Page 36 of House of Salt and Sorrows
He sighed. “It sounds a little crazy, okay? But I remember hearing something about a passageway, a secret door. For the gods.”
“The gods?” What would gods be doing at Highmoor?
“A long, long time ago, they were much more active in the affairs of mortals. They liked being consulted on everything from art to politics. Some of them still do. You know Arina is always showing up at the opera and theatres in the capital. Says she’s an important muse.”
I nodded.
He rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, it’s not as if they can take a carriage from the Sanctum, you know? They need a way to get to our world. So there are these doors. I remember one of the footmen saying there’s one somewhere on Salten—for Pontus to use when he’s traveling. You say some sort of magic words and they take you to places, far-off places like that.” He snapped his fingers. “But it’s just a story.”
Such a door must be marked as special, and I’d certainly never seen anything like that on Salten. It was probably nonsense. But…
“Did he ever say where Pontus’s door is?” I asked, cringing at the hope I heard in my voice.
Fisher shook his head. “Forget about it, Annaleigh.” He picked up the basket and shook its contents. “This enough, youthink?”
“It’s plenty, thank you. Morella will appreciate it, I’m sure.”
We forced the boat down the beach, letting it meet the water. The sun beamed down, warming everything with a golden glow. My eyes fell on Fisher. Studying the way his forearms flexed as he rowed across the bay, I dared to remember how they’d felt wrapped around me.
A splash sounded ahead of us, breaking my daydream. A green flipper caught my eye.
A sea turtle!
Fisher winced, scanning the waters ahead. “Annaleigh, don’t look.”
A red tentacle thrashed out of the water, flailing aggressively. My smile faded. Red like that meant squid, and it looked enormous.
As the boat sailed past, I wanted to cry. The sea turtle was fighting for his life. The squid’s arms wrapped around him, grasping and writhing and trying to pull the shell apart. Squid, even one as sizeable as this, did not eat turtles.
It only went after him for spite.
My fingers trailed over the piano keys, working out a series of notes. It was a complex piece, full of rapidly descending glides and swooping rhythms, requiring absolute concentration. Unfortunately, my mind was not wholly on the piece, and the sound made even me wince.
Papa had been gone for over a week. He didn’t immediately send word of his arrival, and an uneasy panic descended over Morella, certain the curse had struck. When we finally received a letter, she snatched it from the silver tray and raced upstairs to read his words in private.
She’d begun to show, a small swell in her stomach that quickly expanded into a round curve. The baby was growing too fast. We summoned a midwife from Astrea, and when she emerged from Morella’s bedroom, her face was grave with concern.
“Twins,” she said. “Active ones too.”
The midwife gave me a salve to rub into Morella’s belly twice a day and said she needed to rest as much as possible, keeping her feet elevated and her emotions in check.
After another run of wrong notes, I clunked to a finish and swatted at the sheet music, studying what I should have done.
A maid poked her head into the Blue Room.
“Miss Annaleigh?” she asked, and gave a small curtsy. “There’s a Mr. Edgar Morris here.”
My breath hitched. Edgar at Highmoor? “For me?”
“And Miss Camille.”
“I’ve not seen her since breakfast, but I believe she’s in her room.” Since the ball, she had ensconced herself behind closed doors, snapping at anyone who dared disturb her.
I pressed trembling fingers into my skirt. After the boat ride with Fisher, I’d written a dozen letters to Papa, trying to explain my suspicions and begging him to come home soon to help. They’d all ended up in the fire, reading like the musings of a madwoman. A letter wasn’t the way to go. How could mere words convey the dark feeling growing in my stomach?
“Miss Thaumas, hello,” Edgar said, entering the room. Once again, he was dressed in full black, still observing deepest mourning.
I turned on the bench, watching him take in the room post-mourning. The sconces made the mirrors sparkle, and even with the overcast morning, the room looked a great deal more cheerful than when he’d last seen it.
