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No thanks to all those articles in the Herald.
“Well…,” Fia hedged. They wouldn’t find the grimoire anywhere on the premises, but she didn’t like the idea of them trooping into her quarters and touching her things, doubting her even under this pretense of being on her side. As it was, any of her neighbors might see the Cloaks huddled at her door, which would only exacerbate the gossip Rowen Fallow claimed she wanted to do away with.
“Just a quick look around.” Rowen’s perfunctory smile didn’t reach her eyes as she edged forward, under the impression she would get what she asked for.
Fia’s hand slid down the door. “Maybe—”
“Maybe another time.” Penbrook appeared at her elbow, all the slouch and grump of the last hour wiped away, replaced with the charming, confident air he wore when spinning illusions for customers. “We’ve just come in from the rain.” He gestured at their limp, damp clothing, plucking for sympathy.
“We won’t be long.” The second Cloak spoke for the first time, unimpressed by Penbrook’s antics. “And if Miss Ives isn’t hiding anything, what’s the harm?”
“I don’t think I caught your name.” Andromeda materialized at Fia’s other elbow, blinking innocently.
“Larin Offit,” the Cloak said in a fluster, like he’d never seen someone so dazzling.
“Larin, then.” Andromeda drew out his name, but her question came more sharply. “Is this a request or an order?”
“At this time, a request,” he admitted, wilting under the loveliness of Andromeda’s long batting lashes.
“In that case, I’ll have to decline.” With Penbrook and Andromeda flanking her, Fia felt sturdier as she added, “I want to reassure you that The Book of Ribs isn’t here. I didn’t take it. And, as you can see, I have guests.”
Rowen nodded curtly, displeased by the dismissal. “Of course, another time.”
A promise—a threat—that the Cloaks would be back, ready to pin the theft on Fia.
She shut the door, her moment of triumph doused by the real trouble she was still in if she didn’t find the thieves or The Book of Ribs, which would prove her innocence. Her skin squirmed, clammy and uncomfortable, and suddenly the touch of her sodden clothes became unbearable.
“I think I’m going to change,” she said, tugging at her drooping collar. She ushered Penbrook and Andromeda back to the parlor. “And the two of you can talk.”
Because they clearly had things they needed to say to each other. Things she wasn’t a part of.
Fia went upstairs alone.
CHAPTER 14
She didn’t go all the way up the stairs, though. Finnick waylaid Fia on the sixth step, and she bent to scratch him behind the ear. It was then that she heard the muffled voices of Penbrook and Andromeda, who wasted no time resuming their conversation.
Fia didn’t intend to listen, not at first. But when Finnick padded back down two steps, then looked up at her plaintively, requiring more pets, she obligingly followed. Drawing just that much closer to the doorway of the parlor.
“Why would… here…” This furtive, frustratingly incomplete snippet from Penbrook spiraled into the hall.
“I had no choice.” Andromeda’s words came more directly. “And I wouldn’t have found you at all if not for that little article in the newssheet.”
She was likely referring to the one from the Herald announcing that Penbrook had started working at Sable Spells. The still unanswered question was why Andromeda had come looking for him in the first place, traveling all the way across Orium to do so.
Whatever Penbrook said next, Fia couldn’t hear over Finnick’s purring. But Andromeda’s reply snipped out clearly, spoken with a confidence Fia would have liked for herself. “Do you really think I care what anyone else thinks? They can write what they want about me.”
“… unsurprising because… yourself…”
A frustrated huff from Andromeda. “It’s like you didn’t consider what you would set in motion. There are consequences.”
“I’m well aware.” Penbrook’s voice rose no louder than it had been. Fia simply heard him better because she’d slipped farther down the staircase.
“And whose fault is that?”
They both fell silent then. Perhaps they were glaring at each other across the room, each blaming the other for whatever this was. Or perhaps they heard Fia breathing from the last step and jointly halted their discussion because they suspected her of eavesdropping.
Petrified she’d be caught snooping, Fia darted up the stairs and into her room, closing her door all but a crack so the cat could slip in and out. After changing into a dry dress, she lay atop the blankets, staring at the ceiling—and feeling guilty for not giving Penbrook and Andromeda the privacy she’d offered.
