were too big for even us older girls. On the Graces, they were comically absurd.
We’d been in the cobbler’s shop for over an hour. Fisher had carried in the boxes of worn slippers and dumped the contents on Reynold Gerver’s table, demanding to know why the shoes had worn out so fast.
The poor shoemaker had hemmed and hawed as he examined his creations, sputtering that such fraying should never have occurred so quickly. He’d offered new shoes for us all, at a fraction of the standard price.
“These are awfully nice.” Rosalie picked up a pair of satin shoes with a fashionable court heel.
“And impractical,” Fisher said, snatching them from her. “Your father made it abundantly clear I’m not to allow you to purchase something delicate and pretty. Just find something like the rest of your sisters.”
Our eyes met, and my throat constricted. I’d longed for the chance to pull him aside and smooth over the mess from Pelage, but a rainstorm had rolled in shortly after we left Highmoor. Fisher had waved me away, citing his need for concentration as the rain soaked us to the skin, making the short journey to Astrea miserable.
Honor threw herself into a chair in a swoon worthy of the stage, and Verity was precariously close to knocking over a display of stacked boxes in the window.
“Why don’t I take the Graces for a cup of tea while Rosalie makes up her mind?” I suggested.
“Or cider?” Verity asked, pawing at Fisher with a hopeful smile.
He handed me the coins.
“Make sure your hoods are on,” I instructed before opening the shop door.
We raced across the cobblestones, skirting puddles of rainwater to huddle in the sanctuary of the tavern’s wide awning.
“Here, take these,” I said, pressing the coins into Honor’s hand. “There’s something I need to do—an errand—so you three go inside, and I’ll be back as quickly as I can.”
“Where are you going?” Verity asked, clearly wanting to come too.
“Nowhere with cider,” I said, scooting her toward the large oak door. “It’s cold and wet. Hurry in, you don’t want to freeze!”
They scurried inside and I darted back into the storm, making my way to Mr. Averson’s clock shop.
My stomach twisted with guilt as I remembered how unceremoniously Edgar had been removed from Highmoor. I should have stopped Camille, should have tried harder to contact him. I was ashamed at how easily I’d been distracted.
The balls were consuming more than just my nights. Whole mornings were slept away. Often we didn’t wake until it was time to primp for the next party. After so many years of staid blacks and tepid behaviors, the balls were invigorating. Intoxicating. The masks and paste jewels, the whisper of silks and tulles, the promise of handsome dance partners—they’d all dazzled me until I was blinded to my true purpose.
I’d forgotten Eulalie.
And if I was being honest, it hadn’t bothered me until now, when I was firmly rooted back at home, back in Salann, back in the Salt.
I needed to track down Edgar and apologize. I didn’t care what Camille thought. I believed his story about the shadow on the cliff, and together we’d uncover who it was.
A silver bell tinkled overhead as I stepped into the shop, out of the rain.
“Coming, coming,” a cheerful voice called from the workroom. Or perhaps it came from behind the stack of metal hands near the corner. They were taller than me, used for clock towers in town squares.
Cogs and gears littered every available surface in the shop, and rows of clocks lined the walls. The staggered ticks of passing seconds overlapped, forming a symphony of beats. It was a soft, subtle sound, but once you noticed the ticks, they became impossible to ignore.
“How may I help you today—” Edgar emerged from the workroom. When he saw me, he came to a full stop, nearly crashing into a case displaying pocket watches and chains. “What are you doing here?” he demanded, his tone coloring. “Come to kick me out of my own place of employment? You’ll find the Thaumas reach does not extend this far. Good day.”
“Edgar—wait! I’m so sorry about that. I should have stood up for you, I should have stopped Camille. I came to apologize and…and also to talk.”
“Talk?” He glared at me through his tiny eyeglasses.
“About Eulalie, about the shadow.”
“I already told you everything I know.” His hand raised against the swinging door.
“Not everything,” I said, stopping him before he could retreat. “I saw the way you