by Shari Cross
“Are you at ease?”
“Yes,” he says with another laugh, and again pulls me tightly into his arms. Now that I’m not looking at his face, I find a trace of bravery.
“Did anyone else come home with you?” I ask, before I have the chance to stop myself. His body stiffens. He knows who I’m asking about.
“No. I came alone.”
I untangle myself from his arms, and turn to face Freyja. I run my hands along the saddle and pretend to fasten it, even though it’s already set for me. I don’t want Gregory to see how much his words hurt me. But of course he knows exactly what I’m avoiding and within seconds he gently turns me around and pulls me back into his arms.
I want to ask Gregory why Drake didn’t come home with him. I want to ask if Drake ever spoke of me, if he missed me as much as I miss him, but the way Gregory is slightly rocking me from side to side, clearly trying to comfort me, tells me that he already knows all too well how much I care about Drake. I don’t want to make it even more obvious by asking questions that, despite their answers, will change nothing. Another round of tears fights its way to my eyes, but I push them back. I won’t cry over Drake again. He made his choice, and it wasn’t me.
“I’m so happy you’re home. I missed you so much.”
“I missed you, too. More than you could know.”
I rise onto my toes and kiss his cheek. “I’m going to go home and rest. Are you coming home now, too?”
“No. I have . . . other business I need to attend to.”
I nod. “I’ll see you at supper, and after you can tell me about how your visit with Mary goes.” He laughs and helps me onto Freyja. But his laughter soon fades.
“Do you think she’ll still have me?” He asks, his voice quiet and apprehensive.
I look down at him and somehow manage a small smile. “Of course she will. You have nothing to worry about.”
I turn Freyja around and head to the road. But I don’t go home. Instead I ride Freyja along the outskirts of the village. I need time alone to breathe and to process everything. I need time to force myself to accept the fact that Drake is never coming back.
* * *
The next couple of weeks pass by in a blur. Everyone in Faygrene is completely preoccupied with Gregory’s return and will speak of nothing else, which has at least taken some of their attention off of what happened to me and to Samuel. But now no one in our family can go anywhere without at least a dozen people stopping us to ask about Gregory and what he has said about Synereal and King Theoderic. I don’t know how Gregory is able to so gracefully handle all the attention. He says he doesn’t mind, that he understands their curiosity, but still, I can’t see how it doesn’t irritate him.
The worst part though, is the girls. Everywhere I go, groups of girls gossip excitedly in corners. When they see me pass, they run up to me and link their arms in mine, as though we’ve been lifelong friends, when in reality none of them have ever wanted anything to do with me, unless they were laughing at the jokes Jacqueline used to make at my expense. So I know they’re only being friendly with me because they want me to put in a good word for them with Gregory. He’ll be presenting someone with a jonquil at the Floret Ball, and they all want it to be them. Some of them ask me if I know who he’s giving the jonquil to. I shrug my shoulders and tell them that we don’t talk about girls. This usually gets them to go away.
But this, of course, is a lie. I know he’ll be giving the jonquil to Mary. Though Gregory didn’t give me many details about their visit, he did say that he felt “hopeful” after seeing her. I also saw Mary a few days ago, and she confirmed that he had been by to see her several times. She wouldn’t give much detail either, but the subtle blush on her cheeks made it obvious that things were definitely not over between them.
Other than our chance meeting, Mary and I haven’t seen much of each other lately, and I’ll admit that I’m the one to blame. We’re still friends, but being around her has become too difficult for me. Before Gregory came home it was still hard, but it was hard for both of us. For her, having to come to Gregory’s home and be reminded of his absence was extremely painful, but she still endured it. The gods know I wouldn’t have. I haven’t stepped foot inside Uncle Geoffrey’s home. Everything already reminds me of Drake. I don’t need to see his empty loft. But Mary’s stronger than I am, and she continued to visit. But now that Gregory’s back, every time I see her I’m reminded that the person she loves came back to her, and I’m still alone and incomplete. I know it’s selfish of me to pull away from her, but the truth is that lately I’ve pulled away from everyone. I don’t have the energy to pretend that everything’s fine, that nothing has changed.
