Angelfire | The Whispering Wall #3

Four: Rebels

"Those are going to avalanche on you one day."

Nova looked up. Grace's head was just visible over the tower of books in front of her.

"It's obvious you've never been to university," the otherworld girl continued. The stack shuddered, and then she started dividing the books into smaller, less dangerous piles. "Or you'd know you have to spread out, not up."

"I had those organised," Nova said, a little plaintive.

"They're still organised." Grace frowned. "Just arranged in a way that won't cave your skull in if someone jolts the desk." She propped her hands on her hips, a very familiar stern look coming over her face. "How long have you been working here?"

"Couple of hours." But she had to check the library window to make sure it was still daytime. She didn't know how long she'd been here, really. Not that it mattered; Grace always asked her like she had a say in how long she spent here each day. Her slave collar might be gone, and she might be clothed better than she had been in over ten years, but that didn't mean she was any more in charge of her own life than she had been a month ago. When the High Lord Harkenn commanded her to work, she was stuck here all day or until he summoned her, whichever came first.

Not that she disliked this work. It excused her from having to sit through all his most boring meetings, and the dullest always took place over the light season as dozens of out-of-city merchants and landowners petitioned for his time and attention. Today was just such an audience day, and unlike the lord's study, the library was well-aired and quiet. She was reading instead of trying not to fall asleep listening to crop complaints and loan pitches in a stuffy study. Of course she would rather have been out in the city enjoying the limited good weather Nictaven had to offer, but it was so far out of her realm of possibility that she only wished for it in an abstract kind of way.

One distraction she did find irritatingly effective was the woman sitting in front of her. If anyone could make her wish for things she couldn't have with an intensity that hurt, it was Grace Haverford.

Towards the end of the dark season, Grace had started dying her hair dark to avoid recognition. Now the dye was growing out and her natural blonde was showing at the roots, glinting gold in the light streaming through the windows. Her light scattering of freckles had turned darker in the sun and her cheeks had a flush of colour in them all the time these days.

"You've been out," Nova said. It wasn't quite an accusation, but nor was it a question; some of Grace's high colour was clearly from exertion.

"Tried to catch Joe, but he was out." Her disappointment was not well-concealed. "He's always bloody out these days. Nika said I could hang about until their patrol and have an hour, but I'm supposed to be on dinner service."

Nova's stomach swooped. She'd forgotten there was a dinner tonight. "Vestra's tits. I forgot about that."

Grace sucked in her lips. "Surely he won't make you dance?"

"I didn't specify that in my terms," Nova growled. "I wouldn't put money on it."

She wouldn't have the few luxuries she had scraped back for herself without that bargain. Faellian Harkenn had only allowed it because she'd put her life on the line for his. Yes, she could go about day to day without a significant metal weight clamped about her neck; yes, she could wear more than a ragged shift without asking explicit permission; and yes, she was no longer in fear of Grace being fired on her account. All that aside, she had traded more years of her life in ownership by saving him. She could have let him die. Would have, if the alternative hadn't been her uncle, the crown ruler of the Angel Annexe who had it out for her the moment she was born; if the alternative hadn't been a war she'd never have escaped from.