The silk hugged my body tightly, the skirts swishing as I made my way down the steps into the tavern. Clove and Zola sat at a table in the farthest corner drinking rye. They were both dressed in fine tailored coats fit with shining brass buttons, unruly hair trimmed and combed back away from their windblown faces. A flicker of recognition flashed before my eyes. Clove had always been rough around his edges, but he looked younger in the expensive green wool, his blond hair shining.
He sat up straighter when he saw me, setting down the rye glass he was sipping from, and I was instantly embarrassed, catching my reflection in the window. My hair was pulled up in loose curls, pinned to make a halo around the crown of my head, and the light shimmered over the frock.
I looked utterly ridiculous.
“Well, well…” Zola’s eyes dragged over me from head to toe. “What do you think?” He stood from the chair, showing off his coat with a flourish of his hand.
I gave him a withering look. “I think I’m ready to get this over with so I can get the hell out of here.”
Clove drained his glass before he stood and opened the door of the tavern. The cold wind rushed in, making me shiver. I’d decided to leave the cloak Clove purchased for me in the room because when I’d set it on my shoulders, I felt like I was suffocating beneath its weight. Still, the cold was a welcome relief from the heat simmering under my skin.
Clove had given me his word that in a few hours, he would tell me the truth. Tomorrow, I’d be on my way back to the the Narrows. I’d be able to find the Marigold before West did even more damage than what was already done.
The heels of my shoes clicked as I walked in Zola’s wake. Despite his attempt at arrogance, I could see he was nervous. He was missing the usual rock to his gait, his mouth pressing into a hard line as he moved down the street. He watched the ground, thinking. Measuring. Calculating.
He led us through the city, and the farther we walked, the more beautiful it became. Dusk painted Bastian in soft pinks and purples, and the white stone buildings caught their hues, making everything look like it was from a dream.
The cobblestones bled from rough, paved rectangles to polished granite squares as we made another turn, and Zola stopped, looking at the shining marble face of a grand building in the distance.
A series of enormous arches stood over wide, gleaming steps, where three sets of double doors were flung open to the night. Lantern light spilled out onto the street from inside, the race of shadows slipping into the dark.
The ornate plaque above the center doors read AZIMUTH HOUSE.
The first word was one I knew. It was a term used in celestial navigation to describe the bearing of the sun or moon or stars from one’s position. But house didn’t begin to describe what this was. Stone carvings covered every inch of the edifice in flowers and vines, and above them all, an expanse of night sky was adorned with a pearl-faced moon.
Zola was quiet, his gaze dropping from the arches to his boots.
My brow knit when I realized he was summoning up his courage and a wicked smile stretched up my cheek. I liked this version of Zola. He was unsure. He was afraid.
“Ready?” He glanced back at me but didn’t wait for an answer. He took off up the steps without us.
I looked to Clove. He was missing the hesitation that saddled Zola. And that could only mean one thing. Everything was going according to his plan.
He lifted a hand, gesturing for me to go first, and I picked up the heavy skirts, taking the stairs up to the doors. A gust of air whipped around me, pulling a few strands of hair from where they were pinned, and for a moment I felt like I was up on the mast of the Lark, leaning into the heavy wind. But the Lark had never felt more far away than it did now.
We slipped through the open doors and the warmth of the hall enveloped me as my eyes drifted up to the ceiling. Panes of painted murals set with gemstones looked down on us, too many to count. They were framed by stained glass windows in a kaleidoscope of colors that soaked