“All right then. Micah, it is. My name is Gemma.”
The knock raps on the door again, harder, and the boy rushes out. This time, I’m locked in the room with the lights left on.
Alone, I ponder over the conversation, my mind whirling to make sense of it all. The boy—or Micah, as I’ve named him—has given me a lot to think about while adding so many more questions. I’m certain if we speak more, I can glean something to use as leverage to get me out of here. Primarily, I need to know more about this supposed curse and if the alpha of this pack truly is the king. Both make for unsettling complications, but ones I must understand if I’m to navigate them. For Iwillnavigate them. If I can save my family from poverty using some simple calculations and the execution of a solid plan, then I can escape…whatever this is.
For starters, it’s time to get out of these damn ropes.
9
My conversation with Micah was just what I needed to clear my head. Uncertainty still looms over me, and fear continues to rake its claws down my back, but at least the boy has shown me that the fae can be reasoned with. At least a hungry fae who likes bread. That means there’s hope for the others, right?
With my determination fueling my resolve, I twist my wrists in my too-loose bindings, shifting my arms, my shoulders, until finally, the ropes fall away. I shake out my arms, massaging my wrists, and then begin worrying at the knots in the ropes around my ankles. Once those are freed, I rise on unsteady feet, my muscles screaming in protest with every move. I wince as pain pinches my toes, and when I try to take a step, my feet make a squelching sound in my shoes.
With a groan, I sit back down and unlace my boots, then peel off my soaked hose. I shudder, the cold further seeping in from my damp dress. Glancing around the room, I find no sign of my coat. Only then do I recall taking it off to stanch the white wolf’s false wound.
Well, if these crazed wolf fae are trying to kill me, then this is certainly one way to get the job done. Without a fire and dry clothes, I’ll surely get hypothermia. The thought quickens my pulse.
On bare feet, I cross the room to the wardrobe and fling open the doors. I have very low expectations that I’ll find anything useful inside, so I’m pleasantly surprised when I find it stocked with a gray wool cloak and three dresses. They smell slightly musty, but upon further inspection, they appear in good condition. The cloak is long and thick, basically begging me to wear it. I remove it from the hanger, then turn my attention to the dresses. My hands fall on the fabric of the first, and I pause, taken aback by the softness beneath my fingers. Perhaps I’m just cold and anything would feel luxurious, but I can’t help puzzling over the smoothness of the fabric. The style of the dress is unfamiliar as well, with its long, flowing, multilayered skirts, the long sleeves that flare out at the wrists. The bodice is loose and low-cut both front and back and doesn’t seem designed to wear with a corset. Despite its strange and elegant style, the color is a dark green and unadorned with lace or frills, giving me the impression of something meant for daily wear.
A glance at the other two dresses tells me both are similar to the first but in differing shades of green. Without a second thought, I take the first from the hanger and strip out of my wet dress and corset as quickly as possible. My bare skin pebbles as the cool air of the room meets my flesh, but relief comes as soon as the new dress is over my head. Luckily, I don’t require assistance to finish dressing, unlike with the gowns I normally wear, and can easily reach the closures at my lower back. Despite the loose design of the dress, the fit is a little tight, but I can hardly find it in me to care. Not when the layers of silky-smooth fabric hug me in a blanket of warmth. Next comes the cloak, which I secure over my shoulders with a gold leaf-shaped clasp.
Fully dressed, I close my eyes and release a sigh. At least now I can panic less about hypothermia. I’m not sure how the wolves will react to me sneaking around and taking liberties with the wardrobe, but that’s not my biggest problem right now, is it? Right now, I must take inventory and make note of my assets.
I have a room and dry clothes,I think as I stalk the perimeter of the bedroom.I’ve been given food and water. And I’m in the process of making Micah my ally. If they’re feeding me, they probably don’t intend to kill me. Yet.
I reach the bureau and rifle through the drawers, hoping for some kind of weapon. Even a letter opener will do, but no such luck. All I find is paper. Not even the pen was left behind.
