Daughter of Azeroth

10 | THE WAGER

Despite Lanira's desperate attempts to soothe her, Myra was still grieving when the hour of the evening meal drew near. Idira's things had been brought round—what little she had—and Blackie now prowled around a new room, three times the size of the previous one. Idira's new room wasn't blue, but pale pink and white. Otherwise it was much the same as her old room, except everything seemed bigger, grander, and more ornate. Her bed had four posts and a canopy over it. Idira loved it. She could pretend her bed was a boat, and her room the sea.

Dressed in her pink dress and slippers, a maid brought her back to Myra's room. Idira went in and found Lanira holding a glass of red wine to Myra's mouth. Myra shook her head and pushed it away.

'Drink,' Lanira pleaded, anxious, 'you must calm down, the master will not put up with your weeping for much longer. Please, calm yourself and go to dinner.'

Myra ignored her. Silent tears slipped down her face and onto her gown, staining it.

Exasperated, Lanira stood up and rubbed her hand across her forehead. A thought must have struck her because she bent down and wagged her finger in front of Myra. 'You must pull yourself together. If you continue like this, the master will turn you out and you will have no one. Jac will turn his back on you, and so will everyone else, you won't have a friend in all of Westfall.'

'Benny will—'

Lanira's hand clamped over Myra's mouth. 'You hush your mouth, you will never say his name again. He's gone, you hear me. Gone. The master had the lad on a wagon out of Moonbrook before he even came to. I heard he's been sent to your father in Redridge. It's over. Jac will come down hard on him, you can count on it.'

Myra pushed Lanira's hand away. 'I hate ye,' she spat. 'Ye're just another one o' VanCleef's lackeys. All ye care about is his wealth and power, fawnin' over him as ye scrabble around trying ta catch his leavings. I had love, real love. My man loved me. I don't care what anyone says. He loved me, and I loved him.'

Lanira held the glass up in front of Myra. The older woman's eyes flashed, dangerous. 'Then be smart, and bide your time in luxury. Maybe one day all of this will come to nothing. But for now, you have to play by his rules. Don't be a fool. Survive.'

Myra glared at Lanira for a long time. Idira held her breath, waiting. She hoped Myra would listen to Lanira, even if the woman was sharp around the edges, she made sense. They didn't have to live with Papa anymore, VanCleef had promised Myra she would never be hit again. Blackie was safe. Please Myra, she begged, silent, drink the wine.

Myra took the glass, and emptied it. She handed it back to Lanira.

'More.'

Lanira refilled it, and Myra drank all of that, too. She swayed a little, quieting as the wine took its toll on her.

Hurrying to fix her ruined cosmetics, Lanira tidied Myra up as best she could. A knock came to the door. Before anyone could open it, VanCleef walked in, wearing tight fitting black breeches, soft leather boots that went over his knees and a black shirt, open at the throat. A red silk scarf encircled his neck. He looked sleek and elegant. Idira tried not stare, but there was something about him that made her want to look at him. Somehow his presence filled up the whole room.

His eyes went straight to Myra, who despite Lanira's frantic efforts, wilted in her gown, pathetic after a day spent in grief. His jaw clenched.

'Leave us,' he said.

Stricken, Lanira bobbed her head and curtseyed. She took Idira's hand as she passed by.

'The child stays,' he said, his eyes still on Myra.