The coatroom door shut behind me and I stilled. My fingers were latched around the brass door handle while my other hand was spread across the oak wood with its knots and grains. Dropping my gaze to my black shoes with their industrial stitching and crepey leather, I wiggled my toes. Good gods, Varen had been deadly serious. He really had wanted me naked, not in a pair of sexy high-heels, but these shoes, while he knelt behind me. Kinky.
Astonishment lightened my weary spirits at the rather detailed list Varen had written of all the deliciously wicked things he wanted to do to me...and then it faltered only to dissolve away as anxiety crawled along my bones, clawing at my fraught nerves with the hunger of a predator. Expelling a thin breath, I pressed my fingertips harder against the cool wood as if I could hold myself together by leeching the solid strength from the coatroom door.
The entire day I'd been a jittery mess, jumping at every small noise, searching the faces of the people I worked with, and constantly wondering if they knew what lurked beneath my aunt's skin. So many terrifying thoughts spun around in my head like I was juggling unpinned grenades, and with every downward glide, they threatened to explode my sanity apart.
The knowledge that the malevolent thing was now able to show itself anytime, no longer restrained to a full moon.
The sinister mystery I'd yet to unravel between my mother and aunt.
The threat it had made against Varen's life.
My haphazard plan to steal wyrmblood.
Time was slipping through my fingers like grains of sand. I needed wyrmblood, now, to ensure I kept Varen safe and alive.
And moments ago, Varen had seen through me as if I were a pane of glass.
I could see intuition shifting within his eyes, their color much like a bruised plum that darkened further with understanding. He knew there was more to it than me simply being tired. In that moment of weakness, I'd wanted to tell him everything about the dark creature that inhabited my aunt, that I was trying to save her by stealing items needed to break the spell. I'd wanted to beg for his help or at the very least have him wind his arms around me and tell me everything was going to be all right. But what would he do?
Would he help me or stop me?
A dull throb beat behind my temple, and my fingers drifted from the door to massage the ache in tiny circles. A moment later my nose tingled with phantom pain where the bone had shattered last night. Before the sun had risen this morning I'd waded through the eerie forest to retrieve my aunt's lost flashlight, retracing my steps to where brambles had tugged off my hat. I knew Varen hunted through the Hemmlok Forest to make sure that none of Jurgana's beasts had escaped and I didn't want him to come across evidence of my panicked flight. The drizzling rain had washed away our scent from the night before, as well as the blood caught in the fissures of the tree bark and splattered upon its coiling roots.
Fear dripped down my spine as the horrific memory replayed in my mind. How furious it had been with me for failing to find wyrmblood. The bitter sting as its talons had gouged my neck to draw my head back, only to smash my face into the tree, not once but twice.
This morning I couldn't find it in myself to meet up with Varen at our spot beneath the oak tree, too full of shame at the underhanded deceit I was going to employ tonight. However, I had needed to speak with him about the Stag Party, not to remind him to keep his distance, but to make sure he'd slip away with me toward the end of the night, whereupon I'd spike his drink with a drug to send him into a deep sleep.
The fabric of my uniform rasped against my palm as I slid it along the skirt pocket bulging with the capped needle and tube, and the slender glass vial of sleeping potion I'd stolen from the infirmary five minutes before I'd hauled Varen into the coatroom. My fingers blindly searched for my wooden spoon, instinctively wrapping around its long handle, seeking comfort. The feel of it in my hand soothed my frazzled nerves. I had no memory if I'd done the same as a child, nor why I had a strange need to have the spoon safely tucked beneath my belt as if it were a weapon.
Once again, I rolled the mantra around in my head, my lips silently forming the words—Everything is going to work out tonight. It had too.
"Tabitha!"
Fright burst against my ribcage, making me jolt. I slapped a hand across my mouth to muffle the startled shriek and half-swiveled around, the chunky soles of my shoes squeaking on the marble. Wide-eyed, I watched Marissa approach. The satiny folds of her glamorous Christian Dior dress rippled gently around her knees with her elegant stride, her hips swaying as if she was striding down a catwalk.
I kept my gaze trained on her, trying not to glance toward the coatroom door and give myself away. I prayed to Zrenyth she didn't want to go inside the small room for a coat because Varen was still in there. The abrupt prickle of perspiration coating my palms made the metal door handle slippery beneath my trembling fingers.
What am I going to do?
But panic emptied my mind completely. My skin felt too tight against my face. Guilt etched itself into every line on my body. I stood paralyzed, unable to function, my fingers gripping the door handle as if it were a freaking lifeline.
"There you are," Marissa called out, sighing dramatically before breaking into a smile. "I've been looking everywhere for you." She reached me in two strides. The warmth of her body radiated against my cold one, stinging my skin with scorching heat as if I'd been dragged out of an icy lake.
Her startling blue eyes scanned my face and narrowed as a frown creased her forehead. "Are you okay? You seem flustered."
