City of Ruin, page 18
He stops abruptly, studying me with a furrowed brow. “We’re in the Screaming Woods, miss. I’ve brought you to the earthen people. Did Master Greyson not tell you?”
“Ha!” A hysterical laugh escapes me, and I clear my throat. “No. He did not tell me we were coming to the Screaming Woods to see the earthen people.” The old woman and Paige draw closer. “I don’t understand,” I rasp.
“Then there is much to explain,” the old woman says. Her eyes are a pale crisp green, almost otherworldly, and when her lips part again, her quirk of a smile seems more intrigued than unnerving. She waves for me to follow her. “Come, child. You will be safe here.” She rubs Paige’s shoulder, squeezing her closer.
Her grandmother? I still can’t believe it.
I must say it aloud because both Paige and the woman glance back at me. “Come on,” Paige says, extending her hand. She waits with bright, beseeching eyes.
Welcoming her reassurance, I clasp Paige’s hand and let them lead me deeper into the forest. The breeze picks up and the moaning trees begin to wail again. “What is that?” I whisper, peering up at the canopy.
“It’s just the trees,” Paige says, as if that answers everything.
The boughs creak in reply. “They sound like they are in pain.”
“It’s only trickery, my dear,” the woman explains. “Chimes and so forth—nothing to be frightened of.” Though the wind sounds phantomlike, her explanation puts me at ease. “And you can call me Mona. Unless you prefer Grandmother.” She flicks a knowing look at me, and I think she is far more amused by my confusion than she should be.
We walk between ferns that litter the forest floor, and onto a narrow goat trail. The wails on the wind lessen as we continue farther down the path. I ignore the cool mist coating my skin as my mind swims with questions. “You are Greyson’s mother?” I ask, noting no resemblance.
“No,” she says more solemnly. “My daughter died many years ago. This way—” She veers off the trail, toward a village of huts and flickering lights that sparkle between trees in the thickly wooded forest. “Let’s get you situated and something warm to drink, and I will explain what my son-in-law hasn’t.”
“Yes, thank you,” I breathe. “I would appreciate that.” Awed, I take in the tight-knit village built within the trees. Some hut-like cottages are on stilts, and others are built on the ground between trees. Hanging bridges stretch between platforms before they, too, are swallowed away by the dense mist. Whatever this place is, it feels like another realm entirely.
A few dozen villagers bustle about the forest floor, tending to their livestock and warming their hands over communal fires. Some of them weave, while others sharpen blades against carving stones. Beads hang from their necks and from their hair, all of them dressed for the cold, clad in wool and furs and leathers, like Greyson, though they wear thick cloaks of earthen tones.
“Raiden!” Paige chirps as a tall, older man with a gray beard steps out of one of the cottages. He straightens, his arms opening instantly, and a huge smile engulfs his bearded face.
“Hellion!” The geese squawk and flutter out of the way as Paige runs to him. He embraces her like any grandfather might, and I wonder if that’s who he is. Raiden and Paige greet a few other villagers as Mona and I draw closer.
“Come,” Mona says, and she gestures toward a cottage with clanking wind chimes and smoke escaping a hole in the roof.
I hesitate and meet Mona’s gaze.
“We don’t bite.”
I nearly snort. “Paige called you witches.”
“Yes, well, some stories say we are,” she says with a shrug, and I step inside with her.
Juniper hits my nostrils immediately, and warmth from the crackling fire presses against my skin, a surprisingly welcome comfort. Bottles and bushels of herbs hang from the crossbeams, and tendrils of smoke rise through the hole in the center. There’s a bed draped in fluffy comforters, like the one I have at the manor that’s stuffed with feathers, and I wonder if this is where it came from.
“Who are you people, really?” I ask in astonishment.
The woman pulls a pot off the grate over the fire and pours its contents into a mug before handing it to me. She gestures to the rattan chair against the wall. “The people of the forest,” she says simply. “Or witches or earthen folk, depending on who you ask. We’ve lived off the land for hundreds of years.”
