Page 4 of When the Sky Breaks

“Next door?”

“The room next door.”

“Does the Steward live in our house now?” I asked. “I don’t believe that’s traditional.”

“It’s not,” Neal replied. “But I was fifty feet from your father when an eldritch horror sucked the life from his veins. I won’t be two houses over when there’s risk of it happening to you.”

I couldn’t sleep that night, which was hardly a surprise.

I spent two hours staring at the ceiling and wallowing in existential dread, then finally called a few of the ranch’s wandering cats to my room, gathered them up into my lap, and just sobbed. After nearing six hours of that—when the sun finally crested over the horizon and filtered through the trees outside the window—I got up, lit the fire, washed my face, and put on a plain black wool dress. I braided my hair and went to pin the plaits up across the top of my head, then thought something more severe might be appropriate, and pinned them into a knot at the nape of my neck instead.

I was still sitting at the dressing table, paralyzed with grief and anxiety, when someone knocked on the door.

“It’s unlocked,” I said, wishing my voice didn’t sound quite so detached from reality.

I heard the floorboards creak and caught Neal’s reflection in the mirror but couldn’t find the energy to react.

“I’ve spoken to the priest about a funeral for your father. I did not mention our wedding, as I wanted your approval before I discussed it,” he said. “Iksura’s Emissary Liaison Jeremy—I believe you know him—has asked to speak with you this afternoon. I’ve also doubled our staff of guards. I’ve got locals for now, but new Elven soldiers will be coming in to relieve them by the end of the week. We’ll have a trained immortal on every watch by Sunday.”

I didn’t reply. I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to say in response to that. And most of all—I was still reeling that I’d lost a parent barely twelve hours back, and already the expectation was that I’d be getting work done, managing logistics—not curled up and sobbing and running off to hide from the world with my bears.

“You should eat something,” Neal said.

“I’ll be down,” I replied. “Eventually.”

“Did you sleep at all last night?” he asked, brows knitting together. “You look awful.”

“Considering my father died yesterday I think I look rather well,” I snapped in reply.

“My apologies,” Neal said. “Clearly not my place to comment. I’ll have Nokona fetch you breakfast. And we can discuss our impending union . . . later, once you’ve eaten. I have everything else in hand. And will reply to any inquiries that we cannot accept additional requests for assistance until after your father’s funeral and Ansel’s arrival.”

“Very thorough,” I replied blankly.

“I strive to do my job well,” Neal said before leaving me alone.

I finally drew up the courage to go downstairs and immediately found myself fighting back tears at every black armband, mourning wreath, and cloth-covered mirror. Each scrap of dark fabric jolted my mind back to those months after my mother’s death and stirred up both the fresh pain of new grief and the old ache of her absence.

“Take those down,” I said to the housemaid, gesturing at the black shroud over the hallway mirror.

“But, Lady Sorcha,” the young girl said. “Señora Gomez says this is appropriate.”

“Señora Gomez does not make the decisions in this house.” I steeled myself and pushed forward.

My father was gone—which meant I was in charge. It was my duty to take over his place as head of the Court. And there was no way I could do it while suffocated by constant mourning pageantry.

“Armbands and black clothes can stay until the funeral,” I instructed. “But we move forward. Or else we’ve let those . . . things . . . win.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the housemaid said, pulling the drape off the mirror and continuing in her work.

I somehow managed to eat the food Nokona put out for me, tasting little. Then I called Neal to my office after breakfast. In spite of the half dozen servants and two dozen guards, in spite of the townsfolk I could vaguely hear down at the plaza, I felt horribly, painfully alone.

I pulled the black wreaths from the windows and the heavy cloth from the picture frames as I waited for him to arrive.

“I told them to take this all down,” I said as he walked in. “I understand that it’s tradition, but . . . I can’t.”

I paused, shuddering. My head throbbed. Neal hesitated for a moment, then took the black wreaths and drapes from my hands and set them aside.

“I’ll ensure it’s all removed before lunch,” he promised. “Now what else can I help you with?”