I love you, and I hope you have a great birthday. Don’t forget that you’recalledto great things and don’t forget who you are.
Neris
The familiar feel of the paintbrush as it glides across the canvas quiets the unease I’ve felt for a while now. My thoughts are stilled, my body settled. As I’m mixing colors to get the perfect shade for the stag’s antlers, loud footsteps echo behind me. I set my paintbrush down quickly and turn in my chair as Gruffud storms into the parlor.
“What in hells are you doing?” he asks.
“Painting …?”
He steps closer, something flaring in his eyes that presses my desire to run.
“I thought it would be nice to paint something as a gift of gratitude to your wonderful family for welcoming me. Your mother does like collecting art, doesn’t she?”
The harshness in his eyes slowly dissolves, but his body remains tense. He rubs his hands down his face and fixes a smile onto his lips. “Come with me into town,” he says.
A frown pulls at my lips. “Right now?”
“Yes. There is a new building that has just been evacuated. The Peacekeepers arrested the owners.”
Hesitant to take my eyes off Gruffud, I turn to put my paints away. I glance back at him several times, but he remains standing in place. “Do you know why they were arrested?” I ask. “Who were they? Do we know them?”
“That is none of your concern,” he snaps.
“Apologies. What was I thinking?”
“Of frivolity.” He jerks his head toward my canvas, and I fight to keep a neutral expression on my face.
In silence, I finish putting my paints away and swish my paintbrush in a jar of water, watching the colors bleed and trying not to think of making Gruffud do the same.
Notices are nailed to trees and lamp posts throughout the town center. As much as I want to stop to get a better look, I trek onward with Gruffud. He’s a man on a mission. His elbow is linked through mine, a smile plastered onto his face, but his grip is so hard that my arm is growing numb.
Gruffud’s gaze sweeps over the various buildings as we walk. More storefronts appear empty, but they’re clearly notthestorefront that Gruffud is in search of.
As we approach a larger red brick building with a wide expanse of windows, Gruffud releases my arm and rushes toward it. Left behind, I take the opportunity to rip a notice off a nearby lamppost and stuff it into the pocket of my cloak. I’m back at Gruffud’s side in no time. “This is the place. Look how large it is.” He beams at the door. “What a shame for Lord Myron. He was our biggest competitor with his bloody miniature clock towers.”
My hand moves to my dress pocket automatically, my fingers sliding over the warm brass of my pocket watch. Sometimes I fear that Gruffud would take it away from me. For no reason other than to remind me that he owns me now.
The door swings open just as Gruffud reaches for it, and out steps a broad man with grey hair and a warm smile. Gruffud startles, scrambling back. If I weren’t equally startled, I would’ve laughed.
I stare up at the man, at the fine lines at the corners of his cerulean eyes. “Lord Murtagh,” I say with surprise, while Gruffud clutches his chest.
Realms, if only his heart would truly give out. I shake the thought away, cringing at the immorality of it.
Lord Murtagh’s smile widens. “Nice to see you again, Lady Gwyneth. Lord Gruffud. How goes it with you two newlyweds?”
My stomach curdles, and I swear that Murtagh’s brows rise as if he’s sensed my reaction. “Swimmingly,” I say, my voice cracking slightly. I clear my throat.
Gruffud laces his fingers with mine and gives it a bone cracking squeeze. I wince, though I try to keep a well-trained smile on my face.
“What brings you here, Lord Murtagh?” Gruffud’s tone is clipped, but he manages to look pleasant.
“I’m considering relocating to Barr na Cahar. My daughters are excellent jewelry makers. What better a place for them to set up shop than in the greatest city in Erleya?”
I swear Gruffud’s eye twitches. “Forthemto set up shop?”
Lord Murtagh smiles. “Absolutely. My daughters dinna just excel in artistry, but in enterprise as well.”
An uplifting warmth fills my chest at this prospect. Women running a business in Barr na Cahar? Half the city would riot—the rest of us would gladly throw coin at them.
