I'd already broken so many antiques that the debt I owed the Deniauds' was skyrocketing. Instead, I bounced up and down on my feet. My voice was pitched loud and shrill. "MISS WYCHTHORN! MISS WYCHTHORN!"
It jarred Valarie from her attack.
Her head spun my way. Fury fogged her eyes and cleared like dissipating mist when she saw me standing there. She stood with her legs braced apart, arm pulled back, and her body trembling with lethal tension while she panted rageful breaths.
Laurena's gaze also snapped my way with such unadulterated hatred shining maliciously in her eyes it almost had me staggering backward.
I ducked my head politely. "Miss Wychthorn, your tea," I said, with a practiced smile I certainly didn't feel, and hurried toward her.
Laurena delivered a discourteous glare, tinged with confusion that I was there. Her dark blond eyebrows drew over eyes swimming with venom when she swiveled back to Valarie, giving the other girl's fist beginning to lower a taunting glance. "What are you going to do, Valarie? Hit me?" Her top lip curled into a sneer. "Go on, I dare you," she purred with a menacing edge to her voice, leaning closer, getting right into Valarie's face. "I'd love to bring you to heel. Take you to task."
Valarie flinched as if she'd been the one struck. Her resolve faltered. She briefly closed her eyes, and her arm fell to her side as her shoulders sagged, shrinking inwardly once more. She slumped against the wall and her hair fell across her face like a waterfall of midnight.
Smugness gleamed in Laurena's blue eyes. "Didn't think so."
"Miss Wychthorn," I sang out a little too bright and cheerful, as I reached her. I balanced the tray on one hand while I opened the door to her bedroom and held it for her, waiting with an expected expression, hoping she'd leave Valarie alone and retire to her room.
Laurena had one last piece of advice for Valarie before she entered her room. "If you know what's good for you and your family, Valarie Crowther, keep away from my brother."
The Wychthorn Princess sauntered into her bedroom, looking extremely pleased with herself. I shut the door, catching one last glimpse of Valarie. It felt like Laurena had stabbed a thin blade through my heart and brutally twisted it, to see Valarie's heartache and impotent rage she couldn't direct at anyone but herself. She was barely standing up, supported by the hallway wall, staring up at the ceiling as dewy teardrops slid down her pale cheeks. Her bottom lip, as well as her hands, trembled.
But I couldn't stop to comfort her, I had my own sly agenda to attend to first.
The door closed with a soft snick, and I carried the silver tea tray through the large and opulent bedroom with its four-poster bed and gold-leafed loveseat, past the regal fireplace, to the whitewashed square table with its high-backed chairs adorned in the tangled raspberry pattern that Mrs. Deniaud was currently fond of.
Abhorrence for the Wychthorn Princess heated my blood like a forge furnace, but she'd get her comeuppance soon enough, and that at the very least soothed my angered soul that was eager for revenge.
A beautiful and clearly expensive dress in a gaudy pattern of gold and emerald was spread across the bed. No doubt sometime soon, Laurena would have to dress herself, since her servant would be attending the dance, and get ready for the evening Marissa and her mother, Sanela, had planned for everyone.
The sun was lingering low in the sky with the oncoming autumnal twilight. Bright splashes of sunset colors, bursts of rich burnt orange and bronze, poured through the bedroom's windows and played across the dining table. I carefully placed the teapot and teacup in the center of the table's top, lingering and stalling, unsure of what to do next. I needed to ensure Laurena was going to drink her tea.
Laurena padded over to the mirrored duchess and examined her reflection. My own gaze was ensnared and transfixed by her hair. Such long, beautiful golden hair, and that delicate swan-like neck she arched to the side as she combed her fingers through the locks. With a little sigh of contentment, she picked up a tiara—a Wychthorn Princess's Crown—from the duchess and placed it on her head. The diamonds and sapphires glittered and gleamed as she minutely adjusted it to sit perfectly amongst the silken strands.
My mouth dried up and my tongue rasped my bottom lip like sandpaper as I stared wide-eyed at that lovely hair and the delicate wrought-gold crown nestled on her head and how fragile that neck was. I could snap it in two. I could use a pair of dressmaking scissors and hack through the jugular, if not right through to the bone—Snip-snip.
