“Yes,” she says with a forced smile, although her tone is unamused, “she’s a rather untamed creature.”
My insides revolt at her words.Untamed creature. Just like how Saint Lazaro sees all faekind. It’s no coincidence she had me meet Brother Marus. She knows how my mother died. She knows how I feel about Marus’ brotherhood. This is just another cruel punishment, another reminder of how she feels about me.
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from saying something I’ll regret.
Two more weeks. That’s all. Just go through the motions and obey.
Finally, she removes her hand, and I feel like I can breathe again.
Brother Marus faces me. “Miss Montgomery, may I—”
I take a step back, far enough from my stepmother’s reach, and nearly collide with a servant carrying a bottle of wine. “I am unwell,” I say to Marus. Mrs. Coleman hisses my name, but I dart between a cluster of guests conversing nearby and flee to the other side of the ballroom before I can hear whatever she’ll say next.
I keep moving, stopping only when I cross the threshold and reach the hall. That’s when I realize I have nowhere to go, nowhere to be alone. The hall is far from empty, teeming with people coming to and from the ballroom, dining room, or drawing room. If I leave the palace, what then? Do I expect to walk all the way back to Evanston? It would take at least an hour. As much as my skin crawls with the thought of sitting in a cab with my stepmother after what she just pulled, I’ve dealt with worse from her before. Perhaps if I act as shaken as I feel, she won’t seek to punish me further.
For now, I just need a moment of peace, a moment to collect myself, to breathe, to dab away the tears that have begun streaming down my cheeks before anyone notices the distraught girl in the unglamoured ballgown.
Blue lights flutter overhead, and I turn my glazed eyes to another cluster of wisps that swirl above me.
“She wants to fly.”
“She wants to sing.
“Come dance with us.”
Their voices, though much like the rest of their kind, sound suspiciously similar to the three who tried to get me to fly off my chimney yesterday morning. I clench my jaw, my trembling hands curling into fists. “If ever you wanted to be helpful, now is your chance.”
“Helpful. We always are,” says one of the females.
“Climb upon the rafters,” says the male, pointing to the obsidian beams overhead, “then jump. We will join you. Then we’ll fly.”
“I need a place to hide,” I say through my teeth, glad no one seems interested in watching me converse with the creatures. “Somewhere I can be alone. Do you know these halls well enough to find a place like that for me?”
“Oh, we know how to navigate all the places,” says the other female.
That’s the opposite of what wisps are known for, but I don’t say so out loud. Desperate times call for desperate alliances. “Please, just take me somewhere like I’ve asked. Promise you won’t lead me astray.”
The male crosses his tiny arms over his orb-like body. “What will you promise in return?”
“Will you fly?”
“Will you sing?”
I squeeze my eyes shut, about to refuse, but an aching fills my bones, begging to be freed. At this point, it doesn’t matter what I do, so long as I can release the rage and fear that continues to blow through me. “Fine, I’ll sing,” I say in a rush. “I promise to sing for you if you promise to take me somewhere according to my exact specifications. Somewhere in the palace that’s private, safe, and where I won’t get in trouble for being.”
The wisps exchange excited glances, then swirl in a circle. “Agreed,” they chorus, then take off down the hall. I follow them past the dining room and drawing room, then down a short corridor that ends in an open doorway. They fly inside, but I pause outside the threshold, examining what awaits. It seems to be a large parlor with tall windows that glow with starlight. The wisps squeal as they spin about the room. Thankfully, it appears vacant. With hesitant steps, I enter, assessing the sitting area, finely furnished with a set of chairs, a couch, and a tea table. My eyes rove over the rest of the room, and I see a desk, exquisite paintings cluttering the walls, another sitting area, a card table, and—
For the love of the breeze.
My heart hammers against my ribs, but not with fear. With longing. For there in the far corner of the room is that which I’ve craved more than anything else.
A piano.
11
EMBER
My feet move before my mind catches up, drawn to those black and white keys. The grand pianoforte shines white beneath the starlight with an iridescent sheen. The piano bench is covered in a plush black cushion, one that begs to be rested upon.
