“Oh, that?” I’m speaking a little too quickly. “We stayed up all night preparing for this appointment. We were very nervous. That’s all.”
“There’s no need to be nervous,” Verene says. “You know that, don’t you?”
“Yes,” I say.
“And everything is all right at the Circle du Brodeur?” she says.
“Yes,” I say.
“And you’re not lying to me because you’re too shy to ask for help?” she says.
“No,” I say.
“If you ever need anything, you can ask me, you know,” she says. “Anything at all. I won’t be able to magic it up like I do the water, of course. But I’ll find a way. That’s what I do.”
“We know,” I say. “Thank you.”
I come dangerously close to meeting her eyes. I quickly look away.
“Well, all right,” she says, but I can tell that she’s not convinced.
We’re in what I assume to be her room. It’s a high-ceilinged, hexagonal space, with a plush canopy bed underneath a beautiful chandelier. It’s also a huge mess. There are literal piles of white gowns on the floor. I would say that it’s totally unnecessary for her to be commissioning a new one, but I happen to think one can never have enough gowns.
“So.” She marches into the room and quickly kicks something under the bed. Judging by the sound, it’s an empty wine bottle. “Based on what I told you in my invitation, I’m sure you have ideas. Perhaps you can start by showing me your drawings?”
“Of course,” I say, setting down my sewing kit. “I— Oh. Hmm. I must have left my sketchbook in the parlor. I’ll go get it. But if you’d like, my assistant would love to see some of your favorite gowns. You have so many beautiful ones.”
“Certainly,” she says, and reaches for the heap of clothes on her bed. “So, I like this one because of the pearls. They’re just very pretty in the light—”
The dress is a hideous mess of lace and bows. I glimpse that much before I slip out of the room. I shut the door most of the way and survey the empty hall, my heart pounding in my ears.
I’ve quickly gathered that Verene enjoys talking. If she’s busy carrying on about her gowns, I can get away with a little more time than it reasonably takes to walk down to the parlor and fetch a sketchbook out from between the love seat cushions. But I still won’t have long.
I don’t know what, exactly, I’m looking for. I just need something else—something besides a glimpse in the catacombs that I could barely comprehend.
I try the second door in the hall and peek inside to find a dimly lit bedroom. It looks like the much neater sibling of the bedroom I’ve already seen.
The knob of the third door is locked. I decide that makes it the most promising avenue. I glance back at the end of the hall, where I can faintly hear Verene prattling on, and root around in my hair. There are still a couple of pins buried deep. I stick one into the lock and start jiggling. Breaking and entering wasn’t a formal part of my Occhian education. I merely got tired of trying to snoop around people’s houses during dinner parties and running into locked doors.
When I ease open the door and realize I’m looking at a study, I freeze. Verene said her brother spends a lot of time in his study. But after a moment, it becomes very obvious that the room is not only empty but abandoned. There are no books on the bookshelves and nothing on the desk. There’s a thick layer of dust on all the furniture.
I slip inside and shut the door. There are no lanterns lit. The only light comes through two narrow windows at the back. The veil is starting to turn black as night falls, and I have to squint to see.
Hanging on the wall behind the desk is a map of the city of Iris, drawn from above. There’s the cathedral, of course, and the winding streets that form an intricate ring around it. From here, it’s easy to see that the neighborhoods aren’t laid out in an exact copy of my home. This city is almost like Occhia. But it’s not.
My eyes catch on a small dot drawn near the back corner of the cathedral. It’s right where the watercrea’s tower would go.
There used to be a tower here. There used to be prisoners wasting away in cells and a woman taking their blood and a city living in fear. And they tore it all down and wiped themselves clean and now they have… this. A girl and her brother, living in an empty cathedral, surrounded by more water than they’ll ever need.
I wonder how a city could possibly change so quickly.
Behind me, the door creaks, and I stiffen and turn around, already working on my excuse.
It’s not Verene’s brother, whom I expected. It’s a woman I haven’t seen yet. She’s small and bony, with a touch of gray in her hair. She’s wearing a white apron, and she’s looking at me with flat, dark eyes.
“Snooping?” she says without preamble.
“Looking for the washroom, actually,” I say, curtsying. “I’m Tatienne du Brodeur. I’m a seamstress of the Circle du Brodeur. I just stopped in to work with Madame du Sauveterre on her anniversary gown. And you are…?”
“All the guests snoop,” she says. “You’re curious. I know.”
“Well,” I say, “perhaps a little.”
“But most of them don’t go so far as to pick the locks,” she says.
I smile politely. “Could you show me to the washroom?”
Her face betrays nothing, but she stands aside to let me out. She shuts the door behind me, pulls a key out of her apron, and locks it.
“And yes,” she says. “It belonged to her. That’s why it was locked.”
“What?” I say.
“The study belonged to the Eyes,” she says.
A chill runs up my
