Nightfire | The Whispering Wall #1

Thirty Two: Saving Grace

"You're a slave?" he spat the word, incredulously. "They're more backwards than I thought."

"Nova?"

They both looked round as Grace appeared at the end of the corridor, wringing her apron in her hands and looking flustered.

"Oh, thank god, there you are," the maid breathed, "I overheard them talking in the study and Faellian said he'd send for you later. I... Who's that?"

She stopped, peering into the cell at Jeorge, who looked equally startled at the appearance of the otherworld girl as she did at his.

"Are you an Angel, too?" she asked.

Jeorge got to his feet and swept into a bow that might have been grand if he hadn't been chained to the wall. "Jeorge Nerahardt, m'lady, at your service."

Nova scoffed. "You're not at anybody's service in there."

Jeorge ignored her, flashing Grace a winning smile. He was handsome – Nova could objectively admit to that – but it didn't seem to be winning him any favours with Grace. If anything, she looked less impressed than she had before he'd spoken.

"Are you friends?" she asked Nova.

"Absolutely not."

"I see." Grace gave Jeorge an appraising look. "Did you date at some point?"

"What?" both Jeorge and Nova said at the same time, and Nova instantly wanted to rinse her mouth out.

"Well..." Grace suddenly seemed abashed. "You know, like, seeing each other?"

"You mean courting?" Jeorge said, frowning. "Heavens, no."

Nova hated herself for the fact that it hurt. She despised Jeorge; he was a coward and a liar, had trampled all over her once before, and here she was getting hurt that he hadn't returned her feelings back then. She'd known there was nothing in it at the time.

Grace's eyes narrowed on Nova's face, and for a moment Nova had the irrational fear that the girl could read her aura. She knew for certain that Jeorge could, though, and remembered it a second too late.

"Not that there never would have been," he added, eyes glittering in the darkness of the cell. "But the way events played out didn't allow for it."

"I hope a demon kills you," Nova muttered. "Slowly."

Grace frowned. "I came down here to make sure you were back in the kitchens before Brillan comes," she said, voice decidedly colder, "I don't want anything to happen."

"I'm coming," Nova said, turning away from Jeorge. She started to walk away, grateful for Grace's presence to ground her, but couldn't help her hesitation when she heard Jeorge come to the bars. His voice, when he called after her, had lost all its confidence and false charm.

"Your wings," he said hoarsely. "Where are they?"

She didn't turn. "Gone." A sharp breath through her nose. "You'll forgive me if I don't thank you."

She jumped as Grace's fingers threaded into hers, pulling her up the steps from the dungeons. Dark coppery stains marked the stone; the wisps of aura still clinging to the walls and floor betrayed that the stains were recent blood, not unusual for a dungeon. She skirted around them, trying not to feel the twin pinpricks of Jeorge's eyes on her back.

Grace didn't lead her straight to the kitchens. Instead she veered left, tugging her down a little-used corridor that used to be a servants' entrance to the battlements. None of the braziers were lit. Nova didn't have the presence of mind to ask where they were going; her thoughts were torn two ways, one towards the dungeons where her past waited on its future, and one towards the clinging warmth of Grace's fingers around hers.