RISING (#2, of Crows and Thorns)

Chapter 12

I ran along a narrow running trail. My feet crunched through dead leaves and twigs and splashed through puddles that flicked mud up the backs of my calves. I smashed through spiderwebs, glistening with dew, that spun between trees, my heart pumping a steady beat, and my breath swirling away in thin streams with the crisp snap of dawn.

I refused to acknowledge why I couldn't venture any deeper into the Hemmlok Forest. Why I purposely chose to skirt near the tree line where the trees were young and not veiled with draping ivy and shadowed with mist.

Last night, after being bossed around by Miss Uptight, I'd returned to the room where I'd helped her stuff the flowers into the vases that were so fucking important to her, and joined Mrs. Deniaud and Marissa, and their guests.

Valarie was there with Byron. They were sitting in separate armchairs, facing one another, discussing artwork. The guests left them alone, except for me. I was her brother, of course, I was going to insert my presence into their little two-person world. I'd perched on the armrest of Valarie's chair, sinking into silence as they carried on their conversation. Byron had been attentive to my sister, doing most of the talking. Valarie spoke up a few times, still stuttering as she replied softly. But Byron didn't do what everyone else did. He sat back and let her finish her stuttering speech, not interrupting her halfway through, or ending her sentences for her.

My regard for Byron was slowly growing. Slowly.

Rosa Battagli was having a fine time with the Lyon brothers—Forrestor and Harding—broadly beaming and on occasion blushing with the attention they bestowed upon her. And Laurena, the spiteful, spoilt princess, had kept her distance, but I'd caught the sly, cold looks she shot my sister. Not that Valarie noticed; she was too busy comparing artists with Byron. Whatever problem Laurena had with my sister, it seemed to be more about the fact her brother had taken a shine to Valarie. More than a shine, considering how intently he watched the nuances playing across her features.

I'd spent a few hours in their company, numb to everything around me, until sleep tugged at my tired body and bed called. Valarie had left with me, and we'd both retired to our adjoining rooms.

No matter how late it was when I crashed for the night, it was ingrained in me to rise before dawn. And like any other morning, my body alarm clock woke me up. If I were at home, I would have donned my armor and joined our family's Warband, warming up with a 5-mile run first, before running drills—warfare in the training pits with swords and crossbows and fists.

There'd been no point trying to go back to sleep, so I'd headed out into the pre-dawn darkness for an early run. I'd strapped a dagger to my outer thigh, the leather sheath hugging my long shorts tightly. I could have left the dagger behind, but it was a habit to have at least one blade on me at all times.

Marissa had a few events planned for her guests today, all of which I was going to avoid. Stupid things like tennis, yawn, and shooting matches, again yawn. Valarie had brought her art supplies with her, and we'd already planned to avoid everyone by slinking back into the forest where she'd spend her day painting or sketching, and I really didn't give a fuck what I ended up doing as long as I wouldn't encounter Irma Szarvas. To my relief, Irma hadn't made an appearance last night. I knew my luck would run out sometime over the weekend. She'd been hounding me incessantly of late, wanting to see me to talk. I was pretty sure she'd arrive under the guise of accompanying her family's servants for the dance, and I really didn't know what I was going to do or say when we finally came face to face after so long. In the meantime, until my luck ran out, I was sure as hells was going to keep a low profile.