“You didn’t go underground?”
She shakes her head. “Centuries ago, when people fled for distant shores and took shelter underground in London, we farmers found other means of survival in the woods. Here, the forest is dense and protected us when the skies grew thick with poison, and the wind, cold and angry as it can be at times, never allowed it to settle for too long. Even now, it keeps us safe. So as the city continues to awaken and grow, we continue to protect these woods, for fear of what else might befall this country.”
“The moaning trees,” I realize. “And the stories.” The rumors I’ve heard about ghosts and spirits in these woods stretch all the way to New London.
Mona hums in agreement. “Man will do what it always does, destroy the world again. We are simply trying to preserve what we have here for as long as possible.”
I eye the old woman, still confused. “And you think me a threat?”
She meets my gaze.
“I’ve seen you outside my window,” I explain. “And that night in the moors—you frightened me off the road.”
“That was not my intention,” she says, having the decency to look remorseful. Averting her eyes, she tends to the fire.
“Then why have you been following me—watching me, as if you are trying to scare me away?”
“I wasn’t trying to frighten you, child. But I was watching you. That much is true.” I wait for her to stoke the fire before she continues. “When I heard you had arrived, I was curious.”
“Do you stalk all the help that come to Briarwood?”
“No,” she says, slightly amused. “But only one, aside from you, has ever arrived intending to take my daughter’s place, and that was years ago. Someone with such importance, who can endeavor to secure the Blackburn line with a male heir, is worth observing.”
My heart lodges in my throat. Mona’s too busy making a new potion over the fire to notice. “A male heir?” I shake my head. “You’re mistaken. I am only the governess.” I swallow the lump of unease swelling in my chest with a gulp of tea, but any further rebuttal fails me. Greyson admitted just this morning that after Miss Knightly died, he’d given up on marrying again.
Suddenly, the violet dress Prudy laid out for me seems less accidental, and Greyson had wanted me to see the estate and to know the tenants. It’s why he’s let me get away with so much. I have a greater purpose here, and he can’t bring himself to part with the woman who might secure him his estate.
My nostrils flare as numbing surprise wears off and indignation burns in its place. Being the governess is only a ruse, and to what end? To provide me with a false sense of comfort?
Whatever ease I’ve been settling into recently knots with a new sort of resentment. For Blackburn. For being a woman. For who my parents were and what they have put me through over the years. Convincing myself Mona is wrong feels futile as Blackburn’s words to me that night in his study about my good breeding make so much sense. Of course he would care about that. He paid over sixty bills for me, after all.
As understanding dawns in Mona’s expression, so does regret, and that look alone is all the affirmation I need.
“He’s been grooming me to be her mother,” I bite out. “And I’m the only one who didn’t know.” I shake my head. “I’m still a plaything,” I whisper. Taken from one man’s den to another’s. No wonder Blackburn was angry to see his future wife wearing his dead wife’s clothes. His beloved wife. And why he was so concerned I would disappoint Paige. I grip the mug in my hand so tightly I worry it might break, wanting to scream for being so foolish.
“Calm yourself, child,” Mona says carefully. “There are worse things than being a mother to a young girl and the head of a household and prominent family. Especially one as wealthy and powerful as what Greyson offers you.”
Anger, hot and raging, fills me, not at Greyson or Mona, but at myself. For forgetting. For hoping and assuming life here would be different. “You think I care about riches and status?” I say, and I hate the defeat in my voice, but I’m not sure there’s much fight left in me. “I’m disappointed in myself, that is all.”
“Why is that?”
“Because I questioned my instincts,” I admit, meeting her stare for stare.
“Well, whatever your instincts, you know your fate could be far worse, child. You’re old enough to understand that.”