I abandon the bureau and examine the hearth, which is empty and without any means to start a fire. Then I inspect the bed, looking beneath it and behind the pillows. I can’t help thinking about the stories where the captured heroine makes a grand escape utilizing a rope of tied-together sheets. Considering the length and thickness of the two sheets, the brocade-covered down blanket, and the wool throw, I’d have to hope for a very short drop to traverse if I’m to have any luck with that.
This thought brings me to the two windows next. I throw open the curtains of both and gaze out the second. My first glance through the frosted glass tosses all ideas of escape straight into the refuse bin, for the distance from here to the ground is frightening indeed. I must be up three stories high. There are no ledges or trees to climb upon, and the ground below is solid snow-dusted stone that makes up part of a garden path.
My heart sinks. No fairytale blanket rope escape for me, it seems.
Next, I assess the daylight and try to glean what time it might be. I left my house shortly after nine this morning, but the bright, cloudy sky looks much the same as it did then. Without any outdoor navigational skill, I can only guess it’s late morning. Noon, perhaps. I feel a subtle relief at that. If it’s still early in the day, then maybe Father and Nina have yet to return home. There’s still a chance I can get free of this place before they find out anything is amiss. Before Father learns of my mistake and strips me of my allowance for good. Before he decides to marry me off and be rid of me. Before all hope of getting a job is lost to me forever, as well as earning my independence and freedom. Before—
I shake the worries from my mind. There are more immediate concerns to deal with.
I’m about to turn away from the window when my attention snags on the more distant view. Beneath the cloudy sky sprawl emerald mountains dusted with pure white snow. Closer in proximity, I see the tops of tall, elegant trees. On my walk here, I hadn’t realized just how high up Whitespruce Lane had taken me. While I certainly hadn’t crested a mountain, I had journeyed far deeper and higher than I realized, providing a startlingly beautiful view of the mountains that normally serve as nothing more than a dull backdrop to the town of Vernon.
Here, it’s so much more than a backdrop. It’s an all-encompassing centerpiece.
Just like when I first stepped into the quiet woods this morning, the same feeling of peace settles over me. I’m so used to looking out my window and feeling my stomach clench, my heart race, nausea churning my gut when I consider the conversations that are always humming through the streets of Vernon. But here…it’s nothing like that. No gossip. No carriage wheels or automobiles. Just vast empty silence. Calm, dense wilderness.
Dangerous wilderness, I remind myself, forcing my wistful feeling away.
I pull my investigation back to the garden, startled when I catch sight of movement. Squinting through the frost, I try to peer closer, then abandon this window for the other. There I’m given a better view, and I see a figure standing at the far end of the garden where overgrown brambles surround a small courtyard. A fleck of red hints at a rose hidden beneath the snow. Near this splotch of red, the figure takes a seat on a stone bench. I can’t tell for certain, but the broad-shouldered build and dark golden-brown head of hair make me wonder if it’s the alpha—this supposedkingfellow. Whoever it is sits hunched over, head low, elbows propped on his thighs. Could that be…defeat in his posture?
I narrow my eyes, squinting—
His head swings to the side, toward me, and I quickly dart away from the window and behind the wall. My breaths quicken, pulse racing, although he couldn’t have been looking at me, could he? For several moments, all I can do is close my eyes and try to steady my breathing. Once I’ve recovered my composure, I slowly creep back to the window, keeping most of my body out of sight. But when I return my gaze to the courtyard, there’s no one there. I release a sigh, but my relief is short lived. His absence is likely more condemning than if he’d still been there, for it suggests he truly had spotted me and is on his way to tie me back to the chair. Or worse.
I bite my lip, eyes darting around the room. No escape. No weapon. I think of securing myself back in the chair and pretending I haven’t freed myself, but my change of clothing foils that guise. And there’s no way I’m putting my wet clothing back on.
Sure enough, footsteps sound outside the door.
My heart leaps into my throat.
Left with my only defense, I give myself to the count of five to feel afraid.
