Chapter Twenty-Five

I pounded on the door to the boys’ room. Waited. Then pounded again. Come on. Open up. Another pound. Another wait. Bits of dust drifted from the rafters, silhouetted like gnats.

No answer.

Their voices carried through the wood, muddled and deep. I pressed my ear against it. A grind. A creak. The bed? Orange light dipped into the hallway in a burnished glow, leaving everything black and fuzzy.

Oh, come on. I knew they were in there.

“I can hear you,” I shouted. This was bold. This was reckless, but Helene’s plan—our plan—would fall apart if I couldn’t get Signey out of her room.

And there was only one way to get Signey out of her room.

“Hello?” I called, pounding again.

A scrape. A click. The lock. The door swung open to reveal Erik. Shirtless. “What?” he snapped.

His hair was wet, curling at his temples. A few stray droplets clung to his lips, his lashes as if he’d just been washing his face. A tattoo spiraled down his chiseled chest, a falling crow and a great black snake that twisted once around his navel and disappeared into the waistband of his—

“Isabel?”

Oh wow.

“ Isabel!”

“Yeah?”

“My face is up here.”

“So it is.” The words were a squeak. “But I’m, um…admiring the paint. In the room. It’s very white.” I couldn’t meet his eyes.

He cocked a brow. “Was that the only thing you were admiring?”

My cheeks heated.

Behind him, Bo and Kaspar snickered.

“Pay up,” Kaspar said.

Bo rolled his eyes. “This doesn’t count.”

“It definitely counts.”

Erik leaned his arm on the doorframe, blocking them from view. “What do you want?” The tattoo twisted, the snake’s body rippling over his lower abdomen, so toned you could probably use it to cut glass.

Don’t look at it. Don’t look at it. “Helene offered to show us the Merchant’s Market.”

I snuck a glance.

He smirked and went to shut the door. “No thanks.”

I caught it with my foot. “It only happens once a year.”

“I think we’re fine.” He glared at my foot. “Move that.”

“Make me.”

“Guys?” Bo called.

Erik glanced up, blond hair falling over his forehead, a single lock curling just above his brow. His chest heaved and his eyes went feral. “And how, Isabel Moller, would you suggest I do that?”

From outside, the rattle of wheels over cobblestones, the clop of hooves, singing.

His voice dropped to a husky murmur. “I could make sure you had a good view of my tattoo. I know you like it.”

The heat rushed straight to my core and we were so close, and he was staring at me with those scary, feral eyes and—

Bo popped his head above Erik’s arm. “So, um…hello. Sorry to interrupt, but I actually want to see the Merchant’s Market.”

I peered around Erik, who started cackling like an idiot. “Great,” I said. “We leave in fifteen minutes.”

I tromped back to the room I shared with Signey and attempted to purge the image of a shirtless Erik from my brain. I needed to stick to the plan.

No distractions.

No tattoo.

Okay, it was a very nice tattoo.

Stop. Focus.

Signey was laying belly down on the bed, her arms dangling off the edge, tossing a knife over and over into the wooden floorboards. She’d thrown open the window, letting in the scents of chimney smoke and rain.

I hauled my bag onto the chair and began pulling out clothes—sweaters, skirts, a thin gray cardigan. I shrugged the cardigan on. Gloves. A knitted cap. I pulled those on, too. A fleecy scarf the color of tender lavender.

Waves and rain filled the silence.

I hadn’t been around Erik and his group for very long, but hopefully, I’d read the dynamic right. And maybe the cardigan, the scarf, the gloves and the cap were too much, but I needed Signey to notice I was leaving. I needed her to ask—

“Where are you going?”

I flipped open a container of lip tint I’d borrowed from Helene, a rich berry red, and tugged off a glove. “The Merchant’s Market.”

She pushed herself higher, her expression taut. “By yourself?” The unasked question hovered in her voice.

“Everyone else is coming, too.” Hopefully . “Helene offered to show us around.”

“Oh.”

I waited for more, but Signey said nothing.

Maybe I’d misread her; maybe she didn’t care about being left behind. After all, she seemed content to sit apart from the men, but I’d seen the furtive glances she gave them, saw the way she hovered at the edges of the group. And if the morning of our departure had been anything to go by…

I patted the creamy tint over my lips and hazarded a glance.

Her hands had stilled. The corners of her mouth quivered and she looked, for a moment, like a child who’d been left hiding.

