12. Harlow
HARLOW
S outh Hold should be silent at this hour. I’ve snuck back inside in the dead of night so many times, knowing exactly where the guards are posted and which hinges creak.
But the halls aren’t dark and silent. I freeze inside the kitchen door and strain to hear. Somewhere in the depths of the house, someone is screaming.
I take the back servant staircase two steps at a time, pausing on the landing.
Another shout rings out, a bit closer this time. I continue up and a stair creaks under my foot.
I bite back a curse, pause, and listen to see if a guard will notice. No one comes looking.
The shouting echoes down the hallway, becoming louder and more insistent.
I lean out of the stairwell, peering down the hall.
There’s not a guard in sight. The hair on the back of my neck rises.
There should be rotations of them. Normally, I wait in this stairwell until the patrol goes by, and then I have three minutes to get down the long corridor to my room.
I count my breaths, waiting for guards to appear, but none do.
Another pained scream rings out. It’s coming from the family wing.
With one last glance toward the other stairwell, I dart down the hall .
I slip into my room like a wraith and shrug off my cloak, hanging it on the hook inside my closet. I peel off my dress, pull on a silk nightdress, and wrap myself in my robe. Creeping back to the door, I crack it open and strain to listen.
In the silence, I slip into the hall and pause, hand on my doorknob, waiting for someone to admonish me, but the hall is still empty and no scolding arrives.
My muscles are coiled, unsure whether to flee the house or continue down the hall and see what the commotion is. Every instinct tells me to mind my business, to stay here in my room and lock the doors.
But secrets are currency in this family. If I see something I shouldn’t, I could use it as a bargaining chip.
I gather my courage and start down the hall.
The only people who still live in the family wing of the house are my parents, me, and my oldest brother, Able, and his family. The rest of my siblings reside in the other gatehouses around the city.
I pass Aidia’s old room, beside mine. Then, Kellan’s childhood bedroom across the hall, and on and on until I come to the source of the commotion: Able’s room.
“You should be in bed.”
I jump at Gaven’s whisper so close to my ear.
“Bleeding woods, Gaven! I’m going to put a bell on you, I swear to the Divine,” I gasp, clutching my chest. “It’s not as if I could sleep through this.”
“Especially since you were out and about,” he says, his dark eyes narrowed on me.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I was getting some tea in the kitchen when the commotion started.” I peek through the cracked bedroom door. “Do you know what’s hap?—”
“You can’t escape them! They’ll make you one of them!” Able’s voice is so shrill and panicked.
I shove into his bedroom.
The light is minimal. The dying fire and several candles cast flickering shadows over the walls. My parents are standing by the fireplace, their grim gazes fixed on Able. Several guards are scattered about the perimeter, but three of them hold Able down on the bed.
It’s hard to process what I’m seeing. Able is always calculated, conniving, and calm in an unnerving way that lets you know he’s in control at all times. He’s unrecognizable with the look of horrified panic on his face.
His nightshirt is practically shredded from his flailing hands, his dark hair is matted with sweat, and his deep purple eyes are wide with hysterical terror.
“There’s Drained in the walls. Drained on the stairs. They’re coming for us.” His wild eyes dart to my father. “You!” he growls. “You’re their leader. They’re waiting for your command.”
He bucks against the guards holding him down as my mother and father look on. His aura is flared wide—its blue, pulsing light illuminating the whole room.
“They’re coming for us,” Able shouts. “The halls are full of them. They’re right here.” His eyes widen at the guard pinning his left arm. “You’re one of them!” He takes a wild swing, nearly connecting, but the guard ducks out of the way at the last second.
“Dose him, Divine dammit,” my father says solemnly. “He’ll be better in the morning.”
I recognize the man on Able’s right as his bodyguard, Nick. He’s talking to Able in a steady, calm voice, but Able keeps thrashing. A healer stumbles forward.
On the other side of the room, my sister-in-law Sierra sobs quietly in the corner. Her golden hair is somehow still perfectly twisted into a curling wrap, but the skin around her neck is bruised with Able’s fingerprints.
Anger sparks to life in my chest. Here I am, out hunting violent men, while living under the same roof with my brother, who is hurting his wife.
I shift and finally my mother notices my presence.
“You shouldn’t be here,” she says.
I glance at Sierra meaningfully.
