Page 89 of House of Salt and Sorrows
The hollow of my throat tightened. I felt as though I was standing on the edge of a cliff, with pebbles and gravel shifting under my feet. I knew I was about to fall, but I couldn’t stop and save myself.
Fisher nodded. “The thicket was empty. No one was there.”
I stared out the window but couldn’t see anything except Cassius’s red cheeks.
The glass panes fogged over with condensation from our breath as Fisher waited in silence, letting me process his words.
“Come on, let’s get you inside,” he said finally, pushing open the door and helping me out.
I stood in the courtyard in a dazed fog. I didn’t even flinch as the driver cracked his whip, startling the horses into action. Though I ran my hands up and down my arms for warmth, it didn’t help. I couldn’t feel anything. I’d gone completely numb.
“Someone on this island killed my sisters.”
Fisher’s face was lined with sadness as he took my elbow, guiding me inside.
Just before ducking beneath the portico, I looked up and caught sight of a figure, perfectly framed within one of the Blue Room’s windows. Cassius stood looking down at us, lines of worry across his brow.
The room was hot.
I lay next to Lenore, unable to sleep. Sheets stuck to my legs, twisting and pulling. I tried to flatten them with my foot, but it only tangled them more.
How much do we really even know about him?
Fisher’s voice welled up, repeating the question over and over again until each word ceased to have meaning, leaving only a jumbled echo of consonants ringing in my mind.
It didn’t make any sense.
It couldn’t.
But his cheeks had been so red….
I bunched the pillow up beneath me, trying to get more comfortable, but it only served to further agitate me. I slammed my fist into the downy softness, wishing I could pummel my thoughts into such submission.
“He wasn’t even in Salann when Eulalie fell,” I reminded myself.
You mean you only met him after she’d died….
I shook my head, longing to silence the little voice. Cassius had no motive to kill Rosalie or Ligeia, and he’d been with me when Edgar died. It couldn’t be him.
But Eulalie…
I took a sharp breath, remembering the oil painting in the hall the morning we’d gone to the berry bushes.
He’d known Eulalie’s name.
He’d known all my sisters’ names.
There was no way he’d been able to read the small, smudged plaque beneath the portrait. So how, then?
With a hiss of frustration, I flipped over. Moonlight cast the room into stark highlights and shadows. Catching sight of the two empty beds, I turned away, coming face to face with Lenore.
Her eyes were open, staring at me. It was the first time we’d made direct eye contact since I’d returned from the thicket.
“You’re awake,” I said needlessly. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t sleep. Did I wake you?”
Predictably, she didn’t respond.
“Is it always so hot in here?” Silence. “Perhaps the fire was built too high.” I sat up, struggling to free myself from the bedsheets. “Can I get you anything? You didn’t come down for dinner. What about tea? Would you like tea?”
