Chapter Nine Wren #2
Patience wasn’t a virtue I possessed, but I’d toed the line today, and if I made one more mistake, two weeks would look like a gift in comparison.
Practically ripping off my ruined dress, I sank into the warm water and allowed it to consume me.
Two weeks. Two weeks of ruminating over endless possibilities. Weeks when I could plan…
Then would come the time to hunt.
By the second week, I’d become as restless as a lion in a cage.
Callie and Father went to his workplace, my sister often shooting me sympathetic looks before she obediently followed on his heels. She, too, knew what it meant to piss him off, and I didn’t blame her for not wishing to be added to his list of disappointing daughters.
The only thing she kept me updated on was Dusk. Apparently her sisters sent out a realm-wide search party but had come up empty-handed. Callie said there was disquiet in the streets, and the faithful were at Dusk’s temple praying every day and night.
She had to be alive, I reasoned. Surely Dawn and Day would’ve felt a severed connection if she’d been killed. Yes, they were immortal, but it was never clear if they could be killed by unknown forces.
It was the evening before my freedom when I decided to venture out of my room for a glass of water.
It had to be around midnight, the house silent and eerie as I crept down the creaky stairs.
I shuddered. The house itself was stunning, but at night far too many shadows seemed to reach out, itching to grab at me.
I practically skipped down the remaining steps and entered the kitchen. After quenching my thirst, I still found myself restless. Uneasy. Like I should be doing more than simply sitting in my room all day, silently plotting.
On edge, I decided to walk about the house, enjoying the blissful hush. If I was up already, I might as well take advantage of the freedom.
After turning on a lamp in the parlor, I walked past the haunting display of family portraits, observed the miniature marble statues my mother had shipped in from across the Aurilian realm, and flipped through some of the books left here from our library.
Some hours had passed, enough for my eyes to grow heavy, and I sighed, believing it best to give sleep another try.
Before I reached the stairs, I heard it.
Well, heard them.
Father and Callie.
“I already told you that I needed you on Thursday, and you vanished. They were putting up a fight, and you know what they expect from us.”
They?
I halted in my tracks before sliding around a corner, my heart hammering at my throat. The voices came from the foyer down the hall. Hopefully they hadn’t seen me pass.
Something told me I should not be listening in on this conversation.
It didn’t stop me.
Callie’s voice came like a whisper, but I made out her words. “I was busy, as I’ve told you. But they can’t continue to act in such a way. Word will spread.”
A grunt, and then, “If you enjoy the way we live and would like to keep it that way, I’d suggest you get it done,” Father warned. “Don’t disappoint me. I already have another daughter who does.”
Pain sliced at my chest, my eyes prickling.
But I couldn’t cry, not when heavy footsteps pounded the wooden floors, heading my way.
Instead of running up the steps and causing each one of them to creak and give me away, I snuck into the kitchen and waited with bated breath.
By the time the softer set of footsteps reached the stairs and commenced the climb, I relaxed. Slowly.
Father and Callie rarely argued. She was the perfect daughter and the child he’d wished for; cunning, smart, ambitious.
Even if she had to contend with the misconceptions of being a woman in a man’s world.
Which she would—with a grin on her face as she vanquished them all.
Nevertheless, I couldn’t purge Father’s threat from my mind.
And I wasn’t thinking of how he’d called me a disappointment.
It had pierced my heart at the beginning, but that pain had waned, until all I recalled was If you enjoy the way we live and would like to keep it that way, I’d suggest you get it done.
What did he need Callie to do? She clearly didn’t want to use her gift of influencing emotions on someone, or more than just one someone, by the way he spoke. They were up to something, some plan I wasn’t privy to but would strive to uncover. As my sister, Callie’s discomfort became my own.
When half an hour came and went, I garnered the courage to climb the stairs, noticing that Father’s study door was closed.
I ventured a guess that he’d locked it as well.
He’d been adamant about carrying the key around his neck like his most prized possession.
I sighed, twisting from the room of secrets, and shuffled half-heartedly to my chamber. The door shut softly behind me.
Sleep felt impossible now, but I wouldn’t do myself any good by being exhausted, especially since I intended to uncover the true meaning of their conversation. Among other things…
I’d had two weeks to think, after all.
