And Kay. What should I tell her?
If I don’t tell her, I will be complicit in the same cover-up that I screamed at Jonas for. I would be guilty of the same sin.
Yet if I do tell her, could she hide her knowledge of his heritage from William? From Artur? I am not so sure of her ability to hide anything from anyone.
I’m not even sure who she is anymore.
I shielded her from as much as I could growing up, and now that stupidly trusting nature I nurtured has her carrying Hew’s child. And it’s not like she’s learned her lesson. Not if she genuinely believes this marriage to Artur is a good idea.
No, I can’t trust her judgement right now, and that means she cannot know. Not when it puts Florian – William, I correct myself – at risk.
It’s a whole fucking mess.
I am tired, wearier than I ever thought possible, and tonight I have the opportunity to have a bed of my own. The bed I dreamed of for years, with its soft mattress and enough pillows that we could build forts with them. I don’t know what kind of state it will be in now, but even covered in dust, it will be a thousand times better than what we had in the slums, and that thought is enough to pull me to my feet. I creak up the stairs, not caring about the darkness.
When I come to my childhood bedroom door, still painted with red roses, a sliver of light shines out from under it.
Summer, I think. It may be my house and my room, but I knock once all the same before I enter.
‘M’lady,’ she greets me as she finishes tucking some bedsheets around the bed. ‘I’ve done my best for now. More will need to be done in the morning, but you can rest here tonight. I trust I’ve made up the right room? The flowers on the door …’
‘Yes, thank you.’ Apparently, I have a maid with initiative and insight. I am grateful to Etta for that at least.
‘There’s some soup for you, just on the table there. I’m sorry I didn’t have time for bread. I wanted to find the sheets and make up the bed here. I’ll ensure I’m more ready for breakfast.’ She wrings her hands apologetically. ‘Shall I help you with your dress?’
With Jonas’s interruption, I didn’t change out of the dress as I’d intended, and I am still in the bloody ballgown that Thea laced me into.
Thea. I don’t know whether I should hate her or hug her. After all, she tried to warn me. Tried to tell me that Kyor was incapable of love. But I didn’t listen.
I had to learn it from him instead.
I nod my head to Summer. ‘Yes, please. I don’t think I can get out of this dress alone.’ Not without ripping it off, at any rate. And I’m honestly tempted to do just that, but in my mind’s eye Llin is wagging a finger at me, so I don’t.
Summer moves behind me, her nimble fingers quickly loosening the dress so I can finally breathe. I gratefully step out of the voluminous ballgown and into the nightgown that she holds out for me.
It’s one of Mother’s, one I remember well, and there’s a lump in my throat as I pull it on.
Mother has been gone for far too long for her scent to linger, yet somehow I swear that it does as notes of lavender and hibiscus flood my senses and warm my soul. Real or recalled, it does not matter.
Tears swell in my throat, but I swallow them down. Instead, I take a breath and try to be grateful for what I have. The room is warm, lit by candle and firelight, and there is food waiting for me.
It isn’t hard to recall the hard wooden pallet that passed for my bed in the slums, nor the way in which my breath plumed in the air as Kay and I desperately snuggled together for warmth. I also remember all too well the hollow of my stomach as I tried to sleep while my body begged for sustenance.
For a moment, I can almost hear the shrieks of slum life rattling outside our thin, makeshift door.
I blink, and the moment is gone.
I am, unbelievably, back in the High Hold, back in our home, and I will not let what I have lost define me. Not now.
‘Thank you for tidying the room and for the soup,’ I say,offering Summer a smile. ‘It’s much appreciated. Make sure you eat plenty too. And I assume you’ve found a room for yourself?’
She nods easily. ‘Yes, m’lady. I found the servants’ quarters.’
‘The servants’ quarters?’ As much as Kay and I loved to wander the house, the rooms at the top of the building were out of bounds to us. Everybody deserved their privacy, according to my parents, including those who worked for us, and it was a rule they enforced. As such, I have no idea about the condition, size, or comfort of the servants’ quarters.
‘There are plenty of guest rooms on the third floor. Please take one of those, if you prefer,’ I tell her.
Summer smiles gently. ‘Thank you, but the room I have chosen is more than adequate. More than I am used to.’
