Chapter Nine
Ican’t stay alone in the garden after my encounter with Daemon.
I wait just long enough so that it doesn’t seem like I’m following him, and then I make my way back to the castle.
Energy buzzes through my veins and my thoughts swarm like a beehive.
We’d barely said a handful of words to each other, but I can’t stop turning them over and over in my head.
I didn’t save you, Embyr.
What did he mean? I know it was him that night. I’d stared into his eyes this morning, and they were the same eyes I’d seen staring down at me after I fell beneath my attackers. And the way he’d straightened when I’d asked him, his long pause…
Was it some sort of warning? That he’d brought me here, but he hadn’t saved me?
Everything in my life has taken such an abrupt turn, and now I have some broody fae spouting cryptic messages…
a brooding fae I have no intention of ever speaking to again.
I hadn’t survived this long because of a lack of wits.
And if Professor Julian told me to stay away from him, that’s what I’m going to do.
Daemon claims he’s not my savior, so that means I don’t owe him anything. And I’m happy to keep it that way.
I’m so distracted with my swirling thoughts that I nearly run into someone coming out of a small door at the back of the castle.
“Oh! Pardon me, miss.” The woman flushes and curtsies. She’s only maybe a couple of years older than me, but I can tell from her garb that she’s not fae. She’s wearing a simple ankle-length brown dress, and a matching bonnet over black hair, ringlets of which are attempting to escape the sides.
“No, it’s my fault,” I say hurriedly. I’m not used to people treating me like I’m some higher class. “I wasn’t paying attention.”
Her gaze roves over me, clearly surprised by my words, and then she freezes. “You’re… her. The one they found.” Her eyes widen and she looks almost frightened.
“Um, yes…”
Her reaction makes me feel like someone special, which couldn’t be further from the truth.
They’ll all realize soon enough, and then I’ll be out on my own once again.
But a sudden waft of baking bread from the open door makes my stomach grumble, and I’m brought very much into concerns of the present moment. “What is that amazing smell?”
She looks at me like I’m crazy for a moment, then says with a slight giggle, “That’s just muffins, miss.” After a moment’s pause, her expression goes sober as if worried she’d offended me. “Would you like some, miss?”
“Please, no need to call me miss.” I smile, hoping to alleviate her worries. It feels odd on my face, and I realize how infrequently I smile, how very unused to polite company I am. “And yes, that would be lovely.”
“Okay, I’ll go fetch you some.”
She turns to duck back inside the door, looking horrified when I squeeze in behind her before it closes.
“I—I think it might be nice to break my fast somewhere less…noisy… than the main dining hall,” I say slowly. The idea of being around that many fae right now, when I’m already so keyed up from the experience in the garden, makes my stomach flutter.
“Of course, mi—,” she catches herself and blushes. “Of course. Whatever you prefer.”
I follow her down a short hallway that opens up into a large kitchen.
Large stone ovens line one wall, and another wall is lined with fire pits covered with wrought iron grids, atop which sit huge pots and pans.
Shelves line the other two walls, stocked with an assortment of jars and pots and bins of dried foods and herbs.
There are two other exits, presumably one of which leads to the dining hall.
“Who’s this?” calls a deep voice when we enter.
The voice is rich and smokey, matching the stone and flame of our surroundings.
The speaker is a tall woman with graying red curls piled atop her head, wrapped in a colorful wrap.
Her skirt is bright and patterned, too, and a thin row of tiny bells hangs around her curvy waist, ringing faintly as she moves back and forth in front of one of the stoves.
“She’s the… the one they found at the gates,” says the girl who brought me.
“I’m Embyr,” I say hesitantly, suddenly wondering if I’m welcome here. I’d barged in without even considering it.
“She doesn’t want to eat in the dining hall,” the black-haired girl explains.
There are two other women in the kitchen, but neither of them say anything. It’s clear who the boss is here.
“I can’t say I blame you,” says the older woman after a moment’s pause to assess me, her eyes the startling blue of late afternoon sky. “Go on, take a seat over there.”
She points to a small wooden table away from the heat of the stoves.
There’s a small clay jar of flowers sitting in the center, and drying herbs hung overhead.
I do as instructed, pulling out a wooden chair and sitting down.
I’m still not sure if I’m welcome here, but at least I hadn’t gotten kicked out.