But the reality is I can’t keep going on this way. I have to move on with my life, no matter how impossible it seems. Maybe it can start with a trip into the market, a simple enough feat, but one that I have completely avoided this week so that I wouldn’t have to talk to anyone about Gregory or jonquils or Balls. However, Mother needs thread for an alteration on my gown. She was going to go later, but I’ll offer to go for her. I need to get out of here. As much as I try to deny it, my body craves the fresh air.
As I walk to the market, I can’t help but glance at my woods. Sometimes I see several of Lord Berringer’s guards patrolling the tree line, but not today. “No sign of any hellions,” they’ll say after they’ve taken a quick walk through the woods, and people will go about their day, comforted by the blanket of security the guards provide.
The wind is blowing through the new leaves and scattering the dead ones along the ground in a chaotic dance. I desperately want to go back into the forest, but I can’t bring myself to do it. I haven’t been there since the day of my attack, and every time I move in that direction, my body becomes paralyzed with anxiety. I’m not sure if it’s the memories of the hellion or of Drake that keep me away. Maybe it’s both.
I turn the corner and go down a narrow street. Jacqueline, Antoinette and Isobel are huddled together against the stone wall. Here we go again. I know they’re going to ask about Gregory.
Jacqueline’s annoyingly shrill voice drifts over me as I get closer. “If only Drake had come home. I would have done anything to receive a jonquil from him.”
Drake. Why are they talking about Drake? I duck behind an abandoned street cart before they can see me. My heart is frantic as I strain my ears to listen to their conversation.
“I know. He’s so handsome.” It’s Antoinette’s voice I hear now. “It doesn’t even bother me that he’s an orphan. I would still let him into my bed.” They all laugh at this, their giggles cutting through me, each one its own blade. My hands clench into fists around the hem of my cloak, and I have to remind myself to breathe.
“I thought he wanted Addalynne, with the way he always followed her around. But I guess I was wrong. He would have stayed with her if that were true.”
There it is, the same thing I’ve been thinking. Only this time, hearing it come from Antoinette is debilitating.
“Maybe he did love her and she rejected him. That could be why he left, too,” Isobel says quietly. I always did like her best.
“No.” Jacqueline is quick in her response. “Don’t be absurd, Isobel. Addalynne is strange, but even she wouldn’t reject Drake. He didn’t want her.” Jacqueline’s voice is dismissive. “She probably threw herself at him, desperate to keep his attention. That’s why he followed her into the woods every day. What other reason would he have for wanting to be around her all the time? Only the gods and the birds know what went on in those woods.” Jacqueline’s shrill laugh grates inside my ears and I have to fight every urge in me not to run toward her and rip her hair out. “Besides, if he was in love with Addalynne, then he wouldn’t have kissed me.”
I feel myself trembling as I struggle to push back the onslaught of emotions. This can’t be true. He never would have kissed her.
“When did he kiss you?” Antoinette asks, jealousy sharpening her words.
&nb
sp; “When I went with my father to visit my aunt in Synereal. I saw him in the capital’s market. We started talking and he was very flirtatious, couldn’t keep his hands off me.” More giggles, more knives piercing my heart. “He walked me back to my aunt’s house and when we got there, he pulled me into his arms and kissed me. Then, he told me he hoped he would see me again someday.”
Jacqueline’s confession leaves me drowning with anger and betrayal. In this moment, the only thing I’m aware of is the feel of the pebble in my fingers. I pull myself up, throw it as hard as I can in her direction and then turn and run. Their shouts follow me, and a voice inside my head tells me that what I did was cowardly and childish. I shouldn’t have run. I should have stayed and confronted her. But all I care about is getting as far away from Jacqueline as I can.
