Perhaps he felt like an anchor, and I was unwilling to let go for fear of going adrift. Or maybe the overwhelming exhaustion that was about to consume me. But I accepted his offering without further protestation.
The canteen was warm—heavier than anticipated. As my hands wrapped around it, I could feel the delicate carvings that donned its face. I breathed in the heady aroma wafting from the vessel, and felt the warm, calming liquid slip down my throat before it swept me into oblivion.
Chapter 8
Awakening to Majesty
Iwatched as the whispering wind sent the diaphanous floor-length curtains fluttering. Inhaling deeply, I savored the sweet scent of blossoming lilacs that swept in on the breeze’s coattails.
Cassy always enjoyed harvesting the early bloomer, placing an elegant display of violet in the center of the small kitchen table—to Father’s chagrin. He detested the perfumed fragrance of lilacs, favoring the warm, rich aroma of roses. But roses were summer flowers, so he tolerated the all-pervasive scent of the tiny purple flowers until they gave way to different varietals.
As I let my gaze lazily take inventory of the room, and all its wondrous details, the sorrow of my last moments under the willow threatened to consume me. First Eithan, then my family—what fresh hell had been unleashed upon me? I stopped myself from following those thoughts down a rabbit hole I wasn’t sure I’d be able to pull myself out of.
The chamber was large, almost the size of the cabin. I lay in a four-poster bed which could have easily fit just as many people comfortably. Despite its size, it didn’t overpower the room.
Off to my right, a fireplace stood proud, beautifully clad in gray-veined stone that stretched from hearth to rafters—I’d never witnessed such extraordinary masonry before. The polished surface of the tile had a brilliant sheen to it that reflected the natural light flooding the room, and I knew instinctively that I would see my own reflection if I were to stand in front of it.
Around the fireplace sat a cozy pair of luxuriously large wingback chairs. They made me yearn for a chilly day, a cozy blanket, and an enrapturing tale. I could get lost in those chairs as much as I could get lost in a good book. As the enticing thought lingered, the thick, sludgy presence of guilt oozed its way through my being—who was I to covet such moments as my parents rotted away?
That heaviness solidified in my chest as I looked to my left, taking in the grand expanse of towering windows that stretched across the width of the chamber, reaching more than fifteen feet high. Their adornments obscured what lay beyond them, but from the rustling sounds and aromatic whispers, I could comfortably assume they faced the estate’s gardens. Another set of chairs faced outward, undoubtedly placed to take in the landscape beyond.
Propping myself up on my elbows, I noted that the floors were clad in the same stone as the fireplace.
Opposite the foot of the bed was a massive, freestanding bathtub just beyond the glass doors. I shuddered at the luxurious thought of slipping into a warmed bath—the closest I’d ever come was a hidden hot spring about a two-day hike from the cabin.
The grandeur of this place hit me, and I quickly glanced at my hands, fully expecting them to be in their perpetual state of grime.
They were clean.Iwas clean.
Apparently, I had been stripped, scrubbed, and dressed in a nightshift. The thought unnerved me enough to drag me out of bed.
Forcing myself up, I swung my legs over the edge. Now sitting, I could feel an omnipresent stiffness clinging to my limbs, and an exhaustion like I’d never experienced before pressing down upon melike a leaden cloak. Perhaps it wasn’t exhaustion at all, but the weight of grief. Every fiber of my being wanted to crawl back under the sheets and drink the contents of that canteen again, but I couldn’t stay in this chamber—Cassy and Leighton could still be alive.
Heaving a sigh, I tentatively placed a toe on the ground, anticipating chilled stone. To my surprise, the floor was warm to the touch.
I made my way over to the clothes that had been laid out on a bench next to the hand-carved wardrobe.
I held up the dress. It was beautifully made, of such quality that the beading detail alone would have cost more coin than most families in our village made in a year. Clearly, this was no place for peasant’s garb.
There were skirts for skirts and so many laces. Stars, the laces. Trying, and failing, to get myself into the garments, I gave up after the third try. Feeling frustrated and inept, I searched for something else to wear.
Silently praying for the wardrobe to house more options, I placed my hand in one of the recessed handles, feeling the silken quality of the wood. I paused for a moment, marveling at the intricate details before pulling it open.
My search revealed a pair of finely tailored sand-colored pants and a flowing, long-sleeved white blouse. It was reminiscent of equestrian wear, but anything was better than the endless laces. The broken-in softness of the knee-high leather boots I found hugged my calves perfectly as I slid them on.
Once dressed, I ventured into the bathroom.
Confronted by my reflection in the mirror, I halted. It’d been years since I’d last caught a glimpse of myself. Lady Time had brought changes upon me; most notably, my figure. My siblings had teased me often enough about my backside. But now, as I examined my curves, I couldn’t help but appreciate them.
I wasn’t curvaceous in the obvious way Cassy was. My chest lacked the fullness hers possessed, and my form featured harder angles, both in my jawline and the overall contours of my body. My shape was still that of a woman, but not as curvaceous as the beauty standards dictated.
There was clear evidence of training and a life lived outdoors. As those were some of my favorite things, I smiled, knowing now that I was okay with the trade I hadn’t known I was making.
Cassy exuded an innate femininity that made it seem as if pink were tailor-made for her. In contrast, I was never sure I could pull the color off, sticking to earthy tones instead. I was attractive in a much different way, I supposed. Not in the dress-wearing, large-chested, portrait-of-propriety kind of way—but in a fiercer, more striking manner.
Depending on whom I encountered, people would insist my eyes were green, or put coin down on them being blue. One thing they agreed on was that they were fiercely captivating. I leaned into my reflection, assessing—green, they were definitely green.
My mother and Cassy would lament over how I’d been blessed with long, thick eyelashes, claiming they were wasted on me. As I studied the feature up close, I understood what they meant. The lush, dark lashes feathered just below my strong, arched brows, accentuating the deep, multifaceted coloring of my eyes.
