Page 110 of Crown of Tides and Fury

Persi and Everly exchanged glances. Everly shrugged to say she didn’t know what was going on either.

“Don’t try to read anything into it. I’m just…not equipped for this.”

Persi’s curls swayed back and forth. “What if…what if the hard part is behind us? I can’t imagine anything would be tougher than what we’ve already seen, everything you’ve been through—”

“I can’t handle anymore what if’s.” I glanced in Wickham’s direction, then dug my fork into my Shepard’s Pie again. My slice of apple crumble taunted me to have dessert first. When tears started streaming from the outer corners of my eyes, I tilted my head back a little to keep them from dripping on my plate. And I kept eating. I refused to waste Alwyn’s creations.

When I felt everyone staring, I shook my head and whispered, “Eat!”

One by one, they took pity on me and tucked in.Tucked in.All those little Scottish terms would go with me…

Wickham cleared his throat. “I would be obliged if ye’d stay just a few more days. Rinky and Felicity are warming to the idea of surrendering their powers, and I believe they’d appreciate having ye on hand when it happens.”

I thought about it, then nodded. “It will take me that long to decide where I want to go.”

“That’ll be grand.”

* * *

It tooka while for the tension in the house to ease. It was much like waiting for all the bubbles in a tub to pop—better to ignore it as best I could and trust that it would happen. No one tried to convince me to stay, and eventually, we fell into an almost normal rhythm. Brief, meaningful glances now and then were like unspoken apologies, intangible hugs, and the weight of my grudges began to lessen.

Flann was especially inept at hiding his pity, and I began to understand why his brother had once said witches who read minds were the unlucky ones.

On that third day after my return to the estate, the sun made a late afternoon appearance, so we had our tea on the terrace. Champagne was poured and tongues were loosened. We were celebrating the fact that the entire estate had been searched and scanned and no other listening devices had been found. Alwyn’s chef’s coats had been destroyed the day Griffon took me, but it wasn’t until they were sure the house was clean that they felt it right to pop a few corks.

These people did love any excuse to celebrate.

“Now,” Kitch told me, “nothing goes in or out of the house without being scanned down to its knickers.”

Felicity claimed to be no stranger to champagne, but she seemed fairly drunk when she stood behind one of the balustrades and recited a full poem, the opening of which we’d seen on a sign in her warehouse. “The World Is Too Much with Us, by William Wordsworth…

The world is too muchwith us; late and soon,

Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers;—

Little we see in Nature that is ours;

We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!

This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon;

The winds that will be howling at all hours,

And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers;

For this, for everything, we are out of tune;

It moves us not. Great God! I’d rather be

A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn;

So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,

Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;

Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;

Or hear old Triton blow his wreathèd horn.”

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