“But Gemma—” With another gasp, she takes a step back, eyes growing wide. “Wait. Whitespruce Lane. Mrs. Aston told me just today that wolves were spotted there!”
I roll my eyes. “Nina, she only said that so she could spread the gossip about Miss Weathersbee without seeming imprudent.”
“It could be true. Whitespruce goes through the woods, and wolves can be dangerous.”
“Wolves don’t just attack for fun,” I say. “Everything I’ve heard about Faerwyvae suggests this is a lush and plentiful land. If there are wolves, they aren’t some starving, rabid beasts. If any were spotted nearby, they were probably caught going about their daily business.”
Nina doesn’t seem at all placated. “But they could befaewolves.” She saysfaein a whisper, as if the word is a curse.
I give her a pointed look. “You know as well as I do that there are severe penalties for fae attacking humans here.”
“How are you not afraid?” She stomps her foot in frustration. “We still know so little about this isle and the creatures who rule here.”
To be honest, beneath my excitement and relief lies an element of fear. We spent our whole lives thinking the fae were creatures of myth. It wasn’t until we moved to Bretton, which is just across the channel from Faerwyvae, that we learned the mysterious isle is as real as the legends said. And many of the legends were terrifying, describing vicious wars, terrible beasts, deadly bargains. But there were a few accounts that seemed far easier to believe, describing two wars between the humans and the fae. The first ended in a treaty long ago, while the second ended just about twenty years ago after the fae protected the humans from Bretton’s armed forces. This resulted in Faerwyvae’s independence from the mainland, and its perimeter was sealed with magic.
So, yes, I admit I may be a little afraid. And yet, I know the difference between reality and fantasy. From what little experience I’ve had with the fae so far, I find it easier to believe they’re a race of people who ended an unjust war than monsters who steal children in the night.
Besides, at the end of the day, my determination outweighs my fear. It’s what draws me outside to get more books when I’d rather remain locked indoors. It’s what helps me sneak behind Father’s back, sending out job inquiries no matter how much I know he would disapprove. It’s what will take me into the woods tomorrow, seeking my freedom.
Nina must sense my resolve, for she clasps her hands together in a pleading gesture. “At least take an escort.”
“Are you volunteering?”
She pales. “Of course not!I’mnot the crazy one.”
I open my mouth in a mock gasp. “You’d leave your dear old sister to face her doom rather than accompany me?”
She rolls her eyes. “At least take Susan.”
I release a resigned sigh. “Very well. I’ll take Susan.”
She gives me a satisfied nod. “Good. That way when the wolves get you, she can tell everyone where to find your body.”
I try to glare, but it turns into a laugh as she settles back into her seat. We fall into silence, and I pick my book back up. As much as I want to read it, my mind is brimming with thoughts, hopes, and possibilities.
This time tomorrow, I might have a job. Saints above, please make it so.
* * *
I liedwhen I said I’d take Susan. I may trust the maid’s discretion, but that trust only goes so far. I doubt she’d act so strongly against my father’s wishes by escorting me to a job interview in the woods. Luckily, by the time Nina discovers my betrayal, I’ll be back home safe and sound, hopefully with word of my great success. She and Father are already out for the day, with Nina taking tea with her fiancé’s family and Father likely talking business somewhere. Neither are expected back any time soon. It does mean, however, that the carriage is long gone, and I dare not order a driving service. Trusting my family’s own driver would be risky enough, so perhaps it’s for the best I’m walking.
And when I say for the best, I mean it’s the absolute worst. Snow crunching under my boots, soaking the hem of my skirt and coat. I’ve worn my most modest and austere dress, the gray satin patterned with black roses, the bodice covered with ivory lace that reaches the top of my neck. I only hope I look the part. I still can hardly believe I’m about to be interviewed for house steward. The job is similar to the work I’ve done before, managing my former household’s day-to-day, our servants, and our expenses. But that was for a modest dwelling in Bretton. I’m not sure what to expect at thirty-three Whitespruce Lane.
I reach the outskirts of town, grateful that the streets are nearly empty this far from the market square. Seeing the sparser homes and lack of incessant foot traffic almost makes me wish Father would have chosen a house for us out here, and not mere blocks away from the melee of town. Then again, if we lived on the outskirts, I’d have to walk even farther to get to the bookshop, bypass even more people…
I suppress a shudder.
Then an even more sobering thought occurs to me. If I get this job, where will I live? Will Father kick me out at once? Will the job provide room and board? Is there housing a single woman can afford in Vernon?
It’s enough to send a rush of panic to heat my cheeks, but I breathe it away. Such concerns are irrelevant for now. First, I must actuallygetthe job.
The trees at the edge of town come into view. The homes grow even smaller, sparser, the snow less trodden through. Paved roads and sidewalks turn to dirt paths. Thankfully thereisa path, and the one that leads to Whitespruce Lane appears to have had some recent traffic. That comes as a relief, considering Nina’s sensible warnings do occupy a corner of my mind.
I follow the trail to the first copse of trees. Only now does true silence settle around me. If I thought the outskirts of Vernon were quiet, then out here at the mouth of the forest is something else entirely. There is some sound, of course, like the crunch of my boots on snow, the pitter-patter of falling flakes, the rustling of trees. But gone are the sounds of wagon wheels, car horns, horse hooves, and stampedes of chatting people.
Out here it’s…peaceful.
It reminds me of home. Of Isola, where I was raised as a child. The climate may have been opposite of where I am now, but the peace…it’s achingly similar. In Isola, we lived in the country on several acres of land. Mother tended her horses, and Father oversaw the mining operations. Every night, I’d fall asleep to the melodies of coyotes, and in the morning, I’d wake with the silent sun.