“Old enough?” I scoff. “I am well aware of my fate. My brother is dead because he was trying to save me from it, yet here I am anyway.” I set the mug down. “It’s the humiliation—”
“This is about your pride, then?” Mona chides. “You care so little for my granddaughter, you would deprive her of motherly affection?”
“This isn’t about my feelings for Paige,” I say coolly, and rise to my feet. “Nor my lack of them. You think I should be grateful to be given such an honor and responsibility, but Blackburn promised me I was no slave here, and now I learn I am worse than that because at least those people in the fields have families and lives outside of their work. But here, I am a placeholder—a third attempt with a single purpose. Is this why Miss Knightly killed herself, because she refused to accept such a fate with a man who is consumed by the memory of his dead wife?” Mona straightens, and tears burn the backs of my eyes. I have to steady my breath if I’m to keep the only modicum of sanity I have left.
I’m not sure how long I stare into the flames before I can bring myself to speak again. “I’m to be a mother and have children—a male child, specifically, since his last two wives didn’t,” I whisper. The hopefulness for my future here that had begun to take root only moments ago, is severed, disappointment and sadness taking its place. “That is my sole purpose, but what if I can’t give him one? What if Blackburn isn’t meant to have a son?”
“Do not say such things, child.”
My eyes meet Mona’s offended gaze. “Why not? It might be true, and you speak so easily of my fate . . .” I shake my head. “None of you care how heavy the burden is, though, do you?”
Suddenly, my dress is suffocating—I feel like an imposter. Too warm and on the brink of tears, I walk out the door, pulling a deep breath through my nose.
The laughter around the communal fire dies as I stride past a group of villagers, Paige watching me as I go. “Miss Sinclair—where are you going?”
“I’m taking a walk,” I tell her over my shoulder.
“To the river? Can I come—”
“No, child,” Mona says behind me. “Let her go.” And I do just that, not bothering to look back.
30
GREYSON
My conversation with Selene at the cemetery this morning invades all thoughts as I ride toward the Screaming Woods. I should have warned her who she would be staying with, but I’d been too stunned when she’d admitted she felt like she might belong at Briarwood.
No matter how many times I tell myself that what comes next is not entirely in my control, it feels immoral. Especially because it also feels inexplicably right.
Unable to afford more distractions, I expect that in seeing Selene settled with the earthen folk, I will be more focused as I wait for the Council’s proxy to arrive within the next couple of days.
But the closer I draw to the village, the heavier the weight in my chest becomes, and I can’t quite shake it. At first, I thought it was guilt for not having been entirely honest with Selene. But something far more feral claws just beneath the surface, and I recognize it all too well.
Fear. Because in choosing to remain in Briarwood, Selene has sparked a dangerous ember of hope, and has put herself in danger, one she is not yet privy to.
Spotting the crooked chestnut, I veer off the narrow, sunken trail and ride deeper into the woods. The chimes in the boughs above fill the afternoon air with an eerie melody that haunted my dreams as a boy, though now I am grateful for them.
When I finally reach the boundary of the village, Mona is the first person I see. She cranks a bucket of water from the well, oblivious to the wind as her cloak and loose hair catch in the breeze, both of them whipping around her as if she’s as much a part of this land as it is of her.
Dismounting Midnight, I search the heads of knotted braids milling about, looking for the golden-haired governess.
“Master Blackburn,” Gibson says, and rises from a table outside the ale hut. He hurries over and I hand him Midnight’s reins.
“All is well?” I ask him, and he nods reassuringly. “Good.”
The moment Mona’s inscrutable gaze locks on me, all lightness I feel in having finally arrived turns to ash on my tongue. “What is it?” I say, and it’s not a question so much as a command. I know that look. I’ve seen it aimed at me many times before.
“Papa!” Paige runs over from her seat at Raiden’s worktable. “I want to show you the new doll I’m going to make with Grandmother. We picked out her hair and—”
I squeeze Paige’s shoulder. “You can show me when it’s finished,” I say, noting Selene isn’t at the worktable with her. “I need to speak with Miss Sinclair. Where is she?” Searching the dozens of faces walking about the village, I find she is not among them either, and suddenly, laying eyes on her feels paramount.
