He chased her scent down the balcony, around the house, separating it from Murid’s trail. The two women stopped here for a while, then Murid left, but Cerise remained, resting her hands on the rail and looking at something … He leaned over the rail. Down below him Mire pines stretched to scratch at the night sky. Pale blossoms of maiden-bells bloomed between the roots, delicate like cups made of frosted glass. Cerise stood here looking at the flowers. If she liked flowers, he would get them for her.
William leaped over the balcony’s rail, landing in soft dirt. Five minutes later, he climbed back up, with a handful of flowers in his hand, and followed Cerise’s scent. It led him to the back of the house. He turned the corner and ran into Kaldar, carrying a bottle of green wine and two glasses.
Gods damn it.
Kaldar looked at his flowers. “Nice touch. Here.” He thrust the bottle and glasses at him. William took them on reflex. Kaldar pointed behind him. “Now you’re all set. Small door, up the staircase.”
He turned the corner and went off the way William had come.
The door led him to a narrow staircase. He jogged up the steps into a large room. The floor was wood. Bare rafters crossed over his head—the room must’ve been sectioned off from the rest of the attic. To the left, the wall opened into a narrow balcony. Two soft chairs waited on the right. Cerise curled in the left one, by a floor lamp, reading a book.
She saw him and blinked, startled.
He knocked on the stair rail with the bottle.
“Who is it?” she asked.
“It’s me. Can I come in?”
“It depends. If I don’t let you in, will you huff and puff and blow my house down?”
She had no idea. “I’m more of a kick the door open and cut everyone inside to ribbons kind of wolf.”
“I better let you in, then,” she said. “I don’t want to be cut to ribbons. Is that wine for me?”
“Yes.”
William crossed the floor and handed her the thick bottle. The light of the lamp caught the wine inside, and it sparkled with deep emerald green.
“Greenberry.” Cerise checked the label. “My favorite year, too. How did you know?”
He decided not to lie. “Kaldar gave it to me.”
She smiled and he had to hold himself back to keep from kissing her. “My cousin is trying so hard. It’s not his fault—he’s been trying to marry me off for years.”
“Why?”
“It’s his job. He arranges the marriages for the family: haggles over the dowry, makes preparations for the weddings, that sort of thing.” Cerise looked at the flowers in his hand. “Are those from Kaldar, too?”
“No. I picked those.”
Her eyes shone. “For me?”
“For you.” He offered her the flowers.
Cerise reached for them. He caught her hand in his. His whole body snapped to attention, as if he’d awoken from a deep sleep because someone had fired a gun by his head.
She took the flowers and smelled them. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
He watched her pull the stems apart on her lap. She took three flowers, added a fourth, and wrapped its stem around the first three. “Will you pour us some wine?”
Yeah, because wine was exactly what he needed right now. William opened the bottle and poured the shimmering green into the two glasses. It smelled nice enough. He sipped it. Nice, a bit sweet but nice. Not as nice as she would taste, but he had to settle for the wine for now. “Good.”
“It’s homemade.” Cerise kept weaving flowers together. “It’s a family tradition. Every fall we go to Fisherman’s Tree to pick the berries, and then we make wine.”
She sipped her wine, he drank his, and for a while they sat quietly next to each other. He wanted to reach over and touch her. She made him feel like a child made to sit on his hands. William drank more wine, feeling the warmth spread through him. Maybe he should just grab her. If he did, she’d try to cut off his head right there. His beautiful, violent girl.
“Why are you smiling?” she asked.
“Because I thought of something funny.”
Cerise wove the last flower into her tangle. It looked like a large circle now. She picked it up and put it on her head.
Oh, yeah. He would bring her more flowers and wine and anything else she wanted, until she liked him enough to stay with him.
“Is this your place?” William asked to say something.
“Yes. It’s where I hide when I have a fight with someone.”
He didn’t remember her fighting with anyone. She sat at the table for a while and then slipped out quietly.
“Who are you fighting with now?”
Cerise got up and walked over to the wall. He followed her. Pictures hung on the wall behind the glass. Cerise touched one of the frames. A man and a woman stood by the pond, both young, almost kids. The man was a Mar: lean, dark, tan. The woman was blond, soft, and slender. Fragile. If she was his, William thought, he’d be worried about breaking her every time they touched.
“My parents,” Cerise murmured. “Gustave and Genevieve.”
“Your mother looks like a blueblood.”
She glanced at him. “What makes you say that?”
“Her hair is curled, and her eyebrows are plucked down to nothing.”
Cerise laughed softly. “I pluck my eyebrows. Does that make me look like a blueblood?”
“Yours still look natural. Hers look odd.” He grimaced. “She looks very well taken care of. Like she never saw the sun.”
“It’s their wedding. My dad was eighteen, my mother was sixteen. She’d only been in the Mire for a year. Here look at this one. You’ll like this one better.”
He looked at the next picture. In it a young woman about Cerise’s age sat on top of a huge dead gator, leaning on its head with her elbow. Her grin cut through the mud caked on her face.
He nodded. “I do like this one better.”
“She caused my grandmother no end of misery. Grandma Vienna and Grandpa Vernard. Grandpa used to joke that together they made a
Cerise reached to a fist-sized glass box with a small crystal at the bottom and pushed a button. A tiny spark ignited within the crystal and a three-dimensional portrait of a couple sprang into life above the box. One of the Weird’s keepsakes, and not a cheap one either, since it survived the trip to the Edge and lasted all these years.
William scrutinized the couple. The woman resembled Genevieve in her wedding picture. Same brittle quality, like she was made with fine crystal. A man sat in the chair next to her, leaning back and looking awkward. Long skinny legs, long skinny arms. Even sitting, he was very tall.
They were bluebloods, no question, and ones with long pedigrees. And money. The clothes looked expensive, and the emeralds on the woman’s neck had to have cost a small fortune.
“I told you before that my grandpa and I were very close. He was brilliant. So, so smart. He always made time for me. We used to garden together. And tomorrow we’ll have to go and drive the Sheeriles out of his house.”
Cerise’s shoulders went rigid. “My grandparents were from an old Weird family. My grandfather did medical research. He was famous actually. They had status and money. My mother used to tell me about their castle. It was
