Mrs. Crane made a sound that might have been a laugh, quickly smothered.
Fenrik’s jaw tightened. The shadows beneath his collar writhed.
seven
Lysa
The tour began in the Great Hall, which was to say it began with lord Fenrik Stormgarde walking and me following like a duckling behind a particularly unfriendly swan.
“The Great Hall is available for formal occasions, but such occasions are exceedingly rare” he said without turning. “Meals are served in the smaller dining room adjacent. Breakfast at seven, dinner at eight. Mrs. Crane will inform you of any schedule changes.”
I had to lengthen my stride to keep pace with his long legs. The manor’s corridors stretched before us, lined with portraits of stern-faced ancestors who all seemed to share Fenrik’s talent for looking down their noses. The lamps brightened as I passed each one, dimming again in my wake.
“The library is through there.” He gestured to an arched doorway without slowing. “You may use it during daylight hours. The restricted section requires my explicit permission.”
“Is there a form I should fill out?”
His shoulders stiffened almost imperceptibly. He didn’t respond. We passed a window overlooking what might once have been a garden. Now it was a tangle of overgrown roses and wild hedge, beautiful in its chaos. A few jewel-bright shapes darted between the thorns, the garden drakes, I realised, their scales catching the grey light. One of them paused mid-flight, its ruby head turning toward the window. Toward me.
Fenrik’s pace quickened.
“The east wing houses the creature sanctuary,” he said. “You’ll have supervised access.”
“Supervised,” I repeated flatly.
“Thorven will accompany you. The creatures can be unpredictable.”
We passed a heavy oak door bound with iron bands. The wood was scarred, as though something had clawed at it. Fenrik didn’t slow.
“The ley-line chamber beneath the foundation is forbidden.” He turned a corner without looking back to see if I followed. “The energies are unstable and dangerous to those unfamiliar with them.”
My jaw tightened. I’d read about ley-lines at the Academy, had felt the pulse of one beneath my feet not an hour ago.Dangerous, yes. But also potentially useful for understanding whatever was wrong with this man and his creatures.
Another corridor. Another locked door.
“The west wing is off-limits.” His gloved hand gestured dismissively toward a shadowed hallway. “My private study and bedroom as well.”
I stopped walking.
He continued for three more steps before registering my absence. When he turned, his expression remained carefully neutral, but something in his eyes—
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I must have misread the marriage contract. I thought I was to be your wife, not your prisoner.”
“You are neither, Miss Emberlin. You are—“
“A contracted healer with limited security clearance, apparently.” I crossed my arms. “Should I expect a uniform?”
Behind me, a door slammed with enough force to rattle the portraits on the walls. The sound cracked through the corridor like a whip, and I spun, my heart lurching. Nothing there. One empty corridor and a door that had been open moments ago, now firmly shut.
When I turned back, Fenrik’s eyes flashed silver for a second before settling back to grey. He didn’t acknowledge the door, nor apologized.
“The house,” I said slowly, “has opinions.”
“The house,” he replied through gritted teeth, “needs to mind its own business.”
Somewhere in the walls, I could have sworn I heard a creak that sounded almost like laughter.
After the tour was done, Fenrik showed me the way back to the Great Hall. Mrs. Crane stood beside a small table that had been formally set: two chairs, a candelabra, the marriage contract spread flat beneath a silver inkwell.