“Mona?” I prompt, eyebrow arched and expectant.
“You didn’t tell her why you brought her here.”
I frown, ignoring the accusation in her voice. “I told her it was to keep her safe. Do I need another reason?”
“No,” she says, her eyes flicking to Paige before they fix on me again. Mona’s glare is as sharp as her tone is careful. “You didn’t tell her why you brought her here.”
I bite back a curse, choosing my next words carefully. “What have you told her?” It’s all I can do to keep my temper in check.
“Go pick the skirt for your doll,” Mona says, nudging Paige toward the worktable with a wink.
Paige does so reluctantly, but she doesn’t argue.
When Mona meets my gaze again, it’s as hard as mine. “The girl asked why I was so curious about her, and I told her the truth—that I wanted to know who was to replace my daughter—”
“Mona.” I growl, and turn from her, running my hand over my face. “She’s barely grown comfortable enough to stay. Of course I have not told her everything.”
“How was I to know that?”
“You’ve always meddled—”
“I am not meddling.”
I shake my head, gritting my teeth to keep my voice down as I scan the village for Selene. “Where has she gone?”
“I’m not certain.”
My eyes flash with anger.
“She’s safe,” she placates, putting up her palm. “The Eyes would have told me if she’d gone much farther.” I search for the hideouts hidden in the canopy above. “She left about an hour ago, in the direction of the creek. You—”
I start in that direction, but I only get a few paces before I spin around, glaring at her. “Tell me you didn’t say all of this in front of Paige,” I demand. The last thing I can stand to do is lose the governess and get Paige’s hopes up at the same time.
“Of course not,” she hisses back.
Raking my fingers through my hair, I stalk toward the creek. I follow a set of dainty footprints in the damp earth, and can’t help the way my muscles coil so tight I have to flex my hands and grit my teeth to keep myself in check. All the progress we’ve made has likely been for nothing, and I brace myself for what I fear comes next.
When I reach the creek, I slow, searching the sandstone boulders for her. I imagine she would find solace by a hidden brook, just far enough away from the villagers she feels like she can breathe, like she isn’t trapped.
I second guess my instincts, then spot her red skirt from the corner of my eye. When I look up at a flattened boulder directly beside me, the governess is peering down, her legs crossed in front of her, wild blonde hair, never quite tamed, catching the muted sunlight filtering in through the mist.
“I knew I was missing something,” she says, and it’s so quiet, the words are almost lost on the breeze. “I was on a wild goose chase for answers. They were simply the wrong ones.”
“Selene—”
“This whole time, everyone’s been lying to me.”
“I didn’t lie to you.”
Her glare is piercing, but I have seen her rage, and this isn’t it. There is hurt in her eyes, and it makes my anger wither.
“At least, that was not my intention,” I amend, but my voice is gruff, and even to my ears, it sounds uncaring. “It was not Mona’s place to tell you.”
“Well, I’m glad someone did.” She peers down at her hands, picking at them thoughtfully. “I’m so foolish,” she says. “I’ve been angry about being a slave, and the whole time you purchased me to be your wife.” She captures her hair in the wind and twists it behind her ear. “The way you speak of Master Orson with such anger, I thought you might be different.”
“I am nothing like that bastard,” I grit out, resting one hand on my hip. I rub my brow with the other. This is not how I wanted this to go, but it’s everything I’d expected and why I’d resisted to begin with. “I don’t want to marry you, Selene—I don’t want a wife.” But the instant the words pass my lips, what I want is to take them back.
“I’m quite aware,” she murmurs.
I force myself to look at her, and my chest cinches as the injury in her eyes glitters back at me. Another regret. Another heaved breath. “I am not ready,” I confess. “And it’s dangerous, but I have little choice in the matter.”
