The morning air was cool and sharp as Ines, with the help of a footman, stepped up into the Clifford family's heavy traveling carriage. The shadows inside were deep, and for a moment, she thought she was alone.
Then he moved.
Carcel was already inside, slumped in the far corner, a dark, brooding, and profoundly rumpled shape. He was staring out the window, his jaw tight, his entire posture one of rigid, weary misery. He looked as if he had not slept. He looked, Ines thought with a small, secret, vicious thrill, exactly as he had at breakfast: haunted.
The carriage door slammed shut, leaving them in the dim, upholstered silence.
Outside, she could hear the muffled, cheerful sounds of Rowan and Weston bidding each other a loud, friendly, and very long farewell.
