RISING (#2, of Crows and Thorns)

Chapter 13

I twirled my new wooden spoon around my fingers before slipping it into my belt.

Since the kitchen's back entrance was choked with men and women carrying in deliveries of goods, it was easier for us to make our way through the mansion to another exit that led to the back lawns.

There was still a lot to do today, but nevertheless, it was a day humming with excitement. The Deniauds would be left to their own devices from late afternoon, while we all got dressed and ready for the evening's festivities, and at 6 pm the dance would commence. Our guests would then arrive on our estate from all Houses. Most of our staff were focused on setting up the dance area outside, but wherever we walked inside, passing servants as they dusted and polished in pairs, or hurried past as a group carrying silver tea sets to attend the Deniauds, their conversation was turned to the dance—who they'd hope to see there, or catch up with.

Beckah and Oswin trailed behind me still bickering over Dolcie. As we walked down the hallway toward one of the back doors, I felt something—a stirring of awareness—like a ghostly tap on the shoulder. My attention slid sideways.

Down this particular hallway, large archways were cut into the wall and opened up other rooms. Inside one we were currently passing was an area with lush green plants, their leaves spread like an umbrella over yellow and white striped armchairs upholstered in silk, facing the expansive windows. Mr. Whiskers stood in the middle of the room in front of the Lyon brothers, his arms crossed over his broad chest, a stern expression on his face as he spoke in his deep, gruff voice. There seemed to be something charged in the atmosphere, like grumbling storm clouds, that set the room on edge. I could feel it, even at this distance.

He was wearing a suit in a dark charcoal color, while the Lyon brothers were dressed more casually in slacks and loafers, their olive skin bright against blue shirts. The brothers' hazel eyes flashed wide and then slid in one another's direction as Mr. Whiskers finished speaking. He didn't just seem intimidating—he was intimidating. As if he was the one in charge of them, not the other way around.

The Lyon family were Hunters for the Horned Gods, seeking whatever, whomever the otherworldly creatures wished for. The Horned Gods were varied in their tastes in mortals and lesser creatures too, like the Orb-Weever who desired mortals with silky locks for its nest of hair in an oaken forest up north.

Mr. Whiskers—whatever his name was—towered over the Lyon brothers. He wasn't lean with streamlined muscle, he was tall and massive, a wall of strength. I wasn't particularly short, yet last night I'd felt tiny and delicate pressed against his body.

As if he felt my presence, his gaze swiveled my way and sharpened on me as I walked along the hallway, my sensible shoes slapping against the wooden floor. At his sudden attention, a jolt zinged through my body, stuttering the breath in my lungs as he ensnared me with intense eyes. Previously I hadn't taken any notice of their color. Out in the forest this morning, he'd annoyed and embarrassed and flustered me too much to pay attention. But here, with the sunlight streaming behind him, gilding his hard edges, I realized they were a deep violet color, almost black. And for some reason, something scratched at the back of my mind. As if I should recognize him from somewhere before. I didn't. I'd have remembered meeting someone like him, yet...yet, I had this strange feeling that I couldn't make sense of, that we had met before.

I blinked, surprised.

He also looked like he'd combed his hair.

He pointedly tucked a lanky lock of hair behind his ear, cockily angling his ear closer to the Lyon brothers, a challenging glint to his gaze.

I shot him a look—That's right, you'll hear better with all the froufrou out of your way—and swiveled my hip, showing off my new wooden spoon tucked into my belt.