"Tea," Laurena commanded haughtily, not bothering to look in my direction. "With a splash of milk."
I almost jumped, jarred out of my dreamlike state, and half-turned away to shield myself. Picking up the teapot I poured chamomile into the cup, and slipped the tiny vial out of my pocket, covertly untwisting the stopper. I tipped two drops of potion into the hot amber liquid, watching the silver potion dissolve and disappear. Two drops were enough for what I needed. However, I added a third because I certainly wasn't feeling guilty any longer. If Laurena got a little more ill than I'd originally intended, then so what. After the callousness and cruelty I had witnessed outside the bedroom with Valarie, the Wychthorn Princess deserved it and so much more.
I added a splash of milk and stirred the tea with a silver spoon that made a clinking sound when I placed it back on the silver tray. As my fingers reached for the teacup, the bedroom door flung open and slammed against the wall like a thunderclap, startling both of us. Laurena whirled around. Her hair rippled out like liquid gold with the swift movement.
Byron Wychthorn stormed into the room, striding past me, straight up to Laurena. His composure was gone. Anger gouged deep lines around his eyes and mouth, and the flat planes of his cheeks were blotchy red. Unbridled anger chilled his eyes to an icy blue. "What did you say to Valarie?" he bit out.
Laurena cocked her head, blinking innocently. "Whatever do you mean?"
He slashed his hand through the air and the gold cufflinks in his shirt flashed in the rich light of the setting sun. "Don't try that bullshit with me, Rena. I'm your brother. I know what a viper you can be!"
Laurena discarded the innocence like a snake shedding its skin. She straightened her posture, dragging an indolent gaze over her brother before her mouth curled into a sneer. "A Crowther, Byron? Have you lost your mind?"
Neither of them seemed to care or even notice that I was still in the room. It was a part of being a servant's life—I may as well be one of the furniture. I'd overheard other delicate conversations over the years, though this one seemed blunter. The Deniauds were more conscious of who was with them in the room, a factor I supposed of us being part of their household since they actually knew our names. Of late there was certain friction between Marissa's parents, a coolness between them, which was currently whispered down the Servants' Halls that perhaps Romain or Sanela wasn't faithful.
Laurena barked a cold laugh, tossing back her head. Her shoulders shook with her laughter as she flung her hands up. "Valarie Crowther? Of all the women to choose between and you want someone like her?"
"I am the heir. I will be taking on the mantle of Head of Great House Wychthorn in the very near future, and if I want to marry, then I'll marry. And I'll marry whomever I like!"
Laurena jerked her upper body sideways. "If you pick Valarie, we'll be the laughingstock of the Houses."
Byron lunged forward. "I don't care!"
"I do. I care. I'll never allow someone like her to rule!"
"Really?" he snarled, an eyebrow rising. "And just how do you plan to stop me?"
She started moving around him, circling him like a wolf. "I won't, but Father will. He won't stand for it. Father would never, ever, agree to a union between our family and hers. The Crowthers, for gods' sakes, a Lower House of thugs," she spat. "Valarie can barely articulate a sentence. A toddler can speak better—"
Byron stabbed a finger at her and roared, "Don't you dare!"
Laurena flinched. But her unyielding glare didn't abate.
The tension eased, just slightly, as Byron seemed to shove that rage back down. He took a step away, then another, blowing out a pent-up breath. He glanced away, rubbing the back of his hand beneath his square jaw before bringing a gaze haunted with turmoil back to his sister. His voice was much softer and there was a strained note of pleading in his tone. He lifted a hand, palm upward in supplication. "Maybe if you allowed her to speak instead of doing your best to intimidate her, you'd learn just how intelligent and eloquent Valarie actually is."
Laurena too seemed unbalanced by his plea, her cold and hardened gaze wavering with confusion as her features slackened.
