, gooseflesh rippling over all that bare skin. It was far too cold to be out, but the chill only seemed to sharpen Camille’s senses. At least she’d stopped pacing.

She studied Highmoor in silence. The ballroom, shining so brightly inside, could barely be seen. The orchestra’s music echoed eerily in the fog.

“How many men danced with you tonight?”

I sighed. “Would everyone stop harping on that?”

“How many?” She whirled around, seizing my shoulders. There was a strange sheen to her eyes. In the foggy candlelight, Camille looked half crazed. I wrenched free of her grasp, rubbing where her fingers had sunk in.

“Three.”

“Three. The whole night?”

“Well, yes, but—”

She nodded as if she’d already known this. “Relatives, right? And not even many of those.”

“I suppose not.” My teeth began to chatter. “I saw you try to talk to Briord. Just tell me what he said. We’ll catch our death out here.”

She snorted. “The curse strikes again.”

I stood up. “There’s no curse. I’m going back.”

“Wait!” She grabbed me, her nails biting into the soft flesh of my arm. “I waited all night for him to introduce himself, but he never did. So…I decided I would go over and ask him to dance myself.”

“Oh, Camille.”

She frowned. “I overheard him talking with one of his younger brothers. The brother was egging him on, daring him to ask Ligeia for a dance. He said no. The brother asked why, since she was so lovely.”

“What did he say?”

She exhaled with a shaky breath. “He said that, yes, Ligeia was lovely. As lovely as a bouquet of belladonna.”

I wasn’t familiar with the word and tried breaking it down into things I did know. “Beautiful ladies?”

“Nightshade. Poison. He thinks we’re cursed, that we’ll curse anyone who gets too close to us. That’s why none of us have been dancing!”

“That’s not—”

“Oh, Annaleigh, of course it is! Think about it. Whether there is or isn’t a curse, people believe in it. We’ve been tried and found guilty in the public’s opinion. Nothing will change their minds, no matter how many pretty parties Papa throws. We’re cursed, and no one will ever believe otherwise.”

I sank back down, recalling the whispers in the Selkirk marketplace. The speculations that quickly turned to jeers.

“It’s so unfair.”

She nodded. “And let me tell you, the Briord family tree is far from perfect. When I was studying up on him, I saw several first cousins who were awfully fond of each other…. No wonder he has such big ears.”

I smiled, knowing full well that an hour before, Camille had pinned such hopes on those admittedly large ears. “This doesn’t mean it’s over for us. There are other men. Other dukes, in other provinces. Provinces that have never heard of the Thaumas Dozen. Arcannia is vast.”

Camille made a noise of disgust, then joined me on the fountain. With her side pressed against mine, we could have almost been at the piano. I missed those days.

“Even if we could find these other dukes from far away, the second they came here, they’d find out. Everyone would tell them, eager to be the one credited with saving His Grace from a doomed match.”

“Then maybe we go to them.”

“Papa would never sanction such an idea.” She wrapped her hand around mine, squeezing my frozen fingers till a little bit of life sparked in them. “At least we’ll always have each other. Sisters and friends till the end. Promise me.”

“I promise.”

A figure approached us, silhouetted larger than possible against the wall of mist, a cape swirling about his frame. Heels clicked across the garden tiles, heading our way. For a moment, I thought Papa might have come looking for us, but the shadowy shape morphed. It was a woman in full skirts. A curtain of fog swirled around us, growing too thick to see, but I heard her laughter, carefree and breezy.

It was Eulalie. I would stake my life on it.

My mouth went dry as I imagined her ghost, fated to walk an endless loop to the very cliffs where she’d met her end. When the bank of fog dispersed, Camille and I were alone in the garden.

My knuckles were white as I gripped her. She’d have to take Verity’s drawings seriously now. “You saw that, didn’t you?”

“Saw what?”

“The shadow. The laughter…it sounded just like Eulalie, didn’t it?”

Camille raised a questioning eyebrow at me. “You’ve had too much champagne.” She turned with a swish of skirts, heading back inside and leaving me in the fog.

Heels clicked behind me again, though the garden was empty, and I scurried after her.