Wayfarer

“For a handsome fee,” Sophia burst in. “Trying to poach some business from the Belladonna, are you? No, thank you. We’ll go to someone who will actually know, not a second-rate mercenary who can’t even decode a message.” Sophia ignored Li Min’s light laugh and turned back to Nicholas. “The Belladonna knows everything. Julian told me that on his last visit accompanying the old man, she rattled off the full scale of all of Ironwood’s comings and goings, and the supposedly secret changes he’d enacted.”

“And your quarrel with her is…?” Nicholas asked, turning back to Li Min. He did not entirely like the sound of this, aside from potentially having a more direct, guaranteed route to Etta.

Li Min lifted a shoulder, but her gaze darted over to Sophia, just for a moment, as she pressed her lips into a tight line.

“She’s bought into the rumors that the woman is a witch,” Sophia said with obvious ridicule. “That she’ll ensnare your soul. Ridiculous!”

Nicholas did balk at that. Witch was a strong accusation in his native time, and flung around far too quickly when it came to ladies with unusual interests or predispositions.

Li Min’s lips parted, but after a moment, she only smiled. Tossing her long braid over her shoulder again, she bent to retrieve her cape and hat. “You seem to have your path charted, then. Be well.”

She was several feet away and retreating into the palms before Nicholas’s mind took note that she was leaving.

“That’s it?” Sophia called after her. “After all that, that’s it?”

Li Min didn’t miss a stride as she called back, “For now. Until we meet again.”

When it looked as though she might try to follow the other girl, to haul her back for further interrogation, Nicholas caught Sophia’s shoulder with one hand and used the other to tuck Rose’s correspondence back in his jacket pocket.

“Can you believe the nerve of that girl—”

“Sophia,” he interrupted, “a witch? Is there anything else I should know?”

“Oh, we’ll be fine,” Sophia said, turning from the trail of broken underbrush Li Min had left behind.

“Are you personally acquainted with her?” he pressed.

“Well, no; but she is a legend, and between Julian’s stories and the old man’s absolute loathing of her, I feel as though I’ve a handle on her,” Sophia said quickly. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of this. The only thing we have to worry about now is finding a passage to Prague. She operates in the fifteenth century—I think there should be a passage to Spain if we can reach Florida, and from there—”

“Not to interrupt your planning, but how do you propose we buy passage off this island?”

Sophia cocked her head to the side, her lips curling up at the edges as she lifted a fist-size leather bag from inside of her jacket and tossed it to him. “Some thief she is. Didn’t even notice when I cut this from her belt.”

Nicholas actually laughed, unknotting the laces to reveal enough gold coins to momentarily stop his heart. “She’ll be back for this.”

Sophia glanced back at the path Li Min had taken. “Good.”

THEY RETURNED TO THE SAME room Etta had climbed out of, accompanied by a different pair of guards, as well as a maid who her father—she shook her head, clearing the impossible word from it—who the man had practically flung at her. Also joining them was a tall, silver-haired woman with posture so severe, Etta wondered if it’d be possible to break a wooden chair against her spine. No one had introduced them, but Etta was reasonably sure this was the Winifred the man had spoken of.

“You may proceed,” the older woman told the maid. Etta would have been shocked if the girl was even seventeen; she peered out from beneath a heavy mop of dark curls escaping from a loose braid. The girl was curious, but not at all frightened or overawed, which made Etta think she was likely a guardian, someone connected to the Thorns. The lantern in her hands made fragments of light jump around them on the thick carpets and gilded wallpaper, fluttering like newly disturbed ghosts.

“A little privacy would be nice,” Etta told the older woman.

The old blade reached behind her to lock the door. Etta raised a brow, taking in the dark violet of her dress. It looked painfully cinched at the waist, with a trail of small pearl buttons that ran up the bodice to the place her tight collar ended, just beneath her chin. The silk skirt was draped with all the elegant ease of a waterfall, collecting in a slight bustle at the small of her back.

After rummaging through the wardrobe, the maid pulled out a plain white blouse with a little dark embroidery around the collar, and a long gray skirt that looked to be made of wool. It was cut narrowly at the waist and along the thighs, but flared as it got closer to the knees and brushed the floor. The poor girl seemed to realize at the exact moment Etta did that there was an icicle’s chance in summer that the tiny waist would fit her.

“I’ll let it out, it won’t be but a moment,” the girl swore, her gaze darting to Winifred.

A moment too long, apparently. With an irritated look, Winifred turned back to Etta and ordered, “Strip.”

“Can I get a please?” Etta grumbled, eyeing the very familiar garment in the woman’s hands. “I’m not wearing the corset. Absolutely not—”

Winifred seized the scruff of Etta’s nightgown and yanked it hard over her head. Momentarily blinded by the fabric, Etta reached up, trying to loosen the ribbon before it strangled her or tore off an ear. She crossed her arms over her chest, shielding her body as the woman threw her a thin chemise.