“Tomorrow, then,” Rowan said, and turning, she made her way back down the path, her cousin, cloaked in cherry and crimson-lipped, watching as she went.
Back at home, Rowan found Emily busily preparing her mother’s old wing for guests.
“Who’s coming?” she asked, but Emily just raised her hands and shook her head.
“He’s not telling me a thing. He seems very anxious that everything be perfect. He says he even wants Pema kept in the kennel while they’re here.”
“What?” Rowan was shocked. “No. It’s too cold for her out there.”
“That’s what I said, and he nearly snapped my head off. He says she can’t stay in my room because it’s too close to the guests, and he fears she’ll disturb them. You’d better talk to him yourself if you want something done about it.”
“Where is Pema now?”
Emily put her hand on her hip, her eyes wide, revealing how ridiculous she felt the whole thing was. “I had to chain her up out there, didn’t I? I didn’t want to. I warmed some towels for her, but I still don’t think it’s a good idea. Like I said, he’s not going to listen to me. You go talk to him.”
Rowan took the back stairs two at a time and, running through the kitchen and out to the kennel, she wrenched open the door. Pema lay shivering on the cold ground. Emily had done her best to try to keep the dog warm. She’d put down towels like she’d said, but Pema had bunched them up at the edge of the cage, and she lay shivering at the other end. When she saw Rowan, she scrambled to her feet and bounded over to the girl, licking her hands and putting her paws on Rowan’s shoulders, though Henry Rose usually scolded her for doing that.
“Come on, girl,” Rowan said, leading her back into the house. The dog scrambled off, bounding up the stairs, presumably to the comfort of Emily’s bed, and Rowan headed down the hall to her father’s office.
She pushed open the door without knocking, startling Henry Rose, who quickly shut his book and slid something into his top drawer.
“Rowan,” he said, trying to hide his shock at having been interrupted.
“I should have knocked,” she said, taking a step back. “I’m sorry I didn’t. I wasn’t thinking, I suppose. I was so upset, you see.”
Her father stood, alarmed. “What’s wrong, my child?”
“I’ve found Pema out in the kennel, although it’s clearly too cold for her to be there.”
“Is it?” he asked, seeming genuinely surprised. “I had Emily put her out there. Don’t be cross with her. It was at my bidding.”
“The fact remains that she can’t stay out there. She can stay in my room. I’ll keep her in there if you want while your guests are here.”
Henry Rose stroked his chin. He was nervous, she realized. Rowan wasn’t sure she’d ever seen him nervous before. “Mmm. I see. Yes, I suppose that would work. I’m sorry for not taking the weather into account. I have been distracted, what with the guests coming.”
Rowan cocked her head. “Who are they, Father? Who is coming?”
He smiled, though the tension did not drain from his face. “You mean, you haven’t heard already? I thought it would be all over the village by now. Why, the duke himself is coming.”
“The queen’s brother?” Rowan asked, unable to keep the surprise from her voice, for Nag’s End had never hosted anyone of such high stature. “Coming here? But why?”
“I invited him. You will remember that he is not just the queen’s brother. He is also the king’s conservateur. He was eager to discuss some of the work I sent him, and when he heard about the death of the king’s soldiers, he offered to come to Nag’s End and serve as royal representative.”
“But why is he staying with us?”
“Where else is he going to stay? At the inn?” her father laughed, unable to keep the unkind note from his voice. “No, ours is the only home fit for a member of the royal family. They will be staying with us.”
“They?”
“Yes,” he said, stacking some papers. “His ward is accompanying him. It seems Nag’s End is to serve as a geography lesson of sorts. She’s eleven—a little young for you, I know, but perhaps she’ll be a friend nonetheless. We’ll have to keep her occupied while she’s here.”
“When will they be arriving?”
“Late this evening, I expect. I will meet with him first thing in the morning, and I’m told the girl will need to rest in, so it is best if you keep yourself occupied tomorrow. Go early to the market, will you?”