Unable to speak, I nodded jerkily, my head bobbing up and down like one of those toys you placed on your car's dashboard.
Her gaze flicked to the coatroom behind me and her eyebrows flattened as she stared suspiciously at the door. Folding her arms across her chest, she tapped a stiletto toe against the floor, tap, tap, tap, as fast as my ricocheting heartbeat. Her voice was as hard as her gaze. "What were you doing in there?"
What was I doing in there?
I cleared my throat, thinking, thinking, thinking, for some gods' forsaken reason to give her, any reason, but my nerves were completely shot from being on edge all day, and my pounding head remained empty.
Marissa slouched her weight to one leg, settling a hand on her hip. The gold bracelet with its mauve gems, a similar shade to her dress, slipped to the bend in her wrist. I held my breath, waiting silently for her verdict, but her sharp expression softened with amusement as she tilted her head to the side. "Were you color-coordinating the coats again?"
My shoulders thrust back as I loosened a half-crazed laugh in utter relief that's what she thought I was up to. I couldn't help sounding deranged. I was deranged!
Finally, I was able to let go of the door handle to flip a hand up, popping a hip out with attitude, and made a mildly irritated gah sound. "It's a far easier way to hunt for the coat you want to wear." Much easier than sifting through a jumble of coats, this way you could at least narrow the hunting ground to color. It made complete sense. I didn't understand why other people didn't get it.
Marissa rolled her eyes at me, because evidently, she, like everyone else, thought I had nothing better to do with my life than clean and organize. "Tabitha Catt, you need a hobby or a boyfriend."
My heavy tongue lolled in my mouth because I already had a boyfriend.
But for how much longer?
If Varen found out what I was up to, surely he'd end things between us.
Marissa hooked her arm through mine and I was jerked forward. I stumbled alongside, trying to regain my balance. With my courage hanging on by a tattered thread, the floor beneath me felt as unsteady as a rolling sea. "Come on, you need to hurry up and get ready for this evening."
She urged me into a quick pace. The hallway rang with our fast footsteps, and the low sweeping running tables and porcelain figurines blurred together as we rapidly approached the junction and turned the corner.
In her six-inch heels and lofty height, Marissa towered beside me. As we headed away from where Varen was hidden and toward the Servants' Quarters my flighty heartbeat began to calm. I couldn't resist swiping my gaze over Marissa's tawny hair, the mix of browns and flaxen blond cascading down her back in glossy waves, admiring how it had been teased upward at the crown to build further height, and wishing one day I could try out a similar hairstyle too.
Marissa's leather tote swayed and jolted beside her hip, ensnaring my curiosity. I drew my eyebrows together when I spotted something dark inside its depth. The golden light spilling from above stroked the velvety fabric in a soft amber hue.
My gaze cut back to Marissa's when she heaved a deep sigh and glanced sidelong. "I miss you." She squeezed my upper arm with the crook in her elbow.
"I miss you too," I replied, squeezing her back. I did miss her. I missed our walks around the estate, sneaking into the orchard to pick fruit off trees and vines, or simply sitting in the gazebo with roses twining around the latticework, catching up with each other's lives.
Her lips, coated in lilac, curled downward. "We haven't spent time together for ages."
As much as I felt awful thinking it—that one was on her. It wasn't as if I'd been going anywhere or doing anything the past few months. It had been the same thing day in and day out—falling into bed with a book and fast asleep before I finished reading the first page because I was bone weary. This past summer Marissa had been traveling abroad, and on her return, out in society, attending social gatherings and balls, and she'd no time to spare me.
The one week she'd sought me out, as fate would have it, my evenings had been tied up with someone else.
She gave me a long thoughtful look, and my blood chilled when her gaze became shrewd. "Every time I've wanted to catch up with you this week you've been out. Are you...? Are you secretly seeing someone?"
"No." The eruption of laughter that burst from my throat was too loud and brittle. I cringed at how it hollowed out my ears and clapped down the hallway. "No. Oh my,"—gods—"Marissa, noooooooooooooooo."
She continued to stare as if she didn't believe me and I hurried to sweep her skepticism away. "I'd been trying to find the perfect wedding gift."
"That's so strange," she murmured. Her fingers fidgeted with the leather shoulder straps of her tote. "Knowing you, I'd have thought you'd have found something already."
I shrugged to seem casual and not at all like I was lying to my best friend. When my life came to an end, I was going to be dragged right through the hellsgate and tossed at Hazus's hooved feet for all of this. "It took a while, but I found it." What I didn't say was that I'd already purchased the wedding gift last week when I'd gone to Ascendria on my day off. As we neared the entrance to the Servants' Quarters with the battered twin doors cast open, I shared with Marissa what I was going to give Oswin and Dolcie—a miniature glasshouse with special lighting so Oswin could grow greenery indoors during winter. "It got more difficult because I needed to take Dolcie into account. What they might enjoy together."