Selene says nothing as she rises to her feet and climbs down from the boulder. I expect the fiery thing will shout or try to strike me, and I hold my breath.
“Ha!” A hysterical laugh escapes me, and I clear my throat. “No. He did not tell me we were coming to the Screaming Woods to see the earthen people.” The old woman and Paige draw closer. “I don’t understand,” I rasp.
“Then there is much to explain,” the old woman says. Her eyes are a pale crisp green, almost otherworldly, and when her lips part again, her quirk of a smile seems more intrigued than unnerving. She waves for me to follow her. “Come, child. You will be safe here.” She rubs Paige’s shoulder, squeezing her closer.
Her grandmother? I still can’t believe it.
I must say it aloud because both Paige and the woman glance back at me. “Come on,” Paige says, extending her hand. She waits with bright, beseeching eyes.
Welcoming her reassurance, I clasp Paige’s hand and let them lead me deeper into the forest. The breeze picks up and the moaning trees begin to wail again. “What is that?” I whisper, peering up at the canopy.
“It’s just the trees,” Paige says, as if that answers everything.
The boughs creak in reply. “They sound like they are in pain.”
“It’s only trickery, my dear,” the woman explains. “Chimes and so forth—nothing to be frightened of.” Though the wind sounds phantomlike, her explanation puts me at ease. “And you can call me Mona. Unless you prefer Grandmother.” She flicks a knowing look at me, and I think she is far more amused by my confusion than she should be.
We walk between ferns that litter the forest floor, and onto a narrow goat trail. The wails on the wind lessen as we continue farther down the path. I ignore the cool mist coating my skin as my mind swims with questions. “You are Greyson’s mother?” I ask, noting no resemblance.
“No,” she says more solemnly. “My daughter died many years ago. This way—” She veers off the trail, toward a village of huts and flickering lights that sparkle between trees in the thickly wooded forest. “Let’s get you situated and something warm to drink, and I will explain what my son-in-law hasn’t.”
“Yes, thank you,” I breathe. “I would appreciate that.” Awed, I take in the tight-knit village built within the trees. Some hut-like cottages are on stilts, and others are built on the ground between trees. Hanging bridges stretch between platforms before they, too, are swallowed away by the dense mist. Whatever this place is, it feels like another realm entirely.
A few dozen villagers bustle about the forest floor, tending to their livestock and warming their hands over communal fires. Some of them weave, while others sharpen blades against carving stones. Beads hang from their necks and from their hair, all of them dressed for the cold, clad in wool and furs and leathers, like Greyson, though they wear thick cloaks of earthen tones.
“Raiden!” Paige chirps as a tall, older man with a gray beard steps out of one of the cottages. He straightens, his arms opening instantly, and a huge smile engulfs his bearded face.
“Hellion!” The geese squawk and flutter out of the way as Paige runs to him. He embraces her like any grandfather might, and I wonder if that’s who he is. Raiden and Paige greet a few other villagers as Mona and I draw closer.
“Come,” Mona says, and she gestures toward a cottage with clanking wind chimes and smoke escaping a hole in the roof.
I hesitate and meet Mona’s gaze.
“We don’t bite.”
I nearly snort. “Paige called you witches.”
“Yes, well, some stories say we are,” she says with a shrug, and I step inside with her.
Juniper hits my nostrils immediately, and warmth from the crackling fire presses against my skin, a surprisingly welcome comfort. Bottles and bushels of herbs hang from the crossbeams, and tendrils of smoke rise through the hole in the center. There’s a bed draped in fluffy comforters, like the one I have at the manor that’s stuffed with feathers, and I wonder if this is where it came from.
“Who are you people, really?” I ask in astonishment.
The woman pulls a pot off the grate over the fire and pours its contents into a mug before handing it to me. She gestures to the rattan chair against the wall. “The people of the forest,” she says simply. “Or witches or earthen folk, depending on who you ask. We’ve lived off the land for hundreds of years.”
“You didn’t go underground?”
