Chapter 2
Lyssa
Lyssa Sage was a traitor.
Or at least…she was about to be.
Tiptoeing toward Tatianna’s healing quarters, the youngest Sage sibling gently pressed the door open.
Once it was safely, silently ajar, she slipped into the room, stepping past the sleeping healer.
The woman breathed out, her face pressed to the palm of her hand, her elbow resting on the next bed over—the one that Lyssa’s mother, Nura, slept in. But Lyssa was not here for her mother.
“Ms. Erring,” Lyssa whispered, pushing at the Human and Magical Creature Resources woman’s shoulder until she jolted awake so fast, her glasses flew off from where they were resting atop her head, into Lyssa’s hands. “Good morning,” Lyssa whispered with a toothy grin. “May I speak to you outside?”
Ms. Erring grumbled, but she pulled herself out of bed, trailing after Lyssa until they were on the other side of the now-closed door. “Lyssa. You are not meant to be wandering without an adult until we have confirmed the manor is secure.”
Lyssa wondered to herself if sense was confiscated from a person when they reached adulthood.
“Yes, Ms. Erring. But how am I to ask an adult to wander with me from the confines of my bedroom if no adult is in there with me?” Lyssa reminded her gently, remembering that the woman had just woken up and Evie often needed at least thirty minutes in the morning before she said anything coherent.
Ms. Erring scratched her head. Her soft brown hair was loose from her severe bun, sitting just below her shoulders. “You could practice patience and wait for one of us to come retrieve you. Like you were told to do.”
Lyssa’s mouth twisted. “I hate waiting.”
Ms. Erring sighed. “Hence the practice.”
Lyssa tapped her chin before clasping her hands behind her back. “Very well. Next time I see a strange man wandering through the manor, I’ll simply wait patiently.”
Ms. Erring went from drowsy and rumpled to furious and panicked so rapidly, Lyssa wished she hadn’t blinked. “What? A man? Who? Why are you just now telling me!”
“I was practicing patience.”
“Lyssa!” Ms. Erring groaned, looking very alert and very irritated. “Tell me everything.”
“I’m getting there!”
Lyssa’s morning had begun with the gentle twist of a doorknob and the creak of rusting hinges. Evie had tossed all night, then crawled out of bed before dawn. Lyssa had, logically, feigned sleep, waiting for the footsteps to grow quieter before leaping from the bed and flying toward the door.
There were many questions Lyssa knew she was meant not to ask, but unfortunately, she had been far too curious not to notice the black mist hovering over her sister for more than half the night.
It might have been frightening to her once upon a time, but Lyssa Sage knew well that the scariest-looking things were often friendlier if you merely said hello.
The mist had waved back at her before pulling the covers up under Lyssa’s chin. She’d been tempted to tap Evie so they could giggle over the action together, but her sister had pulled the covers over her own head, hiding there until her morning escape.
Lyssa, to her credit, had not followed her…for at least fifteen minutes. But she was a storyteller! And her subject was walking out the door!
“So essentially, you ignored everything we told you about safety last night?” Ms. Erring chastised.
Lyssa nodded, furrowing her brow. “Yes, I just said that. Aren’t you listening?”
“About as well as you did!” Ms. Erring growled. “Lyssa, the strange man—where does he come in?”
“Oh yes!” She bounced. “I saw Clare walking to her room with a man wrapped in a black cloak, and I’m not certain why, but they seemed very suspicious.”
Ms. Erring lifted a brow. “Could that man have been her suspicious brother…The Villain? Who often wears only black?”
“No.” Lyssa frowned with indignance and then tilted her head. “Ms. Erring, you know other people are allowed to wear the color black, don’t you?”
Ms. Erring groaned, resting her forehead against the nearby wall. “I need cauldron brew and a pain tonic.”
“Did you wake up with a headache?” Lyssa asked curiously.
“I woke up next to one,” Ms. Erring deadpanned.