Before she could give too much away, she schooled her features, the frown replaced with her easy, cat-like confidence. “I guess we’re going shopping.”

Fifteen minutes later, we met the others at the bottom of the stairs—Erik, Kaspar, Bo, and Helene.

Helene had changed into an oversized cardigan and a cream shift, her loose curls shoved under a knitted cap. “Well,” she said, her cheeks rosy. “Shall we go?”

Houses reflected against dark waters and the air hung thick with the scent of sugar cakes and fried fish. Lanterns knocked hollow, their light glinting off merchants’ tables. They’d set their wares under a crisscross of tents—oil lamps and clay birds, chippy glassware and adventure novels with thick covers and gold-painted edges. Rain poured.

“You stand out like a gannet in a flock of guillemots,” Helene said, threading her arm through mine. Her nose had gone pink from the cold, her eyes bright from the wind. Then lower, she added, “Relax. I’ll take care of them.”

Kaspar was two tables away, watching a demonstration on throwing knives, but the rest were close, their hands in their pockets, shoulders pulled up against the bump and jostle of the crowd.

The corner of Helene’s mouth tugged into a frown. “Not big shoppers, are they?”

“Apparently not.”

“Ooh, that’s a pretty necklace.” She picked up a velvet ribbon with a single black pearl dangling from the end. “Do you think this will work?”

But before I could answer, Helene dropped her grip on my arm. “Hey, Sig.” The necklace dangled from her hand. “I think this would look amazing on you.”

Erik’s eyes flicked up. He’d stopped the next booth over, two fingers resting on the hilt of a ruby-studded knife.

Signey shook her head. “I don’t want—”

Helene broke away from the table and looped her arm around Signey’s, the gesture all kindness and warmth. She planted Signey in front of the merchant’s looking glass and held the necklace against her collarbone. “Humor me,” she said.

Signey did.

Maybe I shouldn’t be surprised that it worked because this part had been Helene’s idea, but Signey pulled back her hair, pressed it into a bun at the nape of her neck, and tilted her head so Helene could clasp the dainty silver necklace.

“This is ruining the effect,” Helene said, pulling at the leather cord that held the key. “Take it off. Here. I’ll help you.”

Helene handed me the cord and I was ready with the bar of unscented soap, had been warming it in my hands until the lye became soft. I pressed the key hard enough to leave an impression and—

A sudden warmth snuffed the wind’s chill. “Signey has never been one for trinkets,” Erik said.

I jumped, nearly dropping the key.

He shrugged. “She looks good.” He shot me a glance as if we were in on some sort of secret, the two of us against the rest of the world.

Helene’s hand opened and closed behind her. The key .

“Yes,” I said, edging away from him, toward Helene. I slipped Helene the cord, who handed it back to Signey.

“I think you should buy the necklace,” Helene announced.

“She’s not buying the necklace,” Erik murmured.

Signey dropped the ribbon back onto the table. The corner of her mouth quirked. “No.”

Helene fished in her pack. “Then I’ll buy it for you.” She pulled out a faded floral purse. “It’s criminal to look so good in something and not buy it.”

As the shopkeeper wrapped Signey’s necklace in tissue paper, Helene nudged my ribs. You got it? her green eyes seemed to ask.

I dropped my chin into my scarf. A slight nod.

A smile broke out across her face, whole and genuine. Maybe we could have been friends back at Karlsborn Castle.

Helene handed Signey her necklace, and we found the others. “There’s dancing and arm wrestling at the end of the pier,” she said.

This was the plan. After getting the mold of the key, we’d all go to dancing and drinking. Helene would keep them busy while I’d find her cousin, the blacksmith who was running a tent that sold horseshoes and metal flowers. She thought if I mentioned her name and explained the situation, he’d leave his apprentice in charge of the booth and help me make a key.

Erik fiddled with the sleeve of his jacket. “Hey, Isabel, I wanted to—”

“Come on.” Helene hooked her arm through Erik’s and pulled him through the jostling crowd. Her cream sweater vanished into the swirl of gray.

I shouldn’t, I shouldn’t…but I stretched on my tiptoes and there were the tops of their heads, his blond hair, her knitted cap. They bobbed through the sea of brown and black and red.

Helene was helping with the plan. Distracting the Volds was part of the plan. It shouldn’t matter how she did it. So…why did I want Erik to pull away?