I run into Dahlia’s sewing shop, grab the thread and throw the coins on the counter, likely overpaying, but I don’t bother to stay and find out. I feel stares on me as I rush through the market square. The oncoming tears are already stinging the back of my eyes, and the vomit that has risen into my throat leaves a bitter aftertaste when I swallow it back down. I grab my hood and pull it up, not wanting the prying eyes of the people around me to witness my tears, but they don’t come. My eyes remain dry as I blink against the cold, spring wind. Maybe I’ve cried all I can for him, or maybe I’m too angry to cry. I was sick and recovering from my attack, wanting nothing more than Drake, and he was off in Synereal, kissing Jacqueline.
I’m such a fool. In my mind, all I see is him wrapping his arms around her, brushing his lips against hers, and whispering in her ear as she tosses her head back and laughs. These images repeat themselves over and over, making my stomach lurch, and before I know it, I’m vomiting in the bushes. As I stagger to my feet, I tell myself that I really can’t go on like this. I have to move on, and tomorrow night is the perfect opportunity.
Chapter 13
HER
I stare at the floor-length mirror, mesmerized by the girl staring back at me. Though this is the same face I have seen every day of my life, there’s something oddly different tonight. The top half of my dark hair is softly pulled away from my face by a circular ruby hair-pin, leaving the rest falling down my back in loose curls. My eyes are lined with a smudge of black charcoal, making their color striking behind thick, long eyelashes. My cheeks are flushed pink with my nerves, and my lips appear fuller, stained a vibrant red. Even as I pull my bottom lip into my mouth and nervously nip at it, the color doesn’t fade.
Framing my eyes is a delicate golden mask. It’s made from a thin wire that curves and twists to create the appearance of vines. The mask fits so well that it seems as though gold vines have been painted around my eyes and across the top of my cheekbones.
But it’s not my face, mask, or hair that holds my attention—it’s the dress.
The silky red fabric presses flush and low against my chest and is followed by a red fitted bodice that fits tightly on my waist and leads down to a full red skirt. Long, red sleeves drape off my shoulders and cascade well past my wrists. Gold thread is sewn into a swirling pattern along the bottom of my skirt and the cuffs of my sleeves. It’s a gorgeous dress, and it’s hard to believe I’m the girl wearing it.
“Charles won’t be able to take his eyes off you tonight,” Mother says excitedly, as she walks around me, taking in every detail she worked so hard to create. Charles . . . I had forgotten about him. “He won’t be the only one either. There’ll be quite a few young men who want you on their arm.”
Mother really wants me to receive a jonquil. Maybe now I will. The thought makes me sick with anxiety, but I try to tell myself that this is something I want, something I need. Mother stops directly in front of me, holding my face between her hands. “I’m so glad Gregory will be there to look after you.”
“You and Father aren’t coming?”
“No. This night is about you and Gregory.” She drops her hands to her sides and turns to her bed stand. “Your father and I have been to plenty of Balls. Now it’s your turn to enjoy one, without your parents’ prying eyes.” She chuckles while she flips open the lid of her silver jewelry box and rummages through it. “Besides, we don’t want to leave Elizabeth alone.”
“You should go. I can stay with her. I really don’t have to go.”
“Don’t be absurd, Addalynne. Your father and I would never dream of it.” She shuts the lid of the box and turns to face me. “Besides, you look far too beautiful to stay home.” She moves toward me, a coy smile on her lips. “Now turn around.”
I do as she asks and feel something cold and heavy fall against my chest. My mother grabs hold of my shoulders and steers me back toward the mirror. A gold necklace now hangs down my chest, ending with a ruby pendant that sits on top of the curve of my bust. I watch as the scarlet gem rises and falls with my breaths.
“It was your grandmother’s. I wore it to my first Floret Ball. My parents arranged for your uncle and I to visit Faygrene, sending us all the way from Artania in hopes that we would find a match. That was the night I met your father,” she says quietly, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. I turn to face her and she cups my face in her hand. “You have grown into such a beautiful young lady. How did I get so lucky?”
I try to find something to say to her, a way to tell her how much she means to me and how grateful I am to her, but before I get a chance, she gives me a quick kiss on the cheek and ushers me out the front door, insisting I can’t be late.
