House of Roots and Ruin （Sisters of the Salt, #2）
Erin A. Craig
For Paul—in a world of catfish, you have always been my arapaima. I love you so.
The paintbrush was too wet.
Pigment concentrated through the boar-hair bristles, sluicing out in irregular blots and smudging the line I’d wanted crisp.
“Hold still,” I murmured, barely moving my lips as I dabbed the brush on a rag, lest I somehow jar the moment before me and lose its magic forever. “Just one minute more.”
The corner of Artie’s lips trembled as if fighting the urge to break into a grin.
“I’m almost finished,” I promised. “Just…” I flicked the brush across the canvas, capturing the gleam of impish merriment brightening my nephew’s eyes. “There. It’s perfect.”
“I want to see! I want to see!” Artie exclaimed, falling out of his carefully arranged pose and tumbling over himself as he dashed behind the easel. His eyebrows fell. “That’s not what I look like. Is it?”
I studied the rendering with a critical eye before glancing back to the little boy before me. Thick waves of dark hair like mine, like most Thaumases, but with his father’s button nose. “I think it’s a fine likeness.”
“Very fine,” a voice affirmed from the doorway behind us.
“Mama!” he cried, racing off to give his mother a hug. “Am I done now?”
Camille raised an eyebrow at me, seeking confirmation. I set down my palette and nodded.
“All done.” Camille pressed a swift kiss to the top of his head before he was off, racing down the hall, breathless with pent-up energy.
“How was he?” she asked, entering the Blue Room to study the portrait more closely. Her amber eyes missed nothing. “This arrived for you this morning,” she said, handing me a thick envelope. It was marked with several palace seals.
Mercy.
“A little squirmy but that’s to be expected.” I ran my thumb under the flap, ready to rip open the envelope and dig out my sister’s letter, but I paused, watching Camille take in the painting.
“It’s a lovely painting,” she complimented. “I can’t believe he’s five now. Where have the years gone?” My sister brushed a strand of burnished auburn hair from her face and her fingers fluttered over the corner of one eye, feeling at the nonexistent lines she worried were beginning to creep in.
“My birthday is coming up, you know,” I mentioned, keeping my voice as light and casual as I could.
She frowned as though I’d accused her of something. “I wouldn’t forget that, Verity.”
“I didn’t mean— Only…maybe we could talk about what we should do this year?” I turned on my stool, looking up. “I thought perhaps we could go to the mainland? To the capital? Mercy said—”
“It’s not Mercy’s place to say anything,” Camille said, glancing at the envelope in my lap. I could see she wanted to snatch it up and read the missive for herself but instead she stepped forward, squinting at a brushstroke.
“She said that I could still be presented at court, if we wanted to. Eighteen is a little older than most girls, but—”
Her sigh stopped me short. “I would have loved to take you at sixteen. You know that.”
“Only I was at Hesperus, helping Annaleigh with the baby,” I supplied, knowing her excuses by heart. “But last year—”
“Last year we were in the middle of the east wing renovations. It was hardly the time for a long, extravagant trip.”
“I know,” I said, tucking a bit of hair behind my ear. She was bristling for a fight, and if she started snapping, I knew it would be impossible to sway her. “I know, I know, I know. But now…the house is all done. The children are old enough to travel. I’m sure they’d all love to see Arcannus.”
Camille shook her head, backing away from the canvas, her eyes drifting around the room as if looking for something to improve. She approached a chaise and plumped a down pillow until it stood on its own like a tuft of meringue. “Oh no. The children would never come with us to court. They’d stay behind with their governess, of course.”
I took a quick breath, hope reaching high into my chest like a man drowning at sea and grasping for a life raft. “But we…we could go? Oh, Camille, think of how fun it will be! We haven’t been to the mainland since Mercy moved to court. Annaleigh could come, too, and I’m sure Honor would join us. Foresia isn’t that far from the capital, and perhaps even Lenore…” I stumbled to a halt as I always did whenever Lenore came up.
My third oldest sister was a complete mystery to me.
“Lenore is Lenore. I doubt she’d…” Camille ran a quick hand over her hair again, as if assuring herself that everything was still in place. “All of that does sound…It could be quite agreeable,” she allowed. “But your birthday is next week. There’s no possible way we could have everything ready by then. The travel alone is a full day by our fastest clipper. Perhaps we could arrange something this fall? Before Churning.”
My face fell.
We wouldn’t.
The weather would grow bad.
The twins would get sick.
Camille would have half a dozen excuses by then, none of which I could argue against because she was older and wiser and a duchess and you might be able to lead a spirited debate if it were simply the first two but her title was as formidable as a citadel high atop a hill. Bordered by a barbed stone wall. And a moat.
Camille crossed to the giant windows overlooking the Salten cliffs. She made a beautiful silhouette in front of the dramatic landscape, and my fingers itched to sketch her. I could envision the first long lines, gently curved to indicate the flow of her mauve skirts. It would be the perfect juxtaposition for the thick, short spikes I’d use for the cliffs.
“We should do something festive, though,” she mused. “What about a party?”
I was too surprised to respond. Once Camille fixed her mind on something, trying to budge her from it was like prying a barnacle off the seawall.
“What do you think?” she asked, turning back to me, the weight of her stare cool and steady.
“I think…that sounds wonderful! How many people could we invite? Mercy said the princesses have been wanting to visit. Spring would be the perfect time for them to see Highmoor. And if Beatrice comes, you know Phinneas will too, probably. Oh! The Crown Prince! At my birthday!” My heart fluttered as I recalled Mercy’s descriptions. “He’s supposed to be madly in love with dancing. Perhaps we could make it a ball! Not a terribly formal one, of course. I know how much work they take but maybe—”
“Enough!” Camille said, breaking through my haze of ideas like a battering ram. “You’ve overexcited yourself, Verity.”
“I haven’t,” I promised, feeling the heat in my throat even as I protested. My imagination had the tendency to run ahead of me, like a young colt racing after its own legs.
“You’re flushed scarlet,” she pointed out. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to mislead you with thoughts of a large affair. I only meant a family dinner. Something cozy and intimate. Cook has been eager to try out some new recipes with the spring vegetables. It would just be us. And Annaleigh and Cassius, of course.”