Rowan nodded, smiling at the thought of a young guest.
“And tell Emily no listening at doors. Better yet, give her the day off. She can go visit with that boy of hers … Bill.”
“I’ll tell her. Oh, Father, how exciting this all is!” Rowan could barely keep herself from clapping like a child.
“Yes,” he said, his voice straining. “Yes, it is that.” And then he returned to stacking his papers, already occupied with plans for the morrow.
Rowan could hardly contain herself as she bounded up the stairs to her room. The duke conservateur coming here to Nag’s End. She could hardly believe it. Rowan felt excitement building in her chest. The queen’s brother in their house! And his ward as well! The idea of having the younger houseguest thrilled her. She had always wanted a little sister, someone to comfort and to guide. Since she was small, she had, in fact, always felt that something was missing from her life, as if she were constantly reaching for someone who wasn’t there.
After retrieving Pema’s food and water, she headed to her room to make a space for the dog up there, and then set herself up at her desk and began on her next stack of translations. She’d meant only to work for a short while, but time had a habit of slipping away from her, and when she happened to glance up again, she saw the dying of the light and realized that she had yet to speak with Tom. After putting away her papers, she took the stairs two at a time, but as she slipped on her cloak, she found her heart suddenly heavy with the task at hand. She had a suspicion that this meeting she had arranged between Tom and Fiona might mean losing Tom forever, and yet she knew she couldn’t bring herself to deny him his happiness.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Emily called as Rowan started out the door.
“Over to the inn.”
“At this hour?” Emily raised her eyebrows and tucked her chin in disapproval.
“I’ll be back soon,” Rowan said, rolling her eyes.
“Don’t stray from that path,” Emily said. She turned then, and before sauntering back to the kitchen, she added, “This close to dark, forest things’ll snatch a girl before you can say crow’s eyes.”
Jude sat on the stairs listening to the men talk. When his father had seen the elders approaching, he had closed the place down and sent the boys out on errands, but Jude did not go. Instead, he waited for Tom to leave and then settled in on the back stairs high up enough that he might be hidden in the shadows and yet still see all below. He did not consider his father a smart man, but he was a good man, and Jude distrusted the elders.
Paer Jorgen, who was the most senior of the elders, stroked his beard and looked at his fellows.
“As we told you earlier, Goi Parstle, we are concerned about the safety of your clan. We have consulted the bones, and we have conferred with the witches, and there seems to be a darkness over this house.”
“What?” Jude’s father said, taken aback. “But mine is an honest house.”
“We know this. It is why we’ve come here to speak with you this evening. We fear the impending visit from the duke. We worry for you.”
“But why me? What does the duke have to do with me?”
Paer Jorgen nodded. “Only that he is coming here to look into the deaths of those soldiers up on Beggar’s Drift, and our oracles point to something evil within our village, here, of all places, at your inn.”
“But I have committed no crime.”
Ollen Bittern cleared his throat. “You must understand, we know that none in your house is g
uilty of any crime, but we feel the need to warn you that every oracle we consulted seemed to refer us back to this house.”
Wilhelm’s voice shook when he spoke again. “What does Mama Lune say? Surely she must know my house is clean.”
“Not exactly,” Paer Jorgen said. “She held that you were a good man, and that it was unlikely you’d have done any wrong, and yet she sensed it too—something within these walls, something wicked. We worry that the duke may launch a formal death inquiry, and if he does, I fear we will have to tell him what our oracles have seen. Whether he accepts oracular truth or not, it is our way to let it be known—we are compelled to display the evidence.”
From the darkness of the stairs, Jude saw what his father refused to see. If the oracles said there was something base beneath their roof, then perhaps there was, but that didn’t have to mean it concerned their family. Theirs was a public place, a tavern frequented by all in the village. Perhaps there was an evil in their home, but if there was, it was a visitor to their hall, not a family member. He decided that from now on he must keep an eye on the door, and an ear to the ground.