Soon, I’d be able to leave, and what Father or Mother didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them.
Fates, all that time in seclusion had been a blur of mind-numbing embroidery and rereading old books of lore in my room. It had become a prison, my own little cell. Yet it had supplied me time to grieve, tame my anger, and more importantly, plan.
Mother hadn’t summoned me once. I’d overheard her and Father arguing in the hall that first night after I’d been arrested, and she’d made it clear I was to be punished. “She’ll learn,” Mother insisted. “If her reputation ever rebounds, then we need to marry her off. Quickly.”
I’d seethed at the words, hiding behind my door, my fists clenched as heat erupted across my face.
Marry. They wished to marry me off to avoid further humiliation.
If I allowed this, I’d be forever trapped, shackled to someone for all eternity.
The second I was able to leave, I knew where I’d go.
Who I’d seek. If all went according to design, I’d find the thief and coerce him to help me hunt down my gift.
Having become acquainted with the bastard, I’d resolved that my coercion would involve coin; lots of it.
I slept very little that night, tossing and turning, my dreams more like nightmares. Blood and tangled vines and endless forests.
I also dreamt about him.
Somehow, he was in the forest with me, his dark features steady and cold. Yet his ice-gray eyes couldn’t conceal the oddest flecks of warmth in them. No matter how hard he tried to play the villain. Or perhaps he was a villain, and I was simply too na?ve to accept it.
“I’m off,” Mother announced to the room the next morning at breakfast. Father barely lifted his chin as she placed a chaste kiss on his cheek. “I’m having lunch with Lord Lovett’s wife,” she said with a smirk. “The woman is positively dull, but she knows all the good gossip.”
I frowned at her, taking in her bright outfit. Apparently she’d gone to the modiste.
A pink tulle gown fitted her slender body, the bodice laced with black ribbons, a sleek white coat tucked over her arm for when the winds changed.
On her feet were matching pink boots with satin ribbons, which were new as well.
They weren’t the ones I’d spotted ladies wearing this season, but it must be recent fashion.
As she passed, Mother patted my head—not in an affectionate way—before she leaned down to whisper into my ear. “Be good, Wren. The entire city is watching, and you have no idea how hard I’m working to restore our family name.”
Ice skittered down my spine when she broke away, her heavy perfume smelling of gardenias and a hint of vanilla. It tasted like poison in my mouth.
Father shoved from his chair, jolting me. “I’m off too.” He glanced at Callie. “Ready?” he asked, which earned him a nod. She stood, smoothing her gray dress, which I knew she loathed. Callie loved bright colors.
“Behave,” Father commanded as they brushed past me and into the hall.
I swallowed thickly. I’d try, but…I had places to be today. A certain thief to harass. I suspected that wasn’t exactly “behaving.”
Gathering my nerves and steeling my spine, I stood, brushing out the wrinkles in my simplest dress—a navy blue with a modest skirt that flared slightly at my hips. Copper buttons ran down the small V of my neckline, and a few matching buttons decorated the cuffs of the long sleeves.
On my feet, I wore the scuffed brown lace-up boots I sported during hunting season when Father and I used to bond at our country home over the thrill of the chase. I had a decent aim with a rifle, but nothing compared to Mother; she could shoot the eye of a bird a hundred feet off the ground.
With my hair swept into a simple updo with plain copper pins, I decided I’d done my best to achieve my objective—to blend in. Before I left the dining room, I snatched a black cloak I’d brought down and flung it over my shoulders.
I could do this. I’d contemplated nothing else, imagining the second I tasted the air of freedom and took back what was rightfully mine. My first stop—Damien.
Slipping down the hall, I crept into the deathly quiet parlor, my heart hammering.
The only person left in the house was Sarah, who, as a result of my father’s obsessive need for privacy, served as both our maid and cook.
I strained to catch her shuffling footsteps, sighing in relief when she eventually opened and shut the front door.
She journeyed to the market in the afternoon like clockwork.
Instead of using the main entrance, I took to the garden, easing around the overflowing shrubbery and vibrant blooms until I reached the menacing wrought iron gate. Guiding the stolen key into the lock and twisting, I exited out onto our back street, making quick work of securing the gate.