Signa had hoped that the day’s outing would do her some good. Though people sent them scornful looks, gossip would be kept to a minimum within the queen’s presence, which was a welcomed reprieve. Scanning the crowd, Signa caught a glimpse of Everett as she was ushered to the garden, her chest warming when he waved.
She started to wave back when she noticed with quick embarrassment that he was waving at Charlotte Killinger, who stood only steps behind them. Charlotte’s smile was bright as a harvest moon as she placed her hands on both Signa’s and Blythe’s shoulders. “You both look lovely.”
Signa wished she could say the same, but lovely was an understatement for Charlotte. Dressed in a pale mauve gown and a matching feathered hat, Charlotte was lovely enough that all eyes seemed to follow her. She was also so perfectly proper that Signa found herself straightening her spine, intimidated by such polish. Blythe, on the other hand, stiffened and clutched Signa tight.
“I think it feels like a funeral procession,” Blythe noted bleakly, not looking at Charlotte. “You feel it, don’t you, Signa? There’s a heaviness in the air.”
Given that Signa’s experience with the dead was much more pronounced, she didn’t feel anything of the sort. She understood the sentiment though, and nodded her agreement.
“How is Lord Wakefield holding up?” This, Signa directed at Charlotte. “I hear you’ve been a big help to him.”
“He’s faring better than I expected, all things considered.” Though Signa hadn’t a clue what might have happened between the two, Charlotte appeared fully aware of Blythe’s hesitation as she eased away and unfurled her fan, motions soft and gentle. “I didn’t expect the Wakefields to seek me out, given all that happened, though I’m glad they did. That family could use some support.”
Signa ignored Blythe’s quiet snort and instead asked, “‘All that happened’？”
Charlotte’s hand stilled with the fan covering her mouth. While most of her expression was concealed, Signa still noticed that Charlotte’s eyes widened a little, as if realizing she’d misspoken. Only then did Blythe’s attention stray toward her, lips pursed.
“It’s nothing of note.” Charlotte snapped her fan shut, trying to dismiss the question. “Regardless, Eliza was worried for her cousin and asked me to stay with them for the first few days after the duke’s death. Everett was sick every time he ate—he couldn’t keep so much as bread down. I think he’s only just beginning to realize that his father is truly gone. He’s not well, but he’s coming to terms with the loss as well as one can.”
Blythe must have felt every bit as suspicious as Signa at Charlotte’s quick dismissal on the matter, for she slid her cousin a look. Unfortunately, Blythe’s interest was soon lost as she drew a sharp breath while looking at the right side of Signa’s head. Her voice was harsh as she grabbed Signa by the wrist and leaned in. “What on earth have you got in your hair?”
Signa’s stomach lurched, praying to God that it wasn’t some awful crawling thing. “Get it out!” She tried to look but was unable to see anything until Blythe tugged free several strands that had been tucked behind Signa’s ear.
They were as silver as starlight.
“Fix it.” Signa’s words were little more than an urgent breath. “Tear it out if you must, but make sure no one can see.”
“Have you lost your mind? I’m not going to rip out your hair!”
Oh, how Signa could curse Fate. She’d wanted to believe that she’d gotten away with nothing more than tiredness from last using her reaper powers, but it seemed he was right about those consequences after all.
Blythe’s frown was severe as she carefully tucked the silver strands away just in time for Charlotte to look over with a lift to her brow. Signa straightened, smiling despite the thundering of her heart.
A duke was dead, Fate had stopped her from communicating with Death, her childhood friend was a potential suspect in a murder, and now her hair was turning silver as though she’d aged overnight.
What else could possibly go wrong?
Signa tried to pull herself back into reality, not wishing to focus on her hair so much that she alerted other people to her predicament. She shifted her attention back to Everett, who was greeting lovely women in pale tea dresses with twirling parasols to block out sunlight that was doing its best to burn Signa where she stood. Everett didn’t look like a man capable of murder… but she’d been wrong before.