Wilhelm Parstle swallowed, and when he spoke, his voice quavered with anger. “Are you implying that I, or one of my boys … that we murdered those soldiers?”
“Of course not. The very idea that we are looking for a man is absurd,” said Paer Jorgen, unable to keep the disdain from his voice. “I was up on that mountain. I saw those poor souls. There’s not a man alive capable of such brutality. It was the work of an animal—I’ll not hear any different.”
Ollen Bittern nodded. “We do not doubt you. We only tell you that the bones led us to your door.”
“Well.” Wilhelm sighed and ran a hand through his thick hair. “What do you suggest we do?”
“For now we do nothing. Perhaps the duke will make a quick assessment of mauling and exposure, respectively, and be on his way. This is what we hope,” said Draeden Faez. “But we are pleading with you. If you, or anyone in this house, know what it is that the oracle points to, then we beg you to speak up. All of our lives are at risk.”
Wilhelm nodded. “I will ask my boys about it, but I’m sure neither of them will know.”
Jude had heard enough. He stood, and making barely a noise, he descended from his hiding place and left through the back door, the cold night air pulsing against his lips.
Snow was falling steadily as Rowan walked over to the tavern, and the hollowness of her heart did little to protect her from the cold.
Shivering, she tried the tavern door but found it locked, which was unusual for suppertime. She peered in the window, but all was dark inside. Walking round the back, she heard someone cough and she froze. It was Jude’s cough—she would know it anywhere. Years ago she’d learned to recognize any signs that Jude might be nearby. He was a year older than she was, but she was so small that he’d always seemed much older than that to her, and while she knew he was harmless, there was something vaguely frightening to her about that sly smile he always wore when he looked off into the distance as if she weren’t there. If it had simply been that he ignored her, that would have been fine, but he didn’t ignore her—no matter what he might pretend—because he always seemed to know things about her that no one else did.
When she rounded the corner, she saw him sitting on the low stone wall at the edge of the forest. He was carving something, his hair falling over his eyes.
“The tavern’s locked,” he said without looking up. “Father’s in a meeting. He should open it again soon, I’d imagine.”
As usual, her heart stopped when she saw him. There was no denying that Jude was handsome, but she didn’t understand him, and something about him always made her nervous.
“That dress doesn’t fit you,” he continued, his eyes still on his work. She could see that he was smiling.
“Yes, it does,” she said, trying not to stumble over her words.
“Look at you, you’re swimming in it.”
“It’s none of your business how my dress fits,” she said, unable to disguise her irritation.
He shrugged, still not looking at her. “I’m just trying to be helpful.”
“Thanks, Jude. You’re always so helpful. Is Tom around?”
“He’ll be back soon,” Jude answered. “He went to drop some things off to the Widow Bardell.”
Rowan stood there, not knowing what to do with herself. The inn was practically her home, but she never knew how to hold herself around Jude.
“Do you mind if I wait here?” she said, feeling an idiot for asking, weak for not demanding her place.
“Suit yourself,” he said, still focused on his whittling, the knife sliding slowly down the length of the wood.
She walked to the edge of the wall and sat down as far from Jude as she could.
“You have news, then?” he asked.
“Excuse me?”
“For Tom,” Jude said. “You have news, I can tell. It’s good news, I presume.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sure you do. Fiona Eira, the girl he can’t stop talking about. You’ve been to see her.”
“How do you know that?” she asked, wary.
“Because there’s something different about you,” he said, still refusing to look at her, as if she didn’t merit his attention. “You’re sad. You’re never sad. And you would only be sad if you’d been to see her and you had good news for Tom.”
She stood up, her body feeling suddenly frail, as if she were composed of only brittle bones and weak tendons ready to snap at a single blow from Jude.
“I’m not sad,” she said. “And I don’t look different. How would you even know when you’ve refused to so much as look at me?”