She shakes her head. “Centuries ago, when people fled for distant shores and took shelter underground in London, we farmers found other means of survival in the woods. Here, the forest is dense and protected us when the skies grew thick with poison, and the wind, cold and angry as it can be at times, never allowed it to settle for too long. Even now, it keeps us safe. So as the city continues to awaken and grow, we continue to protect these woods, for fear of what else might befall this country.”
“The moaning trees,” I realize. “And the stories.” The rumors I’ve heard about ghosts and spirits in these woods stretch all the way to New London.
Mona hums in agreement. “Man will do what it always does, destroy the world again. We are simply trying to preserve what we have here for as long as possible.”
I eye the old woman, still confused. “And you think me a threat?”
She meets my gaze.
“I’ve seen you outside my window,” I explain. “And that night in the moors—you frightened me off the road.”
“That was not my intention,” she says, having the decency to look remorseful. Averting her eyes, she tends to the fire.
“Then why have you been following me—watching me, as if you are trying to scare me away?”
“I wasn’t trying to frighten you, child. But I was watching you. That much is true.” I wait for her to stoke the fire before she continues. “When I heard you had arrived, I was curious.”
“Do you stalk all the help that come to Briarwood?”
“No,” she says, slightly amused. “But only one, aside from you, has ever arrived intending to take my daughter’s place, and that was years ago. Someone with such importance, who can endeavor to secure the Blackburn line with a male heir, is worth observing.”
My heart lodges in my throat. Mona’s too busy making a new potion over the fire to notice. “A male heir?” I shake my head. “You’re mistaken. I am only the governess.” I swallow the lump of unease swelling in my chest with a gulp of tea, but any further rebuttal fails me. Greyson admitted just this morning that after Miss Knightly died, he’d given up on marrying again.
Suddenly, the violet dress Prudy laid out for me seems less accidental, and Greyson had wanted me to see the estate and to know the tenants. It’s why he’s let me get away with so much. I have a greater purpose here, and he can’t bring himself to part with the woman who might secure him his estate.
My nostrils flare as numbing surprise wears off and indignation burns in its place. Being the governess is only a ruse, and to what end? To provide me with a false sense of comfort?
Whatever ease I’ve been settling into recently knots with a new sort of resentment. For Blackburn. For being a woman. For who my parents were and what they have put me through over the years. Convincing myself Mona is wrong feels futile as Blackburn’s words to me that night in his study about my good breeding make so much sense. Of course he would care about that. He paid over sixty bills for me, after all.
As understanding dawns in Mona’s expression, so does regret, and that look alone is all the affirmation I need.
“He’s been grooming me to be her mother,” I bite out. “And I’m the only one who didn’t know.” I shake my head. “I’m still a plaything,” I whisper. Taken from one man’s den to another’s. No wonder Blackburn was angry to see his future wife wearing his dead wife’s clothes. His beloved wife. And why he was so concerned I would disappoint Paige. I grip the mug in my hand so tightly I worry it might break, wanting to scream for being so foolish.
“Calm yourself, child,” Mona says carefully. “There are worse things than being a mother to a young girl and the head of a household and prominent family. Especially one as wealthy and powerful as what Greyson offers you.”
Anger, hot and raging, fills me, not at Greyson or Mona, but at myself. For forgetting. For hoping and assuming life here would be different. “You think I care about riches and status?” I say, and I hate the defeat in my voice, but I’m not sure there’s much fight left in me. “I’m disappointed in myself, that is all.”
“Why is that?”
“Because I questioned my instincts,” I admit, meeting her stare for stare.
“Well, whatever your instincts, you know your fate could be far worse, child. You’re old enough to understand that.”
“Old enough?” I scoff. “I am well aware of my fate. My brother is dead because he was trying to save me from it, yet here I am anyway.” I set the mug down. “It’s the humiliation—”
“This is about your pride, then?” Mona chides. “You care so little for my granddaughter, you would deprive her of motherly affection?”
