Her eyes widened as if I’d asked if she wanted to fornicate on top of the feckin’ shelf.
“Perhaps I can get a few new books for you to read while I’m gone,” I explained.
“Where are you off to this time?”
I pulled a name out of thin air. “Minbury.”
Her gray eyes lit with a fire I hadn’t seen since the night of her birthday ball. “I could go with you. I have seen very little of Airren, and—”
“That will not be necessary.”
She nodded, looking back down at her book. In a quieter voice, she said, “Stories of romance and adventure. Those are the books I most like to read.”
My darling wife claimed to be too tired for dinner, retiring to her room early and leaving me to eat on my own. Halfway through my plate of pork, one of the maids opened the door to the kitchen. Something thick and heavy lodged in my chest that felt a lot like guilt.
“I overheard milady say ye were back,” she said with a coy smile.
If she’d told me her name, I couldn’t remember. When she came closer, I shot off my seat like someone had lit a match under my arse. I wasn’t drunk enough to screw her again, so I muttered some convoluted excuse and escaped out the back door.
The best part about being in Graystones was that a certain witch who made excellent waistcoats happened to live next door.
It was well after eight, so the shop windows were dark. I pounded on the door anyway. Meranda appeared not a moment later, red hair unbound and hate burning in her eyes. “What’d I tell ye about callin’ after hours?” she hissed when she dragged open the door.
“Is that any way to treat your best customer?”
“Yer waistcoats won’t be finished until next week.”
“I’m not here for the waistcoats.”
“They why are ye here?”
An excellent question—and one I didn’t know how to answer. Why had I come over? My gaze landed on a bolt of cloth the same shade of blue as Aveen’s eyes. An idea sparked in my mind, and I felt my lips lift into my first genuine smile in weeks.
When Aveen returned, she would need garments, wouldn’t she? And she’d need funds to live on. And a place to live. Providing her with a good life was the least I could do after what had happened with her sister. Not that I expected a few dresses to make much of a difference, but . . . I skimmed my finger along the silk, remembering the way Aveen’s skin had felt beneath me. “Meranda? I’d like you to make me a dress.”
* * *
I flattened the curling edge of the map spread across Tadhg’s desk, pinning it down with the hourglass. The candle had long since burned itself out, leaving wax dripping onto the gold holder.
Aveen had said that she wanted a cottage by the sea, so I would get her a feckin’ cottage by the sea.She’d said she wanted flowers. I’d grow so many weeds that she’d have to cut her way to the door.
My finger skimmed the map as I scanned the border of this cursed island for the perfect location.
The safest place would be along the eastern coast, as far from Tearmann and the Queen as one could get. Not that the old witch knew of her existence. But with Aveen being from the east coast, it was far too likely that she may run into someone from her old life. A risk I wasn’t willing to take. Southern shores were notorious for sailors from Iodale. The last thing she needed was to be set upon by a bunch of randy pirates. That left the northern coast and western coast. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere unlikely to cause her trouble.
Somewhere like . . . Hollowshade.
How long had it been since their last execution? Must’ve been at least fifty years. Either the Danú had been completely run out or they hid well. I focused on the map, trying to recall some memory of the last time I’d been there. The smell of the sea, the irritating call of the gulls, the slap of waves against wooden hulls.
Hollowshade.
I pulled my favorite glamour, one of the most mundane faces I’d ever seen. Bland as dry porridge and easily forgotten. Although it killed me to do it, I also shifted some of Tadhg’s shite clothes. It would do me no good to show up with a bland face in the clothes of a prince.
I evanesced to the edge of the tiny fishing village, where colorful cottages lined the sloping street like a deck of cards trailing toward the docks. Aveen would probably love it. Humans dressed in brown and black were setting up for the market on the main street. A market that consisted of four stalls. One farmer had a bunch of sheep. Another, goats. A third had a cart of potatoes, carrots, turnips, and beets.
The smell of fresh bread wafted from the bakery where a short, round man worked within.
Quaint as a feckin’ painting. The perfect spot for Aveen.