“My lady, I’d begun to wonder if you’d taken ill,” she said.
My inability to respond created an awkward silence. Angharad studied my face, revealing a hint of genuine concern.
“It seems I am being avoided.” Angharad lowered her voice, stepping closer. “Have I offended you in some way? Was it the talkof anatomical matters? I have been known to speak too freely, butI assure you it was all meant in friendship.”
The marchioness waited expectantly, placing me in the impossible position of either speaking in Lord Quinn’s presence or appearing deliberately rude to one of the few allies I’d made at court. I gave such a sharp look to the viscount that he took a step back in alarm.
“Lord Navarro,” Winnie interjected with authority. “Perhaps you might allow the ladies a moment of privacy? I shall remain with Lady Chastain, of course.”
Lord Quinn hesitated at her perfect blend of subservience and command, then backed away until he was out of earshot, though his eyes never left me.
By then, Angharad appeared to be losing hope, her confidence melting into vulnerability.
“Please forgive me; it’s been a long few days,” I apologized, clasping Angharad’s hands in mine. “A man came into my bedchambers recently and made an attempt to abduct me. Since then, the prince has assigned Lord Quinn as my protector, and I cannot escape him once I leave my apartment. Believe me, I wanted to see you.”
Angharad’s brow furrowed, her lips parting in dismay, and then all at once, there was such outrage present in her features that she could have combusted. “Surely you jest! Someone tried to take you?!” She stomped her foot. “I am so sorry, and furthermore I am appalled! Aghast! Absolutely gods-damned vexed! Who would dare to do such a thing?!”
I rubbed my neck. “They’re still trying to discern that.”
“Oh!” Angharad grunted, then pulled me into a hug and kissed me on both cheeks. “Be well, Alana. I’m going to put my ear to the ground. If the men of the castle are too inept to solve this mystery, then we shall have to leave it to the women!”
With that, she retreated down the hall until she was out of sight. The viscount coughed to announce his return, tilting his head slightly forward.
“Is it not unwise to withhold secrets from your guardian?” he asked.
I rolled my eyes.
Outside my room, a messenger awaited with a sealed letter from my mother. It detailed my parents’ return to society, including a lengthy description of tribulations that seemed so minor in the face of the castle’s intrigue, save for my parents’ role in curing a particular bout of dysentery that had been plaguing villages around the Greater and Lesser Arbordeen. As I read, I couldn’t help but wonder if these letters would keep coming, or if my parents would recognize me for the burden I was and ease into a cessation of communication. The possibility hurt, but should such a thing come to pass, I could hardly blame them for it.
Winnie tore her way around my room, preparing a bath and loudly sorting through my clothes for some idea of the next day’s outfit. Her distress was plain; the woman always had my ensemble picked out in advance, always maintained some psychic connection with the wardrobe. When I at last pulled my attention away from the letter, it seemed as though an animal had made a nest in Winnie’s hair, and that animal might well have been Winnie herself, judging by the unhinged look in her eyes. Her usually-perfect chignon now had strands escaping in every direction, giving her a feral appearance.
“Is everything well, Winnie?” I asked.
“You tell me, my lady,” Winnie retorted, some perplexing bitterness laced into her words. She practiced a few breaths before retreating. “I apologize. I suppose I am…concerned…for you.”
I cocked my head to the side. The bathtub beckoned with steaming water and scented oils. “Whatever for?”
“It seems to me that you lose your wits around certain members of court,” Winnie explained, taking her time so that whatever seethed inside of her wouldn’t boil over. Her shoulders drooped. “Perhaps my frustration is undue, but it does make the task of your mentorship quite the trial when you will not speak up.”
“Winnie—”
“Oh, don’t ‘Winnie’ me,” she scolded. “I amLadyWinnie until you place yourtrust in me.”
Shutting off the water, Winnie came to me and assisted in my undressing. I bit my tongue until every article of clothing was put away. If I could be fully naked before this woman, then the truth could be just as bare.
“Winnie,”I insisted, stepping into the bath. I submerged myself slowly in its heat; I still wasn’t sure if I would ever grow accustomed to the feeling. “Sit down.”
Still snarling, Winnie did as she was told, but curiosity betrayed her glower.Den of serpents,I reminded myself as I considered telling the truth, reassessing my lady-in-waiting.But not her.
“I’m going to tell you a story,” I decided, reclining my head. My mending shoulder ached in the weightlessness of the water. “And it is terribly sad, so I suggest readying a handkerchief.”
“Spare me.”
“Fine.” Any lightheartedness sobered on her demand. “What do you know of magic, Winnie?”
Winnie leaned incrementally closer as I told her everything. Each word felt like opening a vein; I kept looking at her, expecting to find fear or anger, but her expression remained absolutely tempered.
I could remember my first time hearing the story, in softer details, at the tender age of five—my father revealing why it was justus, why I couldn’t see the world beyond, and my mother’s shadowed face as she sat beside the hearth in contemplation of what life had once been.