“This isn’t about my feelings for Paige,” I say coolly, and rise to my feet. “Nor my lack of them. You think I should be grateful to be given such an honor and responsibility, but Blackburn promised me I was no slave here, and now I learn I am worse than that because at least those people in the fields have families and lives outside of their work. But here, I am a placeholder—a third attempt with a single purpose. Is this why Miss Knightly killed herself, because she refused to accept such a fate with a man who is consumed by the memory of his dead wife?” Mona straightens, and tears burn the backs of my eyes. I have to steady my breath if I’m to keep the only modicum of sanity I have left.
I’m not sure how long I stare into the flames before I can bring myself to speak again. “I’m to be a mother and have children—a male child, specifically, since his last two wives didn’t,” I whisper. The hopefulness for my future here that had begun to take root only moments ago, is severed, disappointment and sadness taking its place. “That is my sole purpose, but what if I can’t give him one? What if Blackburn isn’t meant to have a son?”
“Do not say such things, child.”
My eyes meet Mona’s offended gaze. “Why not? It might be true, and you speak so easily of my fate . . .” I shake my head. “None of you care how heavy the burden is, though, do you?”
Suddenly, my dress is suffocating—I feel like an imposter. Too warm and on the brink of tears, I walk out the door, pulling a deep breath through my nose.
The laughter around the communal fire dies as I stride past a group of villagers, Paige watching me as I go. “Miss Sinclair—where are you going?”
“I’m taking a walk,” I tell her over my shoulder.
“To the river? Can I come—”
“No, child,” Mona says behind me. “Let her go.” And I do just that, not bothering to look back.
30
GREYSON
My conversation with Selene at the cemetery this morning invades all thoughts as I ride toward the Screaming Woods. I should have warned her who she would be staying with, but I’d been too stunned when she’d admitted she felt like she might belong at Briarwood.
No matter how many times I tell myself that what comes next is not entirely in my control, it feels immoral. Especially because it also feels inexplicably right.
Unable to afford more distractions, I expect that in seeing Selene settled with the earthen folk, I will be more focused as I wait for the Council’s proxy to arrive within the next couple of days.
But the closer I draw to the village, the heavier the weight in my chest becomes, and I can’t quite shake it. At first, I thought it was guilt for not having been entirely honest with Selene. But something far more feral claws just beneath the surface, and I recognize it all too well.
Fear. Because in choosing to remain in Briarwood, Selene has sparked a dangerous ember of hope, and has put herself in danger, one she is not yet privy to.
Spotting the crooked chestnut, I veer off the narrow, sunken trail and ride deeper into the woods. The chimes in the boughs above fill the afternoon air with an eerie melody that haunted my dreams as a boy, though now I am grateful for them.
When I finally reach the boundary of the village, Mona is the first person I see. She cranks a bucket of water from the well, oblivious to the wind as her cloak and loose hair catch in the breeze, both of them whipping around her as if she’s as much a part of this land as it is of her.
Dismounting Midnight, I search the heads of knotted braids milling about, looking for the golden-haired governess.
“Master Blackburn,” Gibson says, and rises from a table outside the ale hut. He hurries over and I hand him Midnight’s reins.
“All is well?” I ask him, and he nods reassuringly. “Good.”
The moment Mona’s inscrutable gaze locks on me, all lightness I feel in having finally arrived turns to ash on my tongue. “What is it?” I say, and it’s not a question so much as a command. I know that look. I’ve seen it aimed at me many times before.
“Papa!” Paige runs over from her seat at Raiden’s worktable. “I want to show you the new doll I’m going to make with Grandmother. We picked out her hair and—”
I squeeze Paige’s shoulder. “You can show me when it’s finished,” I say, noting Selene isn’t at the worktable with her. “I need to speak with Miss Sinclair. Where is she?” Searching the dozens of faces walking about the village, I find she is not among them either, and suddenly, laying eyes on her feels paramount.
