Chapter Twenty Wren #2
Grabbing my book, I once again attempted to read the paragraph I’d left off at, trying three more times before I finally fell into its rhythm.
It was a tale of the Fates, and how Day had saved the first princess of the realm in the west from a terrible monster.
According to legend, the monster had taken the girl, prepared to devour her whole and consume her royal blood.
Day had dashed onto the scene like the beacon of light she was known as, and using her powers, she had vanquished the monster.
I’d read this story before, but that had been ages ago.
A beastly thing, with elongated teeth and resembling both a bear and a griffin, the creature was ten times the immortal’s size.
All hope seemed lost, yet the young Fate faced the being with hope in her gaze and the soul of a warrior in her blood.
When she opened her eyes, they were so stormy, they sparked like black ice.
As she trained them on the creature, light shot from her irises, burning brilliantly and searing the monster alive.
The once-great beast turned into a pile of ashes.
The princess, who’d been hiding in the corner, ran to embrace Day, and within her arms, Day radiated pure joy—a perfect reflection of the princess.
She held tight to the girl, even when her sister and fellow Fate, Dusk, materialized, her raven hair floating around her form as if a great wind trailed her everywhere.
She swept the ashes into her floor-length cloak, the animal and its soul gone forever to the underworld.
Dusk vanished, leaving behind a simple token for the princess and all she’d been through. A gift, some might say.
The princess reached down, picking up and donning the simple necklace Dusk had left behind. Around her neck, magic flared to life, and the princess was bestowed a great power that many coveted.
My eyes snagged on one particular passage.
When she opened her eyes, they were so stormy, they sparked like black ice.
While Day was golden-haired, her eyes, unlike her sisters’, were cold and gray. Dawn’s were a calming coral, and Dusk possessed eyes the shade of a deep blue, much like the last light before the setting sun.
Damien’s eyes were unlike anything I’d ever seen before…impossibly dark gray and stormy.
Perhaps similar to black ice. Like Day’s.
I reread the passage, only to notice something else.
Every other book in my modest library depicted Day as the Fate who had created the first gift.
The story was the same—about the princess and her monster—but this one…
I flipped the cover over, inspecting its design.
I didn’t recall purchasing it. I’d merely grabbed it at random from my shelf earlier.
But its leather cover, a beautiful deep blue and embossed with a single gold star, was new to me.
Running my fingertip over the cover, I jerked back when a light shock pricked me.
It appeared like any other book, and yet…I brought it closer to my eyes, flipping it this way and that. My heart thudded when a pressed red poppy fell out from between the pages.
My hand shook as I took the poppy flower and rubbed my thumb over its velvety surface, my thoughts roaming back to that day in Dusk’s garden.
I frowned, hunching over the book, curious about its origins. Father wouldn’t have purchased it for me, let alone Mother. And Callie was far too busy to shop.
Where did you come from?
A soft clack sounded against glass. I dropped the red petal, watching as it fluttered to the bed.
Another clack.
Easing out of bed, I padded to my window just as the third clack struck the glass.
I nearly jumped out of my skin at the face staring back at me.
Yanking up the window, I snapped, “What are you doing here?”
Damien’s hand gripped the branch of the tree closest to my room, leaning to the side as his left foot found purchase on a lower branch. Somehow, he made the pose appear effortless.
“We agreed to meet,” he gritted through his teeth. Damien was far from thrilled, by the looks of it. “We planned to break into Lizzy’s home and do some investigating.” He shifted his foot on the trunk of the tree, adjusting. “Now you’ve made me climb a damned tree and I’m probably coated in sap—”
I shoved the window closed.
“Wren!” My name came out muffled, but Damien’s cold features flared to life. His eyes sparked with irritation, his forehead creasing in confusion.
Good.
I shook my head and crossed my arms. If he was anywhere near as cunning as he believed, he’d figure it out.
He kept shouting my name, forgetting that my parents and sister were at home. Fool.
I yanked the curtains together and shut out his face altogether. There. Much better.
“Wren! Open up!” he continued. “Stop being stubborn.”
My blood boiled. Crossing the room to my bed, I whipped my blankets up and climbed inside, rolling over so I faced the door rather than the blasted window he tapped at.