"It's a sweet gift." She knocked her hip into mine to make me sway off-balance and grin. "Maybe he can grow strawberries for her right through winter."
My grin grew wider because that's exactly what I'd thought of too when I'd spotted it in the garden nursery.
We stepped inside the Servants' Quarters and the soles of my shoes shifted from hard marble to soft lino. The radiant light overhead ended and the industrial lighting began and it felt as if we'd crossed a shadowline. The wide corridor was bustling with servants, and the comforting smell of rosemary and lemony chicken, caramelized onion and potatoes, and garlicky silverbeet drifted from the open doorway to the Servants' Hall. Normally my mouth would be watering and my stomach growling at the delicious smells, but I had no appetite whatsoever today.
I slowly became aware of the tension in Marissa's arm, locking it tighter around mine, and the stiff set of her jaw. Curiosity niggled at me. Why had Marissa wanted my company this week?
"Are you okay?" I asked quietly. Maybe she had a reason why she'd been desperate to talk to me.
"Oh, I'm fine," she replied too cheerfully, her line of sight fixed on the moving wall of servants ahead of us.
"Marissa, is it Aldert?" I wished she'd move on from him. The heir to House Pelan had trepidation shivering down my spine every time I thought of him. I feared for anyone who ended up married to him.
"Yes and no," Marissa replied, her voice laden with longing as she glanced downward at the cracked and shoe-scuffed lino. "I really like him, but he's so busy at the moment and he hasn't returned my phone calls. Whatever he's working on for Master Sirro is taking up all of his time." Her mouth curved into a firm smile and she snapped her gaze upward as if she'd internally resolved herself to the matter. "I just have to sit back and be patient. At some point, he'll return to me."
"What do you see in Aldert?" I asked, not able to stop myself.
"His mind is fascinating," she answered, admiration shining in her eyes.
What I'd seen of Aldert Pelan's mind during the carnage of Jurgana truly frightened me, and once again I wished for someone else to come along and seize her heart.
"The good news is," she carried on with a buoyant tone, "my parents aren't completely adverse to a union with the Pelans."
My smile slipped.
Gods, I'd pinned my hopes on the fact Romain and Sanela were loyalists and wouldn't be seduced by the shift of alliances other Houses were making toward the Pelans with the mysterious experiment Aldert was up to for the Horned Gods.
"What about Byron Wychthorn?"
Her nose wrinkled and she replied in a flat tone, "I like Byron, but there's absolutely no chemistry between us."
Gods-freaking-dammit.
"Forrestor Lyon is spending a fair bit of time here," I prodded gently, crossing my fingers by my side.
She broke out into a broad grin and laughed with a dash of surprise within the melodic sound. "He is. Forrestor and I are playing wingman to Rosa and Harding. It's been fun and so sweet to play a part in their budding romance. Forrestor...well..."
And I caught it, a perplexed interest brightening the azure flecks in her eyes.
Thank you, Forrestor Lyon!
"Forrestor's certainly no longer that annoying, mouthy boy, who used to tease me endlessly," she breathed.
No, Forrestor certainly wasn't. He'd grown out of his lanky boyish body. He was still a little bit mouthy, but in a more self-aware and 'take no BS' kind of way.
Marissa, unlike the rest of her family, was a regular visitor to this part of her family's household, and space to walk through the busy thoroughfare was given to us, not only dictated by Marissa's position but because she was well-liked. Brief and warm greetings were exchanged between her and my colleagues as we headed toward the dormitories and they made their way to the Servants' Hall to sit down for the last meal of the day.
However, I had a terrible feeling, much as I had the night of the Servants' Dance, that Marissa was purposefully looking about the sea of faces flowing past us seeking someone. I knew her too well. Her smile became forced and a distrustful shadow veiled her gaze as if she were calculating and weighing up every person she passed by.
We turned down into the dormitories where it wasn't as loud and rowdy because almost everyone was at the Servants' Hall eating.
I tugged at her arm, worried. "What's wrong, Marissa?"
"Nothing," she said smoothly, but I heard the sharp edge to her tone.
Unwinding my arm free of hers, I wrapped my fingers around her wrist, pulling her into an alcove to tuck us beside a bushy shrub with long glossy leaves that Oswin and I had grown to give more life to our quarters. "Marissa, tell me, what's going on?"
She chewed on her thumbnail. As she stared back, deep in thought, dread crept upon me like a slow ocean tide, as it struck me how similar her expression looked to her father's as she stood there wondering if she could trust me.
She cast a quick furtive glance over her shoulder to make sure we were alone before she leaned closer to finally confess, "It's my parents. My father's having an affair."
I could barely push out the words as a bitter knot of guilt shoved its way down my throat. "How can you be so sure?"
"He's always so hard to find these days," she muttered, shifting her gaze to the fringe of leaves as she repeated the words her mother had said last week in the grand parlour to Romain.
Always so busy, Romain. Always so hard to find.