My stomach spins with trepidation while I wait for the carriage to arrive, my fingers fiddling with the hem of my sleeves. It’s a perfectly clear night, with stars lining the path to the full moon that illuminates the ground with its silver light.
“Gregory hurry!” I shout. I can’t stand waiting out here alone.
Several seconds later the front door finally opens and Gregory walks out. He’s wearing a white shirt underneath a long black leather vest. His black breeches are met at the knee by new, black leather riding boots. There are silver ribbons tied around his elbows, in order to add the right amount of decoration for the festivities.
“Well, if the time I spent away accomplished one thing, it made me forget how impatient you are.”
“Where’s your mask?” I ask, ignoring his words.
Instead of answering me, he pulls his silver mask out of his pocket and secures it to his face, where it covers the area from his eyebrows to his cheekbones, framing his dark eyes.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you fidget like this,” he laughs, as he adjusts his mask. I smile at him and try to take a deep breath.
“I’m honestly fighting the urge to run off and climb a tree right now.” My words make him laugh harder.
“I’d like to see that,” he says, his chuckles slowing down. “Don’t worry. You’re going to have a great time, and if you need me at all, I’ll be there. Don’t hesitate to come to me.”
The carriage pulls up and Gregory helps me inside. Lord Berrenger’s manor is rather close to our home, and on the short ride there, Gregory has to constantly remind me to breathe.
We pull into the drive and my eyes graze over the looming brick manor, though manor might be the wrong word, as its size makes it more akin to a castle. Its grey brick towers stand at least three times taller than the trees, and the manor itself is wider than the entire market of Faygrene.
Every tree in front of the manor is lit with glass lanterns that have been molded into the shape of birds. The candles inside them are flickering, making it seem as though the birds are lightly flapping their wings as they hover in the trees, their lifeless glass eyes set on us.
It’s difficult, but I manage to peel my gaze away from the glass birds and fix it on the grey stone walkway. The edges of the walkway are lined by small, white candles, creating the illusion of stars that have fallen from the night sky. It’s like a dream, and part of me definitely wishes it was.
We climb down from the carriage and make our way to the wooden fr
ont doors. Guards stand at attention beside the entrance. Gregory offers them a slight nod as we pass through the doors, and a young, formally dressed servant secures a white jonquil to Gregory’s vest before allowing us to enter.
The scent of cinnamon floats over us as we step into the Great Hall, and the sound of whimsical music: a mixture of flutes and violins, greets us. A twirling mix of silver and white cloths drape across the high vaulted ceiling and cascade down the tall grey walls. Silver candlelit chandeliers, which are draped with strings of pearls, illuminate the Great Hall, creating a soft glow. I fell as though I’ve stepped into a cloud.
“Are you doing okay?” Gregory leans down and asks. He must sense my unease. I’ve read about lavish parties in books, but I never pictured myself at one. And now that I’m here, I’m not sure what I think. It’s beautiful, but it’s not something I could surround myself with often. It doesn’t make me comfortable, and though it’s crowded with people, I’m left with a feeling of loneliness. If it weren’t for Gregory, I would have a hard time moving forward into the overwhelming extravagance of it all. But his presence gives me the reassurance I need.
“I’m fine.” I answer and we begin to weave our way around familiar and unfamiliar faces. Everywhere we turn there are people spinning, laughing, and drinking, all of them dressed in their most formal garments.
We come to a stop at the edge of the dance floor and I notice that some of the more prestigious men have capes draped over their backs, symbolizing their higher status. I suppose one of them is Charles, though which one I don’t know.
The song changes and the sound draws my attention to an elevated stage, where minstrels are playing their harmonic tunes. The stage stands along the far wall, in front of an immense stone fireplace. Between the minstrel’s cloaks and the oversized flames behind them, they must be uncomfortably warm.
“Should we get some wine?” I ask Gregory, but there’s no response. I look to where he was last standing and find the space empty. I glance through the crowd and see him in the center of the dance floor, holding a girl with long blond hair against his chest. Her back is to me, displaying only her navy dress and her curled hair, but I know it’s Mary. At least one of us will be happy tonight.