She sounds so sad that my heart aches. Even as I want to pull Isabeau into my arms, I choose to hide. My heart twists at the pain in her voice. The woman I love is grieving, lost, and I wish I could offer her comfort. She stands in a room asking for my name. Both as the woman in the park and the Hunter-in-Training, I could offer some answers. Perhaps, I could answer questions on the curse even, but to do so would mean violating the promise I made to her father. All I wantin this instant is to take her in my arms and let her forget her pain for a moment.
“The curse—”
“Now is not the time,” Queen Morag says firmly. “We will sort out the curse. You simply need a wife.”
The queen knows far more than Isabeau, and I make a note that I will find out exactly what the queen knows even as I wonder why the queen wants to hide things from me—and from Isabeau. Her glance at the curtains where I hide, her refusal to let Isabeau discuss the matter, these are about keeping secrets from me. I want to know why, but I cannot expose myself to ask without revealing my own secrets to the duke.
“Risking your life is not the answer, child.” The queen pulls Isabeau closer, embracing the taller woman tightly. “Now put your mask on and go dance. You won’t find anyone if you’re waiting in here with me.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” Isabeau wipes her face and departs.
Chapter 10
“[She] lifted [a] hand and made a sign to the people, and instantly the sweetest music sounded near her and around her, and the young [wo]man took her hand, and they danced and danced till the moon and the stars went down.”
—Ancient Legends, Mystic Charms, and Superstitions of Irelandby Lady Francesca Speranza Wilde [1887]
I slip from behind the curtains after Isabeau departs. The queen has her back turned, and I cannot pretend I do not see her weeping. I have questions—about the curse, about why the death of Isabeau’s father would cause such a thing. Curses are rare; the ones that still happen are typically the familial sort, old curses that are bound to a family line. Since the treaty, thekindsof faeries who can place curses do not often come through the gate, and if the queen had hoped the curse would not afflict Isabeau, that means that Queen Morag has prior knowledge.
Is this a familial curse? Is the queen afflicted? Was the late duke? I have questions aplenty, but my once-beloved’s inability to see the stars is not a priority when there is a killer of men in Brimmond Wood. I will turn my research to Isabeau’s curse, but a curse that simply causes one to sleep at night is not overly burdensome. Murders come first.
Once the killer is stopped, I can be Isabeau’s friend and help her.
That’s all she’ll want once she knows what I am.
Perhaps, I can ask Morag to tell her my secret once I explain the duke’s requests.
But this afternoon, the queen is in no state to even acknowledge me, and I cannot ask Isabeau for more details without admitting to having been eavesdropping. That’s twice in one day I’ve listened in on her private conversations, and in both cases, I am left worrying about a woman who has lied to me repeatedly. She’s the only one I have ever considered marrying, but instead of coming to ask for my hand, Isabeau vanished from my life without a word of explanation. She rebuffed me all those years ago.
Of course, the thought of her wanting to marry someone else does little to quell the indignation I feel. Adding jealousy to the mix does not ease my mood.
How many Emmas were there?
I shove the unwanted thoughts away as I rejoin my sister and mother, who do not ask about my audience with the queen. I stand at Mother’s side, a masked noble with no interest in the dance. My sister swirls away, only to return with flushed cheeks at the end of the song.
“You have only to glance at them, and they will carry you back to the dance,” I suggest as my gaze takes in the crowd. “Enjoy it.”
“We have the same face. You could do the same,” Rylan counters, her gaze lingering on a noble in the crowd.
Mother coughs in such a way that I know she is trying to hide a bark of laughter. I want to believe they are right. I do. However, the scars on my skin are mild compared to the ones on my heart. I cannot tell strangers what I am going to become, so courting requires lies. And I cannot guarantee that Father is wrong about his belief that my duty could pass to any person I wed. Neither my mother nor my sister understands the weight on my shoulders, and most of the time I am grateful for that.
“Sister.” Rylan nods to the far side of the room, where Maudite has swept into the ball. Her step is still unsteady. “The cursed duke has arrived.”
Isabeau captivates me, so I allow myself a moment to admire her. Why shouldn’t I look at her? Isabeau in a well-cut formal suit is beautiful. The tendrils of hair that curl along her neck look as if she rode to the palace at a pace that only the wind travels. Curls knot into impossible-to-untangle locks, and a wicked thought crosses my mind. I would not mind trying to unravel those—or to unravelher.
The duke prowls like ... well, exactly like her reputation for seduction is true, and every ounce of logic I possess urges me to avoid the woman who introduced me to the art of kissing in a long-ago dark room. My mind is a jumble of thoughts, made worse for seeing another woman touch her, and made chaotic by hearing her talk about seeing me fight and thinking I am lovely for it. Every countering thought runs together in a litany that makes me want to rush to her and avoid her all at once.
She saw me in the park.
She’s already heartbroken about her father’s passing.
She’s newly cursed.
She knows of the two deaths.
The last duke bade us wait to tell her.
Isabeau and I agreed to be friends.
