For the last hour, as they made their way down from the castle, Gwen had tormented herself in a limbo between reaching out and turning away. Her palm burned where it had rested against Isobelle’s. Inexplicable tension sang between them like a taut wire, and knowing she was the only one feeling it made it all the more terrible for Gwen to bear. The few miles separating her home from the castle had never felt so vast. By the time the glow of the village bonfire shone through the branches bowing low over the road, she was ready to scream.
Rather than head toward the village center, Gwen turned and led Isobelle around toward the smithy via the garden path. The scent of the lavender filling the garden beds was ghostly on the evening air, the aromatic oils heated by the afternoon sun almost gone now. Isobelle, unfamiliar with the terrain, took a step off thepacked path and into the softer soil, releasing a waft of perfume as her skirts brushed a cluster of dusky purple blooms.
For the love of god, Gwen, FOCUS. You are here on a mission.
Gwen eased the latch of the back door open. Light spilled onto the path, and when Gwen glanced back, she could see it falling on Isobelle’s face. After so long walking together in utter darkness, interpreting every step and breath, to see her expression so clearly felt like being blinded by a sudden glare of sunlight. Gwen just blinked at her, dazzled.
“Are we sneaking in?” Isobelle whispered, her eyebrows rising.
Gwencommandedherself to get a grip. Isobelle’s manner was easy and calm, and utterly oblivious to the tension that had seized Gwen the entire walk here from the castle. “If we can. Come on, up the back steps.”
The steps were more ladder than staircase, and while Gwen had been climbing them in full skirts all her life, Isobelle wouldn’t be used to them. She was trying to figure out which would be easier—to have Isobelle climb first, so Gwen could follow and break her fall should she slip, or to go up herself and offer a hand down to assist—when a voice shattered the quiet.
“Gwen, is that you?”
Her father’s voice was slow and rough, suggesting that he’d been dozing before the hearth. Her heart ached guiltily—she’d been longing to find the time to sneak back to Ellsdale and catch up with her father, but this was certainly not that time.
“Dad, hi,” she called, glancing at Isobelle and putting a finger to her lips before gesturing to the steps up to the loft. “I’m just changing my clothes and then I’m going to catch the rest of the bonfire.”
“How’s the internship?” His chair creaked as he shifted, but it didn’t groan as it did when he stood up.
“Fine so far. I’ll come back for a proper visit in a few days and tell you all about it. I don’t want to miss old Bertin tonight.”
There was a pause from the next room as Gwen held her breath. Somehow, the silence had an unnervingly knowing quality to it, as if her father had heard more than one set of footsteps creep into the house.
When he replied, however, all he said was, “Have a good time at the bonfire, Gwen.”
Gwen followed Isobelle up the steps and into the loft, pausing at the threshold to her room and listening intently for sounds from below, but all was quiet. She eased into her room and slid the makeshift door closed.
“You told him you have an internship at the castle?” Isobelle said softly, amusement in her tone.
“Well, what was I supposed to tell him?” Gwen replied tartly, going to the window to open her shutters and let in the light from the bonfire in the village square. “Hey, Dad, I’m using a mysteriously acquired amount of wealth to hire an apprentice from the next town over to help you while I prance around in armor, pretending to be a knight?”
Isobelle let out a soft laugh and drifted closer to the wall. It was covered in sketches Gwen had made—some more recent, detailing her plans for the armor she’d made, and others older, less designs and more imaginings.
Gwen had brought her here so they could change out of their fancy clothes and draw less attention from the villagers. She hadn’t considered that bringing Isobelle into this tiny corner Gwen calledher own would allow the other girl to inspect each detail of her life with such naked curiosity. Covering her confusion, Gwen went to the chest at the foot of the bed and began rummaging through it.
“Here,” she said finally, pulling out an old charcoal-gray dress. “This will do. It’s a bit small on me anyway.”
Isobelle had obviously figured out why Gwen had brought her here, coming to the same conclusion that she probably shouldn’t waltz into Gwen’s village center wearing a multilayered dress of violet-blue silk. She startled when Gwen spoke—she’d been gazing rather intently at the wall of sketches, though Gwen couldn’t tell which one had captured her attention—and turned.
Gwen laid the charcoal dress on the bed and turned her gaze down again, the only privacy she could offer the other girl in her tiny, cramped room. She’d already located the dress she intended to change into herself, but she pretended to be searching for it as Isobelle turned away and began fiddling with the laces at her back.
“I suppose an internship is as good a story as any,” Isobelle mused with a sigh, returning to their earlier conversation with ease, not the slightest hint of concern at getting undressed in Gwen’s room. Gwen wished she knew whether that was because of Isobelle’s absolute mastery of body language and vocal control, or because it simply didn’t occur to her to be flustered.
“The stories never talk about what to do regarding your commitments at home while you’re off slaying dragons and rescuing damsels,” Gwen managed, keeping her tone dry.
A soft huff of frustration made Gwen look up, in spite of her resolution to stare at the gloom inside the chest while Isobelle changed. The laces behind Isobelle’s back were getting tangled, andthe other girl was struggling to contort her arms enough to deal with them.
“Do you...” Gwen began. “Uh... you normally have Olivia, don’t you? Do you need...?” Gwen could only hope that Isobelle could fill in the gaps. For some reason, the sentence“Would you like me to help you undress?”couldn’t make it past Gwen’s lips.
Isobelle laughed, unbothered by this display of helplessness, and turned to grin at Gwen over her shoulder. “I do normally have Olivia. Both to help me with my dress, and to handle my responsibilities when I run off on an adventure.” She stepped closer to Gwen and then turned to present her back, the violet fabric tinged with the peaches and reds of the bonfire outside, like an inky sunset.
Gwen abandoned the clothes chest and stood inspecting the tangled ruin of laces before her with some chagrin. At least there was a problem to focus on, instead of the curve of Isobelle’s neck or that the fabric, as she touched it, was warm from her skin.
Gwen put a hand on Isobelle’s arm to reposition her slightly and have better light to see the laces, and Isobelle moved swiftly and easily under her hand.
Isobelle swallowed, cleared her throat, and sighed. “You know why the stories never talk about how to handle your home when you’re off to, I don’t know, find a missing thing hid high atop the mountain, that sort of business?”