“He doesn’t mean it,” my mother says. “He’s trapped in a nightmare. We’ve told Sierra not to sleep in here, but she doesn’t listen.”
The healer shoves a syringe into Able’s arm. His squirming and shouting slow immediately, and his muscles go slack.
“It’s a sedative,” my father says, clearly for my benefit alone since everyone else in the room seems to be used to this. “It’s to help him sleep.” He stands a little straighter. “An heir carries a heavy burden and these kind of nightmares aren’t unusual.”
I know that tone. It’s the one he uses to placate our people. This is a performance, but not one I need to be involved in.
My father glances at the guards. “Leave us.”
The men file out in a rush.
Sierra hovers beside the bed, sniffling. She places a hand on Able’s forehead.
“ Leave us ,” my father repeats.
She hugs her robe around her body and is ushered out of the room by Gaven. He passes her off to a guard in the hallway, closes the door behind her, and turns to face us.
So Gaven also knows about this. I guess I’m not the only one keeping secrets.
I turn my expectant gaze on my father.
“We believe Able is going mad.” He says it so calmly—like he’s talking about what he ate for dinner and not his son and heir’s sanity.
My mouth goes dry. “Excuse me?”
He frowns as if eternally disappointed that I don’t understand this abrupt news. “You heard me. He’s going mad.”
It’s not an isolated incident—I’d gathered that from the practiced choreography of the guards and the way they were ready with a sedative. I can’t imagine how I have never witnessed this before.
Except I can. I spend several nights a week out hunting.
“Why? How? For how long?” My voice sounds muffled in my ears, like I’m underwater.
“You have to tell her, Harrick,” my mother says. “Gaven will be there with her at Mountain Haven, of course, but she’s going to be alone at times. She needs to be aware of everything that’s at stake should she fail.”
My father clears his throat and adjusts the tie on his robe. He doesn’t look nearly as dignified or threatening in his pajamas, but I wouldn’t make the mistake of telling him so.
He clears his throat. “We have reason to believe that the well is making us mad.”
The words tangle in my brain. The well is healing—magical. It’s the place I go when I need to feel strong .
My mother wrings her hands. “Able is visiting so much more often to help your father lay down the holy fire barrier every night, and it seems like the more he visits the well, the worse it gets. It started very infrequently, but in the last few months, things have—escalated. It seems to be worse at night. It’s fortunate that you’re such a heavy sleeper or you would have noticed sooner. ”
Gaven catches my eye and arches a brow, but I am too shaken by the revelation to worry about him taunting me for sneaking out.
The well replenishes our magic. It’s part of the reason that we limit knowledge of the house well. It’s our ancestral secret, in case anything bad happens to the Blood Well.
“But we all go in the well,” I say.
Gaven’s steady gaze is fixed on me. He already knew this. It’s not unusual for him to know things before I do. My father trusts him more than he trusts me, and while it’s not surprising, it does sting.
My father sighs. “Yes, and we know you go more often because of your?—”
Defect . He wants to use that word, but my mother has scolded him for using it and now he can’t think of a better word.
My father shifts, his attention sliding to my mother. He wants her to smooth this over because he thinks she holds more sway with me. She shrugs a shoulder like she has nothing to offer, but I think she knows it would fall on deaf ears. It’s been a long time since I cared what she has to say.
“Condition,” my mother suggests.
I know there’s no name for the pain that plagues me, but it still bothers me that no matter how much I do for them, they only see the ways I fall short. As if my own frustration with my body isn’t enough.
They stare at me—waiting for me to speak.
After years of being forced to listen to them scheme, it’s satisfying seeing them both at a loss for words.
I want to cling to this—the only power I’ve ever had.
I want to show them that I’ve inherited their gift for hitting someone where they’re weakest. But I don’t need to say anything.
They already know this discovery—the urgency of madness overtaking my brother at the very moment that we face a new external threat—only improves my bargaining power once I get them what they want .
It’s tempting to toy with them, but I’m tired and agitated about leaving tomorrow. I need the quiet of my room to think.
My parents are still looking at me expectantly.
“Are you asking if I’m mad too?” I bite back a startled laugh.
“I suppose it’s a distinct possibility. I did just decide to go behind enemy lines by marrying a dangerous man for the second time—after I was promised that my duty had been done.
” I shake my head. “Perhaps I am a bit mad. Are you, Father?”