With that, he grinned and looked up at her, his heavy eyes lit with a boyish beauty. “Ah, Rowan. When will you ever learn?” Then he shook his head and went back to his work.
Staring at him, she felt rage burning in her chest. How was it that he could make her so angry? How was it that he always seemed to know how she felt without her saying a word? It was unfair. He had no right to her feelings. Her temper getting the better of her, she strode over to him, her hands clenched into fists, and took a single wretched swing at him. The force she’d put behind the blow was intense, but she never connected, for he caught her forearm gently in his hand, and looking deep into her eyes, he held her gaze.
“You’re making a mistake,” he said.
She wrenched her arm away from him and smoothed down the sleeve of her cloak.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she sneered, unwilling to let him see any more of her heart. “I’ve just come round to speak with Tom like I always do.”
“Why? Why are you trying to marry him off? Surely that can’t be in your best interest.”
“Jude, you’re not making any sense,” she said, changing tack and feigning concern. “Have you been at your mother’s ale again?”
“No, I’m just observant,” he said, something like kindness in his eyes. Rowan recoiled at that more than she would have from a blow. Kindness from Jude was disorienting, and it could mean many things, but she was sure that sincerity wasn’t one of them.
She took a step back but was unable to look away from him. His gaze seemed to pull her closer, to see deep within her. She wondered just how much he knew. “Why wouldn’t I want Tom to marry?” she asked, testing him.
“Do you want me to say it?” He raised his eyebrows. “Out loud?”
She opened her mouth to speak but found that the words refused to come.
“I don’t think you do,” he said, and shaking his head, he broke eye contact and went back to his whittling. “I don’t think you want me to say it.”
She stood there, breathless. Her cheeks began to burn, and she started to feel that familiar dizziness that usually accompanied making the mistake of engaging with Jude at all. It was always the same. She knew he meant to make her uncomfortable, and that was the p
ain of it all. He always succeeded.
Turning on her heel, she walked away with short determined steps, all the while looking at her feet.
“Don’t go,” he said, and she could hear him stand up.
She turned, fighting back the tears, and saw him standing there, arms out to the sides, something like regret in his eyes.
“Rowan,” he said. “I was only teasing. Don’t act like that.”
“Don’t tell me how to behave. I will act how I want to act, and I will feel how I want to feel.”
“Don’t go,” he said, his voice cracking. “Listen, I’ll go, okay? You can wait here for Tom.”
He didn’t wait for her reply. He climbed over the wall and walked away, slowly disappearing into the trees.
Rowan stood there a moment, watching Jude go, wondering how two brothers could be so completely different.
Then, as she always did when she was nervous, Rowan began to pace, slow steps, her small black boots sinking into the snow. She liked to count her steps … fourteen, fifteen, sixteen …
Somehow things didn’t have to be so bad. It wasn’t as if the world were ending or anything like that. Tom liked a girl and the girl liked him back. A beautiful girl, yes, a bewitching girl, true, but that didn’t have to mean anything so bad. Maybe he would get to know Fiona, and he would find her tiresome.
Seventeen, eighteen, nineteen …
Or maybe he would marry her.
And then there was a snap, a crack far out among the trees, and she found herself slowly backing away from the forest edge, staring into the darkness therein with eyes that didn’t want to see. Surely, she thought, it was only a rabbit or a deer, but maybe it wasn’t the right time to tell Tom after all. She found herself moving quickly out of the empty yard, back toward the sound of drunken voices on the other side of the inn. Soon she was out in the open again, Joel Proudy and Sarah Unger up ahead, laughing and smoking pipes. Rowan’s shoulders, which she hadn’t realized she’d been holding high and tensed, relaxed, and she fell into a comfortable stride, hoping the nascent and unexpected fear did not show on her face. Yes, Tom could wait. It was best to get home. It was best to get indoors.
The Glass Casket Page 6