I watched him with wide eyes and my heart hammering in my chest as he turned away and rested his hands on the mantle above the fireplace, one leg bent in front of the other which braced his weight. He bowed his head. Dirty-blond hair slid down his forehead with the movement. He sounded weary as if he held the world on his shoulders. "She's real, Laurena," he said quietly, as his fingers squeezed the mantle, pinching white at the first knuckle. "And I want something for myself. When my time comes to pick up the mantle of Head of Great House Wychthorn, I want someone to come home to who is outside all the machinations of the world of Houses, all those godsdamn power shifts, and without having to look over our shoulders, constantly worrying about who's going to stab us in the back. I want someone outside of it—pure of heart and innocent."
Laurena stared at his despairing figure—stunned. She took a hesitant step, her hand lifting, fingertips stretching toward him. And for a moment I thought she heard him as I did, someone who was adrift and trying desperately to keep his head above water, someone who just wanted one thing, one thing to himself. His anguished tone and words had etched themselves across my heart and I felt for him. Our great leader, who was supposed to be carved from stone, unshakeable and solid, was human. He had a heart and he wanted to keep it beating.
Laurena's hand curled into a fist. "You're weak," she hissed. The look she gave him was filled with loathing and disgust. The vehemence in her cruel tone turned my blood to ice.
Byron squeezed his eyes shut. Agony feathered creases in the skin around his eyes and bracketed his thinned lips. It was as if she'd gutted him with a knife. Yet I could tell he'd also expected this response, while at the same time, I was sure there'd been a shred of hope she'd hear him like I had, and that she'd be willing to stand by him.
Byron drew in a deep breath as if to fortify himself, and pushed off the mantle, stiffening his shoulders and spine. When he swiveled his tall body around, gone was any vulnerability on his expression, replaced by unbreakable iron. "Our father won't last much longer and I'll be Head of Great House Wychthorn, so I'd watch yourself and your spiteful tongue, Rena. If I see you upset Valarie one more time, the first thing I'll do when I rule is to cast you out."
I was frozen in place, wondering what to do, whether I should leave the room or stay. But I needed to make sure Laurena drank the tea.
Laurena's lips twitched and thinned, but the cold wrath melted somewhat. She took several steps back, her demeanor softening. She tugged on her dressing gown's belt, unknotting it, then tightened it and tried a different tactic. "Instead of pursuing the Crowther girl, you should be trying to find out what the Pelans are up to."
Byron's blue eyes narrowed as he shifted his posture and shoved a hand into his trouser pocket, instantly distracted. "Father said as much. Aldert Pelan? That creepy little man."
"That he may be, but he's got Master Sirro in his pocket, and our House is locked out of what is going on. It's unheard of." She shook her head as if trying to reconcile that fact. Her fingers deftly retied a bow, and she adjusted the neckline of the Chinese silk robe and smoothed it down to lay flat across her chest. "Whatever secret plan that horrible little man has concocted needs hunters. Lots of hunters. They're gathering others."
My hand clenched around the empty silver vial hidden in my sweaty palm as my gaze bounced between them both. Freddie and myself, and many more...we've always been in danger of exposing ourselves. But now the Horned Gods were after others. My mind raced ahead of itself, running down various tangents of the new directive. If that were true...even the Houses and their families would start turning on one another.
Laurena moved toward me. I picked up the teacup and saucer and offered them to her, conscious of the soft rattling of the cup and the way the tea sloshed from side to side with my trembling hand.
Laurena pinched the teacup's handle in one hand, the saucer in the other. She didn't say thank you. She didn't even notice me at all.
Steam with light floral hints wafted from the cup. She briefly closed her eyes and sniffed the bouquet before taking a sip, then another, and one more.
Turning to face Byron she said, "There's already dynamic shifts between the Houses. And if we aren't careful, we'll lose our grip on our seat. We're already on shaky ground being shut out from whatever is going on in the Carpeallean Mountains. If the Pelans continue playing favorite pet to the Horned Gods, power will slip through our fingers like sand." She took another sip of tea, a much longer one, before continuing, "I won't stand for it. Neither will father. We need to do something now. And right here is the opportunity to get close to Aldert to find out what is going on. Toss this girl aside and do what you're supposed to do—lead."
Without being dismissed, nor waiting to hear Byron's response, I left the pot of tea and the pitcher of milk on the silver tray, and quietly left the room.
As I shut the door I heard Laurena make a slightly pained sound, much like oooer, then belch.
I couldn't help the wide grin.