“Mona?” I prompt, eyebrow arched and expectant.
“You didn’t tell her why you brought her here.”
I frown, ignoring the accusation in her voice. “I told her it was to keep her safe. Do I need another reason?”
“No,” she says, her eyes flicking to Paige before they fix on me again. Mona’s glare is as sharp as her tone is careful. “You didn’t tell her why you brought her here.”
I bite back a curse, choosing my next words carefully. “What have you told her?” It’s all I can do to keep my temper in check.
“Go pick the skirt for your doll,” Mona says, nudging Paige toward the worktable with a wink.
Paige does so reluctantly, but she doesn’t argue.
When Mona meets my gaze again, it’s as hard as mine. “The girl asked why I was so curious about her, and I told her the truth—that I wanted to know who was to replace my daughter—”
“Mona.” I growl, and turn from her, running my hand over my face. “She’s barely grown comfortable enough to stay. Of course I have not told her everything.”
“How was I to know that?”
“You’ve always meddled—”
“I am not meddling.”
I shake my head, gritting my teeth to keep my voice down as I scan the village for Selene. “Where has she gone?”
“I’m not certain.”
My eyes flash with anger.
“She’s safe,” she placates, putting up her palm. “The Eyes would have told me if she’d gone much farther.” I search for the hideouts hidden in the canopy above. “She left about an hour ago, in the direction of the creek. You—”
I start in that direction, but I only get a few paces before I spin around, glaring at her. “Tell me you didn’t say all of this in front of Paige,” I demand. The last thing I can stand to do is lose the governess and get Paige’s hopes up at the same time.
“Of course not,” she hisses back.
Raking my fingers through my hair, I stalk toward the creek. I follow a set of dainty footprints in the damp earth, and can’t help the way my muscles coil so tight I have to flex my hands and grit my teeth to keep myself in check. All the progress we’ve made has likely been for nothing, and I brace myself for what I fear comes next.
When I reach the creek, I slow, searching the sandstone boulders for her. I imagine she would find solace by a hidden brook, just far enough away from the villagers she feels like she can breathe, like she isn’t trapped.
I second guess my instincts, then spot her red skirt from the corner of my eye. When I look up at a flattened boulder directly beside me, the governess is peering down, her legs crossed in front of her, wild blonde hair, never quite tamed, catching the muted sunlight filtering in through the mist.
“I knew I was missing something,” she says, and it’s so quiet, the words are almost lost on the breeze. “I was on a wild goose chase for answers. They were simply the wrong ones.”
“Selene—”
“This whole time, everyone’s been lying to me.”
“I didn’t lie to you.”
Her glare is piercing, but I have seen her rage, and this isn’t it. There is hurt in her eyes, and it makes my anger wither.
“At least, that was not my intention,” I amend, but my voice is gruff, and even to my ears, it sounds uncaring. “It was not Mona’s place to tell you.”
“Well, I’m glad someone did.” She peers down at her hands, picking at them thoughtfully. “I’m so foolish,” she says. “I’ve been angry about being a slave, and the whole time you purchased me to be your wife.” She captures her hair in the wind and twists it behind her ear. “The way you speak of Master Orson with such anger, I thought you might be different.”
“I am nothing like that bastard,” I grit out, resting one hand on my hip. I rub my brow with the other. This is not how I wanted this to go, but it’s everything I’d expected and why I’d resisted to begin with. “I don’t want to marry you, Selene—I don’t want a wife.” But the instant the words pass my lips, what I want is to take them back.
“I’m quite aware,” she murmurs.
I force myself to look at her, and my chest cinches as the injury in her eyes glitters back at me. Another regret. Another heaved breath. “I am not ready,” I confess. “And it’s dangerous, but I have little choice in the matter.”
Selene says nothing as she rises to her feet and climbs down from the boulder. I expect the fiery thing will shout or try to strike me, and I hold my breath.