Lyssa laughed, delighted. It was entirely too enjoyable when Ms. Erring made jokes, mostly because Lyssa had never seen another adult do it quite so awkwardly.
“I am certain it was just a guard or a hurt intern from the attack last night. But if you’re truly concerned, we can go check on her.”
Lyssa stopped laughing, recalling how frightened she’d felt when the man’s head, shadowed by the hood of his cloak, turned toward her. “Could we, Ms. Erring? Now? I don’t know why, but I had a feeling something was wrong about him.”
“Wrong about who?” Tatianna chimed in, rubbing sleep from her eyes from the now-open door to the healer’s quarters.
Lyssa turned wide eyes on Ms. Erring, trying to signal her to lie.
Ms. Erring batted a hand at Lyssa. “Clare appears to have been seen with a suspicious man.”
Never mind. It was Ms. Erring who was the traitor.
Tatianna blanched. “What? Is she all right?”
Ms. Erring threw her hands up in defeat. “Let us settle this now, shall we?”
But by the time they made it down to her bedchamber, Clare was standing outside her open door with a harried look on her face.
“Clare?” Tatianna asked tenderly, gliding across the floor and grasping her former betrothed’s hand in her own. “What can I do for you, darling?”
Clare seemed to blink out of a trance at the endearment, eyes wide as she extricated her hand from Tatianna’s.
Lyssa had to stop herself from booing.
“I’m fine,” Clare said shakily. “Just a bit out of sorts. I need to make arrangements for my father’s sea burial and notify Malcolm. It’s all overwhelming.”
“You’re certain there’s no strange, cloaked man holding you hostage in your bedchamber?” Ms. Erring asked bluntly, and Lyssa clapped a hand over her mouth.
Clare’s eyes went wild, but only for a moment before her face shuttered, all emotion vanishing before their eyes. “No…why would you think such a thing?” she asked flatly.
Tatianna and Ms. Erring gave Lyssa a look so pointed, she was surprised it didn’t break skin. “After all the people who have gotten in and out of a place that is supposed to be impossible to break into, am I to be punished for being cautious?” Lyssa asked, innocently blinking up at the two women.
They sighed heavily. Which meant Lyssa had worn them down to victory. A special talent, well-honed by performing it on her older sister practically since birth.
“Lyssa is right,” Clare said, looking far off into the distance.
“I know,” Lyssa said succinctly, clasping her hands in front of her.
“Caution is a virtue.” A smile tugged Clare’s lips up, but they flattened again when her eyes flicked behind them.
“I have, uh, much to do. Core healers’ burials are a bit more complex in nature than the average person’s.
I…must be off!” Clare cried, moving down the hall and around the corner at a rapid clip.
Tatianna attempted to stop the woman, but it was for naught. Clare had already gone, and Lyssa was left feeling an odd sensation at the back of her head, a wrong sort, like someone had been watching them.
“Come, Lyssa. Let us go check on your mother,” Ms. Erring suggested, already starting back toward the stairs, Tatianna following behind.
It was for the best. Lyssa did love a good story, but this one was veering far too close to scary territory, and despite her interest in villainy, that was not her genre.
At least not yet, anyhow. But before she could follow the Human and Magical Creature Resources woman, a flash of white in the corner of her eye stopped her.
Peering in the direction of the object, Lyssa spied a discarded bit of white cloth. She glanced side to side, then scurried over to pick it up.
A handkerchief. With two words scrawled onto it.
It’s me.
Lyssa knew that writing.
A new set of footsteps sounded from down the hall, startling her enough to make her jump.
She tried to reassure herself with logic.
It was likely just Clare circling back to her chambers, and that chilled feeling climbing up her arms toward her neck was from the morning air coming through the window.
Her imagination often took her to outlandish places, and this was just another for the books.
Tucking the cloth into her skirt pocket, Lyssa felt again like she was being watched, forcing her to wonder…if some stories could not help but come true.
Even the scary ones.