“When is the petition?” Perrine asked, smiling.
Sabina answered. “David is going to meet us. He only has an hour.” She expelled the last of her blood into a metal bowl and set her pen on the vanity. “Now, for my greatest challenge: getting Anya into a dress.”
Anya’s eyebrows shot up. She hadn’t worn a dress in twenty years. “Is that strictly necessary?”
“You’re going before the king,” Sabina scolded. “He’ll be far more lenient with you if you look innocent and pretty.”
“But I’m not innocent and pretty.”
“No. You’re dashing and bold. And a dashing and bold poacher will be thrown straight into a prison cell.”
“Then you might want to tongue-tie her as well, to be safe,” said David as he entered. He held a long paper tube, and was trailed by a valet with a rather large trunk.
“That might not be a bad idea,” Anya mumbled.
He and Sabina laughed – fondly, not mockingly. But she couldn’t join them. Claiming her inheritance was not something she ever thought to pursue. She didn’t want it, really; didn’t want any part of the life she had left behind.
But to sustain her new one, she must turn up that soil one final time.
While Sabina’s brother’s chauffeur readied the coach, they congregated in the foyer outside the kitchen. Perrine gleefully examined the kitchen’s extensive spice cabinet as Anya tried her best to maneuver about the room without breaking something irreplaceable with her bustle. Sabina was touching up her already immaculate reflection in a rather large wall mirror. “Stop pacing,” she commanded Anya from the glass.
Before Anya could conjure a rejoinder, David took her by the arm and drew her aside. “Miss Degen.” He stared at her. “You look lovely,” he began.
Anya withdrew her arm from his and lifted her chin. “What do you want?”
“You haven’t mentioned – that is, I’ve been meaning to ask.” He lowered his voice. “How is he? Is he alright?”
In the glass, Sabina paused, listening.
Now was Anya’s turn to stare. “You truly want to know?”
He hesitated, then nodded.
“No,” she said flatly, fiddling with the cuff of her borrowed sleeve. Green, to bring out her eyes. “He’s...changed. But not unrecognizable.” She chewed the inside of her lip. “You could visit, you know.” She met Sabina’s eyes in the mirror. “Any of you.”
Assuming he’s still there.
“Only if you promise not to bite,” Sabina said with false levity to her reflection, tucking a loose curl behind her ear.
David nodded again, slowly. “Changed,” he echoed, then flashed Anya a melancholy, scrutinizing look before turning to the door. “I believe I hear the coach.”
As she had all those years ago at the lodge, the lodge neither of them would return to, Perrine read her. She replaced a jar of saffron and took one of Anya’s hands. “You don’t have to do this, you know.”
“I know,” Anya said. She squeezed Perrine’s warm hand. “Let’s get it over with.”
No coach ride had ever been longer than the one back to her cottage. She could swear it had taken half the time when she and Sy had first made the journey. She was certain the coachman was angry with her and was purposefully stalling her.
All the way home, a falcon followed them, dipping in and out of the view of her window.
The coach dropped her at the gate, and she hauled herself up the path, laden with the trunk, more bags than she could reasonably carry, and the long paper tube David had brought.
The falcon disappeared into the trees. As Anya traced the bird’s disappearance, she saw her cottage door was cracked open, loose on its hinges once more. She left the trunk and the bags, and hurried forward, alarmed.
Slowly, she pushed the door open.
The cottage was empty.
Carefully, she set the tube on the table.
