RISING (#2, of Crows and Thorns)

Chapter 88

I'd be forced to watch from the sidelines while Varen assumed his role as heir and found a suitable bride that brought his House advantage, probably Irma once they got over their differences. I'd grow older as they would too, and watch them have a wonderful life together and expand their happiness with a brood of children.

I stood silent and still until Sanela remembered that I was there and released me for the night.

Leaving the parlour, I walked through the hallways intending to go straight home. Instead, as my throat thickened and I hastily avoided the gaze of my colleagues as I passed them by, horrified they'd spot the welling of tears, I dashed into the glassware cupboard.

I couldn't let my aunt suspect something was wrong and start asking a myriad of questions. I had no idea what to tell her to cover for this. I thought if I didn't purge myself from the misery and heartache, the moment I saw her kind face and heard her sweet voice I'd burst into tears and wouldn't stop crying all night.

Shutting the door and flicking on the light, I wandered to the end of the narrow room, surrounded by glasses and decanters and trays from all centuries and countries. Crystal, Venetian glass, pewter, silver, and gold. Tankards and goblets. Wine glasses and champagne flutes. All I'd ever do was fill them with top-shelf liquor, clean them with soft clothes, and keep them free from dust. I'd never wrap my fingers around their delicate stems and take a sip from their lips.

Holding the edge of the shelf I allowed myself to break. I counted slowly in my head up to ten seconds because that was all the time I could give myself before I headed home. Just ten seconds to wallow in self-pity and anguish and let the tears free.

7...8...9...10

My shoulders were stiff from the sobs that shuddered through my body. I wiped away the tears with the frayed cuff of my uniform, sniffling and pulling a silly-you face at myself. So stupid.

The light in the room suddenly changed and grew brighter as it flooded in from the hallway, then dimmed as a soft snick resounded, slicing through the silence.

I spun around.

And was face to face with Varen Crowther, standing in front of the closed door.

My heart ricocheted against my ribs and all I could do was blink in bewilderment.

This was beyond crazy.

Beyond dangerous.

It was one thing when we'd fought in the drawing room, in a wing that was barely used, but this was the glassware cupboard. My colleagues were walking up and down the hallway outside. Any one of them could come inside and catch the two of us alone.

My gaze ping-ponged from Varen, to the door, and back to the tall distinguished figure staring coldly back at me.

My first instinct was to yell—Get the hells out!

But my first thought was to apologize. I wrung my hands in shame, my shoulders curling inward, and opened my mouth to whisper—I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done those terrible things. Thank you for saving me from Mr. Volkov. I never got to voice them because he lifted a hand and pressed a finger to his lips requesting silence.

Varen kept his dark gaze fixed on me. There was nothing in his expression that I could read. I had no idea what he was thinking about. I feared it was nothing nice where I was concerned.

He slowly unbuttoned his jacket, shrugging it off, folded it, and placed it on a spare spot amongst the champagne flutes. The gold cufflinks were twisted off next and settled upon the luxurious woolen jacket before he loosened the knot of his silvery-gray tie and rolled up his sleeves, one at a time, as if he were getting down to business.

Business—which was me.

His footfall was silent as he approached. His stroll was like the rolling sea, unaffected by an unassuming day without clouds and wind to stir it.

I inched into the corner where the shelves met a tall cupboard. My shoulder jarred the shelf beside me and I almost shrieked in fright at the tinkling of crystal as glasses and goblets were disturbed by my sudden contact.

Varen loomed above me, and the dull light of the room brushed his broad shoulders and cast me in darkness. His wild long hair was gone, along with the scruffy beard, and he looked like someone I didn't quite recognize. I didn't know this man at all.

Varen's imperious beauty seemed as expensive and aloof as his bespoke suit.

Look. But don't touch.

He'll break you.

Marissa had warned me. And I thought that right now with my heart rioting in my chest I was in danger of shattering into a million pieces.

He leaned down and I inhaled anise and masculine notes. Warmth swirled between us and heat pooled in my lower belly to be staring directly into those violet eyes. When he leaned closer and his lips teased the tip of my ear, hot breath caressing the sensitive shell, my spine bowed in reflex and a soft moan escaped.

Holy hellsgate...

He lowered his gruff voice and whispered, "Did you really think that you'd get away with what you did to me yesterday?"

I gulped.

Part of me had held a sliver of hope that I would.

"Did you think that there wouldn't be retribution, Tabitha Catt?"

I stiffened. He could reveal almost all of my secrets. Not the one that really mattered, but he knew enough about me that I'd end up in the labyrinth of laboratories buried beneath the Carppeallan mountains with Aldert Pelan.

"Putting me up in that tiny girl's bedroom with its tiny bathroom. I can't even stand underneath the showerhead properly because it's fitted for a child. And that fucking miniature toilet I was throwing up into yesterday. Never mind the..." The words drifted apart. "Well, let's just say when I wasn't dying, I managed to get some sleep on the floor, which fucked up my back for half the day."

He pulled back to stare down the length of his nose at me. He slanted his head and the longer waves of hair slid sideways. "What should I do with you, Miss Cat?" he asked, more to himself than me, in a conversational tone one might use to ask—Will the good weather hold?

He clicked his tongue, deep in thought. "You and I are going to play a game."

I breathed out a sigh of relief, sagging a little. I loved Battleship and Backgammon and sometimes my aunt and I played cards. Contract Whist and Gin Rummy were especially fun too. I was just about to tell him that I had a pack of cards stashed away in my trunk tucked beneath my bunk in my bedroom when he reached beside me and produced a pewter tray. He plucked several goblets from the shelf and placed them on top, and then held it toward me, silently urging me to take it.

It didn't look particularly weighty. Confused as to why he wanted me to hold it, I reached for the tray with both hands and he tsked me with a slight shake of his head. "One hand. Just the fingertips."

I spread my fingertips wide beneath the tray's center, slightly adjusting the balance to keep the pewter goblets level, not quite understanding what was going on. I mean, surely he knew I was a servant. We did this sort of thing all the time, carrying trays back and forth, sometimes balancing plates on our forearms too.

He pointed upward. "Hold it above your head."

My eyes flashed wide.

That's when I realized that perhaps Varen's idea of a game was not the same as my idea of sitting at a table playing a round of Last Card.