They stopped beside a vendor selling candied nuts, wax-paper wrapped almonds so roasty and sweet, and he glanced back, his eyes skimming the crowd until they found mine. His gaze went curious.

I see you, I see you. The snap of smoke and feathery grasses, and we were back at the morning after we’d done the screaming thing, just the two of us.

My heart kicked.

“You coming?” Bo asked.

I dropped back to my heels. Erik and Helene disappeared from view. “Yeah. Of course.”

The rest of us trudged behind them, the rain giving the world a soft, watercolor-like focus. Bonfires had been lit every few feet, puffing smoke toward the sky, dancing gold along the glass of the shops pushed right against the waterway.

We reached the end of the peer where a troupe of fiddlers played on a pile of overturned crates. Around them, couples danced.

Up ahead, Helene dropped Erik’s arm and hurried back to us. She pulled me into the crush of the crowd.

“He said they’re scouting for a place to launch ships,” she said, a little breathless. Raindrops beaded along the knitting of her hat.

“Interesting.” But it made sense considering Erik’s map and the handfuls of rocks scattered up the coast. “Erik was practicing hiding ships,” I said. “I wonder if those things are connected.”

“Ooh! Okay. I’ll see what else I can get.”

She pulled Erik into the middle of the dance floor, under the paper lanterns, beneath the garlands of marigold and daisies that crisscrossed between rooftops.

She said something and he smiled—a real smile—pulling out a dimple I hadn’t even known was there.

She made it look easy, so easy, standing in her loose shift, her curls tumbling out from under her cap. She was wild and giddy, delicate as dandelion fluff, and yet she seemed to have gotten closer to Erik in five minutes than I had in five days, she with her wide-set eyes and graceful bones.

Another twist of my stomach. I leaned my forearms against the harbor wall, the rock still gritty and damp. The rain had cleared to a drizzle and lantern light shone off the flagstones in halos, glossy puddles that swirled in shades of honey, spun gold, and sand. Beside me, a whaler puffed a pipe, heavy smoke coiling toward the sky.

“You should be out there dancing,” he said.

“I don’t dance.”

“Sure you do.”

I didn’t. I had two left feet and I always ended up trying to lead.

The fiddlers dropped to a slow song, an old song, a lullaby. The chilly breeze ruffled the flower garlands, knocked them against the hollow lanterns like a pair of hands ruffling the sheets in a notebook. Somewhere to my left, Bo listened rapt to a storyteller. Signey sat in the bar across the street. Rainwater and window glass ribboned her silhouette, drew it out long and soft, but I could see her in there, white-blonde hair falling loose around her shoulders, a pint of something in her hand.

I should find Helene’s cousin, should use this opportunity to look in the box.

And yet…

Helene turned back to Erik, a wide grin on her face, her cheeks red and rosy from the rain. She offered him her a hand.

He took it, pulled her onto the dance floor, spun her once, a swish of coral and cream. She beamed up at him, and he down at her. Would she ask him about the weapon? Would he tell?

It shouldn’t matter how we got the information, it shouldn’t.

And I shouldn’t be jealous, I shouldn’t.

Erik was an enemy, an invader, and for all I knew, he could have been involved in Hans’s death, but the act stirred something within me and I couldn’t look away— didn’t want to look away—from the fairy tale unfolding in front of me.

“Aalto’s star is shining bright tonight,” the whaler said, exhaling a puff of smoke. “Means Vega hasn’t found him yet. It’s bad luck.”

“I seem to be,” I replied.

Helene leaned up and kissed Erik, a soft, swift peck on the lips. He startled, then stilled, his hand sliding up her back, bunching the creamy cotton of her dress.

My throat thickened and I was a gargoyle, a troll, a gnarled, ugly thing, all hands and bones and teeth, and it didn’t matter that information came so easily to her, and it didn’t matter that he was kissing her, that her laugh eased away the rain. She was searching for things we needed to know, and it didn’t matter, didn’t matter, didn’t—

The fiddlers continued to play, their song streaming out a fresh melody of notes. Amber light danced off the flagstones, the world sheeny and bright.

Helene pulled away, spun Erik so he faced the opposite direction. She raked a hand through the back of his wheat-blond hair and pulled his face into her neck. She scanned the crowd, found me.

“Go,” she mouthed.

I shoved my hands into my pockets and slipped away.