RISING (#2, of Crows and Thorns)

Chapter 88

Hellsgate.

At least he hadn't suffered too much for too long.

"You look so good, Varen," Marissa simpered. "So good. And, Rosa—"

"I know," Rosa interrupted, flinging up a hand, I suppose guessing what Marissa was going to say. "Quite talented. I should have been a hairdresser."

My gaze darted to Varen and back to Rosa. I silently sighed in relief, the reason why he'd knocked on her bedroom door...unless there'd been more than just a haircut.

I silently offered Varen the whiskey. His fingers wrapped around the crystal tumbler and he lifted it from the tray. It was with quiet disinterest which he beheld me, and nothing more. Nothing registered as if he knew me. Nothing flickered over his features as if he were glad to see me either. I was met with nothing shining in his gaze. Not desire or longing or regret or even the barest of wistfulness, not even burning anger at what I'd done to him.

He blinked and then looked right through me as if I weren't staring back at him.

As if I were invisible.

As if I didn't exist.

But this is what I'd wanted, wasn't it? For the line not to be crossed. I was a servant and he was one of the upper ranks. I had pushed him away and made it clear that I wanted nothing from him. And with the childish spitefulness with which I'd treated him yesterday, along with the malicious spiking of his soup, I expect, he wished he'd never met me.

Sanela swirled her sherry and the scarlet liquor lapped at the side of the glass. "Is it true there's a romantic interest between Byron Wychthorn and your sister?"

"Mother!" Marissa snapped.

"I'm simply asking, Marissa."

Varen's tone was cutting and chilly. "That's between Valarie and Byron and no one else."

Sanela gave a small annoyed sound, much like a harrumph, then took a tiny sip of her drink.

For the next half an hour I retired to my little spot away from them all, only approaching to refill their glasses, and when I did, their conversation flowed around me like water. They didn't bother reigning in their conversation about others they knew, the gossip that floated between the Houses, because I was no one of importance.

Varen ignored me completely, answering Marissa's quick questions with ease and somewhat grating politeness. Not once did he look my way.

And with every passing minute, a little piece of me shriveled up and died.

When I'd finally discovered he was an heir to Lower House Crowther, with his wild hair and beard, looking like a ruffian who'd stolen someone's expensive suit, he was still the hunter I'd originally mistook him for. But now, seeing him in his element, surrounded by those I served, the differences between us were marked. He was unobtainable in the way that starlight was out of reach.

I didn't belong in their world. It was so apparent with the glittering gems adorning Marissa's wrist as well as Rosa's. Varen in a custom suit he had made for him by a fashion house and no doubt by an icon designer like Giorgio Armani. The carefree laughter. The talk of travel and Michelin-star restaurants. Even the light, flooding downward, caressing their features and expert hairstyles, seemed brighter where they sat.

I stood there in my ugly shoes, in my tired uniform with the frayed stitching at the white cuffs and a few threadbare patches at the skirt's hem, holding a silver tray waiting until I was acknowledged and allowed to speak or leave, standing afar in the farthest corner of the room where the light didn't quite reach and nothing interesting could take place.