The black-haired girl walks over to one of the huge stone ovens, grabs a long, flat wooden paddle, and slides it into the open archway.
When she pulls back again, she has a tray of muffins balanced on the paddle, which she shimmies off the paddle onto a metal rack a couple feet to her right.
Despite my uncertainty, the warmth of the kitchen and the familiar glow of coals makes my earlier tension begin to unwind.
I sit, hands crossed over the smooth wood of the table.
The other two women, both younger like the black-haired girl, keep darting glances back at me, the same shy, nervous looks their colleague had given me.
When one of them leans over to the other and starts whispering, the red-haired boss makes a sharp shooshing sound.
“Pardon the girls,” she says. “We don’t exactly get much company back here. None of the Guardians or their ilk ever step foot in the kitchen.”
“Well, I’m not a Guardian,” I say with a shrug.
“No,” she responds, catching me in another piercing look. “That you are not.”
I feel strangely complimented.
“But if you want to get on with them,” she continues, “you may want to limit your time here in the kitchen with us. After today.”
My brow crinkles. “Why do you say that?”
“Because we’re human and they’re fae,” she says. “And they like to keep it that way.”
“Well, I’m human, too. So, if they have a problem with that, maybe I don’t want to get on with them.”
A slight smile turns her lips. “I don’t know, they seem pretty interested in you for some reason… being a simple human and all.”
The black-haired girl pulls a couple muffins out of their tray with a pair of tongs and brings them to me on a small plate. She smiles shyly as she places them in front of me.
“Thank you.” I return the smile. “What’s your name, by the way?”
Her eyes widen as if I’ve asked her something very personal.
The red-haired woman laughs, a deep guffaw. “That’s Carmeline. I’m Yenna. And the other two are Brasa and Lyana. No one has cared to ask our names in a very long time.”
I bristle in indignation on their behalf. “I’m sorry to hear that. It’s my pleasure to meet all of you.”
Carmeline smiles, this time bright and genuine.
“So, why did they let you stay here?” the girl named Brasa blurts out.
The moment the words are out of her mouth, she ducks her freckled face as if she’s said the most mortifying thing ever.
There’s a moment of silence, then Yenna and the others burst into laughter.
I find myself swept up in the moment along with them.
When the mirth subsides, I say, “Absolutely no idea. One moment I was about to be killed, the next I wake up and I’m outside the castle walls.”
The women don’t look shocked; they’d clearly heard as much.
“Who was trying to kill you?” Carmeline asks softly.
I shake my head. “I don’t know. These men… they’ve hunted me for years. I don’t know why. I—I can’t remember anything that happened in my life before eight years ago.”
It still feels strange admitting that out loud. I’ve lived in solitude for so long, kept everything about myself a secret. Having someone to talk to, anyone, is foreign. New, like everything else here.
But it feels really nice.
“That’s so terrible,” Lyana says from her spot stirring the contents of one of the pots. Her blonde hair is cropped so short, I can barely see it peeking out from under her bonnet.
I nod, not sure what else to say about it.
“Is it true the Commander is the one who brought you here?” Carmeline asks.
“He’s terribly handsome…” Brasa adds, which earns a round of giggles from the other two, and a sly smile from Yenna.
“He’s not the one who found me. The dark-haired man with the jade eyes found me. Daemon.”
The room goes deathly quiet.
“You must be mistaken,” Yenna says. “He does not leave the castle grounds.”
She says it with such conviction that I second guess myself for the first time. “Is there someone else here that looks like him, perhaps?”
The women all throw glances around at each other. “Aye,” Yenna says. “There are plenty of dark-haired Guardians at the castle. It must have been one of them.”
“But with those same eyes?”
She shrugs. “There’s no shortage of beautiful green eyes among the fae.”
“I could have sworn…”
“I imagine you haven’t been that close to Daemon to see what his eyes really look like,” Yenna adds. “And you’d best keep it that way.”
“Why does everyone keep saying that? And why doesn’t he ever leave the castle?”
Another uncomfortable silence moves about the room. The fire crackles over in the stone ovens, and my words hang in the air, unanswered.
“That one comes from a line of traitors,” Yenna says finally.
“His mother and father were killed trying to lead a coup against Queen Sarielle. Many called for the execution of their offspring, but the Queen sent him here instead. There’s no safer place, outside the royal palace, than the home of the Guardians. ”
“So, she’s trying to protect him from those who wish him harm?”