“Plants don’t tell me to shut up,” I mumble as Eileen ushers me to the covered walkway at the edge of the garden. For someone whose job is to attend tomyneeds, she sure is opinionated.
“Was it Lord Yarrow again? I don’t know why you still associate with his son. The way his father treats you is abhorrent.”
“Miles isn’t like his father,” I say. “We aren’t our parents.”
“I think you’re more like your mother than you remember,” Eileen offers with a knowing smile. “I also think the gods have big things planned for your future, Ivy. Try not to miss it.”
“How could she miss something that looks this good?” Miles Yarrow steps out of the archway that leads back into the manor’s main hall, arms outstretched as he turns in an exaggerated circle. “Come on, Ive. You’re going to miss your own birthday dinner.”
“You’ll never find a husband while you associate with him,” Eileen chides as she takes the umbrella and departs for the dining room.
“Good thing I’m not looking for one!” I call after her.
My father would never dream of betrothing me against my will, but Eileen would have me married off before sunrise if she was governor. A fact that she has told me many, many times.
Miles, son of the man who is a perpetual thorn in my side, is an integral member of the trio that is the subject of much of the Emerald Region’s gossip. Made up of an unruly, unwanted heirand the oldest children of powerful nobles, Miles Yarrow, Quinn Bartlett, and I have a knack for igniting rumors that spread like wildfire through the circles of the elite.
“Well … aren’t you going to tell me how good I look? This is a new jacket.” Miles smiles, puffing his shoulders and tugging on the fabric like a preening bird.
The rich embroidery of golden thread across the emerald lapels is a perfect complement to his sandy blonde hair. He’s an irrefutably handsome man. Women fall over themselves for a single night with him and he is more than happy to oblige. He’s an absolute rake and the brother that I never had.
“Not until you tell me how good I look.” I smile, already knowing that ‘good’isn’t an adjective I would use to describe myself at the moment.
“Let’s see …” Miles circles me as he takes in my disheveled appearance. “You haven’t slept in days, you’ve clearly been tugging on your hair … likely out of frustration over something my father said … butdamnyour ass looks good in leather pants.”
“Thank you for finding at least one nice thing to say about me,” I joke, swatting his shoulder as finishes his assessment. “I’ll consider that my birthday present.”
“Oh no, I’ve got a much better birthday present for you. A piece of scorching hot gossip fresh out of the oven. You’ll never guess who?—”
“Whatever piece of undoubtedly scandalous information you’re about to share with my daughter will need to wait, Lord Miles.”
My father, now dressed in his finest suit, steps out of the archway. The emerald velvet jacket is cut perfectly to fit him and I can nearly see my reflection in his overly polished shoes from across the way. He stifles the same cough with a new handkerchief, fresh crimson spots bright against the crisp, white fabric.
“I’m off to rearrange place cards.” Miles winks at me before bowing to my father and disappearing down the hall.
Lightning flashes overhead in the sky. The thunderous clap that follows hides the clack of the wooden cane my father uses to close the distance between us. Something he has refused to use before today.
“I don’t like leaving you in this condition, Father.”
“You worry too much, Ivy. Death comes when he’s ready, not when we are, my flower.”
“I believe you’re right. And I believe our guests are also ready, Governor.” I wrap my arm through his, squeezing gently to savor what may very well be one of our last memories together.
I don’t tell him that I believe Death is ready for us both, because to tell him that would require the true story about what happened that day in the sea. Divulging the secret of my power is an unnecessary complication that would serve no purpose but to ruin the limited time we have left.
If he suspected that I had magic, he never once mentioned it. I walked that harrowing journey alone, just as I will this one.
CHAPTER 2
The walk down the hallway to the dining room takes twice as long as it should. We both pretend not to notice when the cane snags repeatedly on the plush runner that covers the stone floor.
When a member of the staff brushes past us with an empty tray, my father thrusts the cane into her hands, mumbling swears about wretched walking aids and curses from gods. She has barely departed with his cane when a drunken man decked out in full Corinthian military regalia stumbles into our path.
Lieutenant Williams reeks of whiskey and stale piss. The gold accents on his gray jacket are tarnished, his shoes scuffed and muddy.
“Gov’ner!” Williams calls out much too loudly. “I want to …. to wish … birthday. Happy birthdaaaay … to youuuu.”
“It’s my birthday, Lieutenant. And you are drunk …again.” I lift a hand to flag down two approaching guards.