Stubborn. No. I was done with games.
Hell, maybe I didn’t need him anymore.
The prick showed up again the following evening, his pebbles striking my window with more force than necessary. I glowered before shutting the curtains, and he again called my name, the sound muffled by the glass.
This time, he was more persistent, going so far as to try to swing himself to the windowsill and close the gap between the house and the tree. I knew this because I heard a rather ominous thump before a crude curse.
I turned off my light and pretended to sleep.
The next morning—after trying and failing to pick the lock on Father’s study—I received a letter from Lord Everett.
The fine paper and elegant script stared back at me, the words bringing a much-needed lightness into my chest. Everett asked if I’d join him for a ride at his estate just outside the city in a few days’ time.
Such an uncomplicated request.
After days of Sarah watching my every move, making it all but impossible to leave the house, and with my attempts to break into the study a failure, the letter was surprisingly welcome.
Maybe clearing my head would be a good thing, and then I could focus.
I’d never planned to marry—I still didn’t—but I enjoyed Everett’s company.
It helped that he was handsome, the admiration in his eyes when he looked at me like a warm blanket on a cold night.
The more time I spent in his company, the less I saw him as the stiff gentleman I’d originally pegged him as, and perhaps he might understand and accept my unwillingness to marry.
He could want the same things I did—adventure and independence.
It wouldn’t be terrible to have a companion if I ever left Andalay.
I replied an hour later, accepting.
Afterward, I wandered about the house, empty aside from a busy Sarah in the kitchen, and inspected my parents’ room.
Neat and orderly, it was clearly designed by Mother, what with all the golden and rosy accents.
A copious number of pillows lay across the bed, the two nightstands occupied by matching mother-of-pearl gas lamps.
Rummaging through their drawers, mainly Father’s, I found nothing but neatly folded clothing.
Even the socks were laid out to perfection.
The massive closet beside their bathroom provided nothing either—mainly filled with Mother’s luxurious gowns and Father’s pressed suits.
Peering up at a shelf lining the closet, I found old sketches Father had crafted, chiefly scenic landscapes and drawings of strangers in the park.
I hadn’t seen the artistic side of him, but holding his artwork, which had been shoved so carelessly inside the closet, weighed on my chest. I couldn’t deceive myself any longer, and seeing the love he’d put into these drawings pained me.
Placing them neatly back where I found them, I continued my search, bypassing Mother’s newest pink boots, her fashionable heels, and a silk shawl I yearned to borrow.
In a box shoved in the corner, I uncovered Mother’s magicked shoes.
She hadn’t worn them this season, which I found odd.
It was the first time she hadn’t. I peeled open the lid of the box and carefully pushed aside the delicate wrapping paper.
Simple and crafted of a vivid blue that shone black in some lighting, they were stunning—the matching satin ties meant to wind up her calves were the purest silk that slipped between my curious fingertips.
For a moment, I pictured her last performance.
I’d been young at the time, but I recalled her innate elegance commanding the stage, the light shining directly on her ethereal form.
My throat grew tight as I repacked the shoes, realizing the last time I’d seen my mother genuinely smile had been on that night.
Even with a gift from the Fates, her joy hadn’t lasted.
She’d shoved her gift carelessly in a box and out of sight.
Like she didn’t care. Or like her cares went elsewhere, namely toward impressing the nobles with her grand teatimes and luncheons.
Her busy schedule had increased, if such a thing were possible, and she rarely came home until after I’d already gone to sleep. Not that Father said anything of it.
The remainder of the day passed with me trying to pick the lock on Father’s study, a futile attempt that made me want to simply hack through the wooden door with the axe from the garden. Defeated for now, I wandered back to my room in time for the front door to swing open.
Mother entered, her long pink skirts sweeping over the floorboards.
I froze as if I’d been caught. “Mother?” I hadn’t expected her home so early.
Her head lifted, finally locking on me. “Oh, Wren,” she said, her voice like a melody. Light and carefree—which didn’t describe her in the least. “I’m just stopping by for a bit. Forgot something I needed to bring to Lady Dudley.”