Chapter Fifteen #2
Jespyr stepped into the room, dragging something behind her. When she drew the curtains, gray morning light flooding the room, she dropped the heavy object near the foot of the bed.
My trunk, filled with all the clothes I’d brought with me to Equinox.
“Thank you.” I winced against the morning light and hung my legs over the side of the bed. I gestured to the carpet. “Jespyr, who is that?”
Her eyes traced the man in armor. “Supposedly, he’s the Shepherd King. We’ve plenty of his likeness in this castle, collected by centuries of Yews.”
I frowned, searching the wool. It felt like a forgotten dream, looking at the man with gilded armor. A reflection in water too murky to make out.
The Nightmare paced behind my eyes, guarding himself with a heavy, resolute silence.
“I’ve got something else for you,” Jespyr said, saying nothing to the fact I was still in yesterday’s clothes. She pulled an envelope out of her tunic pocket. “It arrived this morning.”
By its hurried scribbles, ink splattered across the parchment where she’d flung the quill, I’d recognized the handwriting immediately.
The letter was from my aunt.
I tore through the envelope, suddenly painfully homesick.
Darling Elspeth,
I’m happy, though a touch surprised, that you have found friendship with Ravyn Yew. He seems a strange, severe man. But the Yews are regarded well, and his mother, Morette, is a good woman. I pray you feel at home in their company, and that it is a warm and welcome change.
With you at Castle Yew and Ione and your uncle to remain at the King’s court, Hawthorn House will feel quite lonely.
I find myself wishing I could set the clocks back—that we had decided not to attend Equinox and everything had remained the same.
But those are just the ramblings of an old woman, set in her ways.
If anyone deserves a change of scenery, Elspeth, it’s you.
Be safe, my love. And, if you will, humor an old woman—be careful in Castle Yew. There is old magic there.
She signed with a familiar Blunder motto.
Be wary. Be clever. Be good.
Opal
I played with the frayed ends of the parchment, my heart heavy.
She’s worried.
We all have our woes , the Nightmare yawned.
It’s good I came here , I said. It was the right thing to do. Helping them find the Cards… helping Emory, helping myself, after so many years of hiding away with the Hawthorns… it was the right thing to do.
Are you trying to convince me or yourself?
The bed shifted, Jespyr landing with a plop at the foot. “Is it bad news?”
I shook my head. “A letter from my aunt. She must have written it after we left Stone last night.”
“Keeps a tight leash on you, does she?”
I shook my head again. “I don’t spend much time away from her. She worries.” Then, after a pause, “Everything’s changing. Ione’s engaged to a Prince. I’m here, plotting with your family.” I wrinkled my nose. “I’m worried about Ione—about my aunt—about getting caught. About everything.”
Flecks of gold in Jespyr’s brown eyes shone in the morning light, her irises full of fire, so different from the silver moonlight that shone in Ravyn’s and Emory’s gray eyes.
Her dark hair was wavy, save a few wild curls that framed her face.
It was cut shorter than the fashion and tied behind her neck by a strip of leather.
Her tunic, a deep green with white trim, rested loosely along her lean frame.
When she smiled at me, unrestrained, I could not help but smile back.
“I worry, too.” She leaned back. “I worry about Emory. I worry about Elm and Ravyn and myself, that the King or Hauth or the other Destriers will discover our double lives. That we’ll be caught. I worry all the time.”
“How do you manage it?”
She shrugged, crossing a dirty boot over her knee. “I tell myself I am stronger than my doubts—that I’m good. Even if it doesn’t always feel that way.” She opened her mouth to say something else, but she seemed to catch her tongue. Her eyes widened and she stared at me, her gaze caught on my face.
I squirmed. “Jespyr?”
“Sorry,” she said, blinking. “The light in here is playing tricks on me. For a moment your eyes almost looked yellow.”
It took all my years of practice to keep my expression steady. I blinked, a nervous giggle rising in my throat. “How strange.”
But Jespyr didn’t seem to notice my discomfort. “But I’ve forgotten my purpose. Elspeth, I came to fetch you.”
“Oh?”
“Sylvia Pine and her daughters are traveling home early from Equinox. My mother spoke to Sylvia last night and invited them to stop for tea on their way back from Stone.” She stood, her steps light—excited. “You and I will join them.”
Trees , the Nightmare muttered, scraping his claws. Now we must play at tea with Blunder’s bottom-feeders? You said joining these fools would be dangerous. You said nothing of torture.
I made a face. “Are you close with the Pines?”
“Not at all.” Jespyr brushed a curl from her eyes. “Sylvia is an odious woman. Her daughters are more tolerable, if we manage to find something worth discussing.” She gestured to herself—her tunic and leggings, her muddy boots. “I don’t have much in common with them.”
“I don’t see what help I’ll be. I’m—erm—not much of a talker.”
The Nightmare snorted in my ear.
“Ah, but this time,” Jespyr said, “we’ll have something to talk about.” To my blank expression, she laughed. “I keep forgetting you have no idea what’s going on.”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “And whose fault is that?”
She gave a wry smile. “Right. Sorry.” She cleared her throat. “My mother invited Sylvia Pine because we believe it is very likely her husband, Wayland, owns an Iron Gate Card. Sylvia may be a tight-lipped crone, but her daughters, bless their simple hearts, are delightful chatterboxes.”
My brow perked. “And if they tell us where their father keeps his Iron Gate?”
She smiled that contagious smile. “Then we’re one step closer to stealing it.”