Haldrick snorted as he read the note over her shoulder, and Lindy graced him with an icy glare.
“What?” he asked, shrugging his shoulders. “It’s a decent joke.”
She dropped the note at her feet and pushed the door open, and immediately threw her hands up over her ears in an attempt to muffle the cacophony of noise that came from the flock of water fowl that had been enclosed in her chambers. It looked as if someone had gathered up every duck, goose, and swan in the surrounding countryside and crammed them all into her bedroom. The smell of bird excrement made her eyes water as Lindy forced her way through the crowd of feathers, nearly trippingon a duck or two in the process, and opened her balcony door.
But rather than eagerly seeking their freedom, the birds were more than content to stay indoors. It took nearly an hour of yelling, waving her arms, and using every possible tool she could find to herd the birds out onto the balcony where they could fly down to the grassy area below. Her voice was hoarse by the time she was done, and her floors covered in filth. As she stood for a moment to catch her breath, she caught the sound of snickering behind her.
She turned slowly on her heel to find all seven of the princes standing in her doorway. Jacques, Pierre, and Alvin all wore expressions of gleeful amusement. Corbin’s arms were crossed, and he leaned a shoulder against the frame of the door and looked on with a detached interest. The twins, Lukas and Lance, matched his pose as exactly as they matched him in looks. Owen, the second oldest, stood at the rear, and his face was partially hidden behind Corbin’s head.
“You might want to clean that up,” Corbin remarked blandly. “The smell is probably going to get into your clothes.”
This set off a fit of guffaws and howling laughter from the three youngest. Jacques slapped his knee as if he had never before heard a better joke.
“Get. Out.” Lindy said through clenched teeth.
I will not cry. If I cry, they win.
“But it was just getting good,” Jacques protested.
She clenched her hands into fists at her sides.
“Uh-oh,” Pierre taunted. “You’ve made the witch mad!”
She moved forward a step.
The three young princes shoved their brothers aside in their haste to scramble away. The twins followed on their heels. Corbin met her gaze for a moment, holding an unspoken challenge in the tilt of his brow.
“Out,” she repeated.
With a languid shrug, he pushed away from the doorframe and sauntered off. Lindy’s eyes flicked to Owen. Of all her stepsons, he was the quietest, preferring to spend his time in the library rather than participating in his brothers’ shenanigans. Guilt and shame flashed across his face. “I can help?—”
Lindy held up a hand, stopping him. “Leave, Owen.”
He pressed his lips together as if wanting to argue but finally acquiesced. Lindy shut the door, leaned against it while taking a steadying breath, then turned back to the room to fully survey the damage.
The floors were filthy, and it would take at least several passes with a mop and boiling water to get the bird waste out from where it had been ground between the floorboards. The carpets were in a similar condition, as was the velvet upholstery of several of her chairs. Not even her bed had been spared, and Lindy’s eyes smarted with tears as she pushed up her sleeves and began stripping the bedding, reasonably certain that the princes would not be sending along any maids to help. As she pulled the cover off, a lump of fabric fell to the floor. She bent down and picked it up, holding it out in front of her with a strangled cry.
Her sister’s shawl was smeared with thick green and brown streaks, and one of the edges was frayed beyond repair, as if one of the birds had tried to rip it to shreds. Lindy’s hands trembled as she laid out the dirty, mangled fabric. Hurt and anger swirled together in her chest, rising up like the contents of a boiling pot over an open flame. The tears were too many to hold back now, and they fell in steady streams down her cheeks.
Even if they let me stay, this will never be home.
She shifted, and the sound of glass under her shoes drew her attention to the floor. At some point in the feathery mess, the portrait of herself and Eliza had been knocked to the floor, and the frame had broken apart at the corner. Lindy gingerly fished the painted canvas from the bits of glass and wood. A large scratch gouged the front, separating her from her sister in an ironically poetic way.
A hysterical laugh escaped her, the sound of a woman who had been pushed far past her breaking point. With shaking hands, she pulled open the drawer of the bedside table and fished out a thick book. The inside pages had been cut in the middle to reveal a hidden compartment, and Lindy pulled out a bottle of thick, black liquid. It was warm to the touch, despite having been tucked away in cool darkness, and she felt the tingle of magic run up her arm from where her fingers came into contact with the bottle.
She stared at it for what felt like an eternity. The angry hurricane of emotions inside her demanded justice, and, if not justice, at least vengeance.
They’ll never see me as anything other than a witch. Why not just give them what they want?
She rolled the bottle back and forth in her palm. Her eyes landed on the ruined scarf and mangled portrait, but just as she had nearly made up her mind to allow her dark desires to take over, a memory pricked the back of her mind:
“Take care of my boys.”
With a cry of bitter rage, she threw the bottle against the floor. The glass shattered instantly, and the inky, black liquid pooled on floorboards before branching out into tiny, swirling rivers. Lindy fell to her knees as a keening, wailing cry from the depths of her soul spilled out of her.
She hated them. Hated them all.
Hated Theodor for marrying her and then dying.
