The hallway dims, then goes dark entirely, and the last thing I hear is my second-in-command calling my name.
Chapter One
Ingrid
The smell of fresh hay envelops me like a comforting hug as I step into the stables. My favorite mare pokes her head over the stall door and whinnies a greeting.
"Keeping yourself out of trouble, Violet? Goodness knows I don’t need more," I say on my way to grab an apple fromfrom the basket by the door. She snorts in response, munching away without a care.
The other horses start to perk up, their ears twitching, eyes bright with anticipation of the daily treats I bring once my chores are done. Animals are easier to understand than people. More even-tempered, too.
“Everyone present and accounted for,” I say with a sigh of relief after counting the horses. At least Phillip hasn’t decided to run off with one today; that’s one trouble averted, though I know my luck can’t hold out for long. That worry’s confirmed when I spot my brother's coat carelessly draped over the railing of one stall. My breath halts, the first fingers of dread prickling at the nape of my neck.
It's too cold for him to be out on an errand without his coat. He's never been careless enough to leave it in the stables before,but there's always a first time, right? Probably got distracted with Lord Amond’s niece Ella again.
Phillip's fine. He's always fine. Even when he shouldn't be.
I snatch up his coat, my visit with the horses forgotten, and head back to the manor. On my way, I ask one of the stable hands, only to be met with a shrug. Winding my way through the corridors, I pause here and there to ask if anyone’s seen my brother.
“Tall? Skinny? Looks like trouble?” I ask the cook who barely looks up from the pies she’s stuffing. She answers with a shake of her head.
In the atrium, where he’s usually stealing a bloom for Ella, I ask the same question of the woman arranging flowers. “Lady Amond didn't send him off to town at this hour, did she?” I ask, softly petting Phillip's coat the way I’d stroke his hair when he's feverish.
“No,” she says. “I haven't seen him.” The tangle in my stomach winds tighter, colder, my nerves and my gut twisting, fighting against my best efforts to reassure myself.
By the time I’ve covered every inch of the grounds and arrived back at the barn, I’m repeating the question to the sheep and chickens. Ifthey could speak, they might be able to tell me what trouble Phillip has gotten himself into this time. I pull my arms tighter around myself as the sky grows dim.
“Please, let him be all right,” I murmur into the wind.
Crying. I hear it faintly as I retrace my steps, cutting across the grazing field to get back to the manor as fast as I can. Halfway up the hill, I stop in my tracks. I’m not proud to say that for one brief, selfish moment, I hesitate, tempted to ignore thecries—there will be time to help others when I know Phillip is safe. There will be time to breathe when I see him again.
Guilt washes over me before I can even really consider it, and I’m already on my way, already turning toward the wailing, pushing aside the stone and ice in my gut. My chest tightens when I spot the poor girl huddled in the garden against the steps of the shed.
“Ella, what's happened?” I ask, crouching beside the Lord's niece, placing a steady hand on her shoulder. Her cries soften with the familiarity of my voice but her body still shakes, and the sniffles don’t stop. “It’s all right,” I say, soothing, but unsure. I give her shoulder a little squeeze. “Whatever's happened, we'll work through it.”
She looks up, eyes red, face streaked with tears. Even now, she's a natural beauty; it's no wonder why Phillip's so smitten—or why her uncle is so protective of her. I hold her close, my heart pounding in my chest. Her hair’s a wild mess, and her dress is dirty and torn at the hem.Phillip wouldn’t leave her in such a state. He wouldn’t have let her cry like this. The thought sends a jolt of worry through me, and I cradle her tighter.
As Ella's sobs subside, I hold her at arm’s length, wiping her red-rimmed eyes with my thumb and catching a bit of snot with my cuff. I should have been here. I should have been looking after them.
“What is it?” I ask gently, hoping for both their sakes it’s just a petty little spat between young lovers and nothing like the serious trouble I suspect. “What’s gotten you so worked up?”
“It’s—” Ella stops, gasping through another round of sobs. “It’s—he’s been—” Her words dissolve into a mess of tears and sobbing, and I pat her on the back. I take a quick peek toward themanor, telling myself there’s plenty of time, that I’m not going to hear something dreadful when I get there.
I hand her a rag from my apron. “Just take a breath,” I say as she snuffles into it. “Let’s see if we can make sense of this.” I pray Phillip isn't the cause of these tears, and the thought makes the gnawing worry bite harder, taking chunks from my heart with every nightmare scenario I consider. But I wait, saying nothing as she calms herself a little, giving her the time she needs.
“He's gone,” she finally gets out.
My stomach lurches at that word. “Who?” I ask.
The girl trembles as she clutches my hand, tears pooling again in her bloodshot eyes. “Phillip.”
I inhale so sharply it stings.
She must see the shock on my face because she rushes to explain, her words punctuated with half-chokes and gasps.
“It’s not what he says,” she whimpers. “I just... I just wanted to get my father’s blessing, and I thought we had more time.” Her cries intensify. “But he won't listen. The Judge...he...”
A chasm of fear, panic, and cold realization yawns open inside me. It’s worse than I imagined. Far worse.
