She’s in an ornate gown of cerulean silk the color of the night sky. She’s carrying something, a basket, perfectly still in her right hand.
Shit.
Like a prey animal, something primal pings in me at the sight of her, a long-forgotten instinct to run.
Her black eyes stare me down.
I unlatch the door to the cottage. “Please, won’t you come in,” I say, because politeness is the only armor I have.
“This is my house,” she replies with a serene smile.
Nonetheless, she follows me in to the sitting room, where the staff have stoked a roaring fire.
We step inside just in time for the rain to arrive, beating on the roof and windows.
“May I ask the reason for your visit?” My voice wobbles.
“No.”
I call for tea because it seems the right thing to do, but I don’t drink a drop as we wait. I have to hold the cup steady against my leg so it doesn’t clink against the saucer as my hands shake. The clock on the mantel ticks and ticks, each second slower than the last.
The agonizing silence doesn’t seem to bother Queen Mor in the slightest. She sips her tea, and I wonder if an eternal lifetime feels a lot like waiting. We must be nothing but a blip to her. I wonder if she’ll even remember the first crop of silly girls she tortured to find a bride for her son. I’m struck with the deeply unsettling feeling that we may be the first class of many.
Perhaps I am delirious from lack of sleep, or perhaps it is because I fear I will never get another chance, but I set my teacup down onthe table and open my mouth to ask a question. “Will you tell me what my sister’s bargain was?”
Her gaze snaps to mine, and she shakes her head like a mother, ever patient but exasperated. “I will not.”
There’s another question on the tip of my tongue. I can’t stop it from spilling out. “But do you know where she was those weeks she disappeared?”
This time she answers more slowly, like she’s chewing on my question and can’t quite decide how she wants to react.
“Of course I do.”
The words land like a punch to the stomach. She wasn’t in the Otherworld, I know that for certain now.Where the hell were you, Lydia?
The front door swings open and Viscountess Bolingbroke and the rest of the girls come piling in, finally home from the ball.
There is giggling, the swishing of silks, wet shoes plopping onto the stone floor.
And then the hush of terrified silence as they enter the sitting room to find Queen Mor and me in front of the fire.
“Sit,” she commands. The drawing room is small, and with this many bodies, it’s crowded.
Olive perches on the edge of my armchair, her butterfly wings wilting behind her. Faith and Marion tangle together on the chair across from us, Marion’s seashell tiara now askew on Faith’s head. Greer and Emmy sit on the ground right in front of the fire, and I’m terrified that Greer’s peacock feathers are going to catch some embers, but I’m too afraid to break the tense silence to warn her.
“It seems you didn’t enjoy our game today,” Queen Mor says, frowning. “There are few things I hate worse than poor sports.”
My stomach curdles with fear. Olive’s knuckles go white as she grips the edge of the armchair.
“These lessons are important, they help me get to know you. Bram needs my help in selecting his bride,” she continues. “One of you will one day become a most-beloved daughter-in-law, and we can’t leave something like that up to chance, can we?”
None of us answer, too scared or angry or frozen to manage it. But she stares us down with those uncanny black eyes until Emmy breaks.
“No, ma’am.” We echo her in a shaky chorus.
“I realize now, the fault was mine,” Queen Mor says. “I should have given you more instruction. How can one play a game when the rules are so poorly defined?”
She lets her words hang in the air, then closes her eyes and takes a big inhale, her body visibly relaxing, as if luxuriating in our fear. “Let’s add a few more terms, shall we? The girl with the lowest score at the end of all this will have her family stripped of their titles and their land. Any more acts of insubordination will be your last. Understood?”
