THREE
brYNDIS ASHGLO
Steep a tea of poppy to bring forth sleep. It carries a sedating effect and eases pain, anxiety, and a mind in turmoil. It works especially well when paired with hops or wild lettuce.
The Herbal Healer’s Handbook, by Agnes O’Connel
Their voices are faint murmurs from behind my bedroom door.
Not even my navy quilted blanket pulled over my head keeps my mind from wandering down the stairs and into the study.
Something isn’t right, and a part of me has to know what, an annoying and persistent part of me.
But eavesdropping on private conversations between persons of rank is a criminal offence.
One punishable by the public removal of an ear.
That way the offender is shamed into seclusion, or at the very least, the rest of the town knows who to be weary of.
Eavesdropping is more dangerous than it sounds.
One could overhear delicate information and be tempted to share it with others.
Gossip, as any young lady introduced to society knows, is a bitter and intoxicating poison that should be eradicated before signs of morbidity set in.
My stepmother would ensure an even harsher punishment for the embarrassment I would cause her if they caught me.
To her, I’m nothing more than a reminder that her husband loved another woman before he loved her.
To me, she’s a reminder that my father didn’t love my mother enough to remain faithful.
“Why now? We’ve paid the tribute; we’ve completed the offerings like all the years before!” my father exclaims, his voice rough with agitation. “I don’t understand.”
Before I can form another thought, I’m out of bed, quilt wrapped around my shoulders, feet left bare.
I keep my steps light, staying on my toes so they won’t hear me.
Knowing every creaking floorboard, I effortlessly zigzag past them.
The icy copper doorknob stings my skin as I slowly turn it, avoiding the telltale click of its latch.
The hallway is dark other than the scraps of candlelight dancing across portrait frames and waxed wood.
Quiet, save for the voices coming from downstairs.
Laoise, Idoniya, and their mother must already be asleep.
“Rules have been broken. Sacred structures are damaged. Boundaries were crossed.” The man’s voice raises with each statement.
“Question me again, and you will suffer the consequences.” The baritone of his voice sends tingles racing up my spine.
It’s pure menace in its most primal form, yet I can’t resist inching farther down the hallway toward the stairs.
“Do we not fear The Others beyond these walls?” My father seethes.
Declan and I have been out in the woods during midnight hours once a week over the span of years.
Never have we seen anything remotely monstrous besides what happens on the inside of these walls.
Out there is only quiet and darkness. No beast followed us other than the voice already claiming residence in my head and the sensation of its presence shifting beneath my skin.
Even now, I sense its toothy smile, its darkness creeping behind me in the hallway as I walk, watching me with piercing eyes that see all too much.
It’s my shadow, the reflection I see in the mirror and in my dreams. I squeeze my eyes shut as tightly as I can for a moment. I will not be afraid.
“Keep your people out of the woods. It’s not safe for you there.”
“We have a curfew. We have measures put in place.” Arrogance blooms in my father’s voice, and I almost roll my eyes.
“It’s clearly not enough.” The man’s words are practically a growl.
“But…”
“Is my presence not evidence enough?”
There’s a long pause where neither of the men say a word.
I tiptoe to the edge of the wall and watch them through the ornate slats in the wooden balustrades.
Slowly, I sink to the floor, tucking my feet beneath me as my muscles tremble.
My mind may be wide awake, but physically… I’m exhausted after running back home.
They’re seated on either side of my father’s wide rosewood desk.
The silver-haired stranger has his muddy, black boots resting on the edge of my father’s carefully stacked letters, the clumped soil falling onto the papers pinned beneath his heel.
As a child, my father reprimanded me for tracing the swirled carvings along the edge of his desk with the tips of my fingers, as if I’d harm them in some way.
Seeing my father’s eyes fixed on the man’s boots makes me smile.
There’s something so satisfying in seeing the stranger overstep my father’s rigid boundaries with such boldness.
“The gates will remain shut. Day and night.” The man tells my father, to which he responds with a stiff nod, his lips pressed into a thin line.
“What is being done to ensure our safety?” Father pushes out of his chair and turns to the liquor cabinet behind him.
It’s filled with a collection of wines he vinified himself.
My father isn’t only the governor of Bouldermore, the largest town in the district, but he also owns the wine cellar of King Darragh’s choosing.
“Do I have to remind you of the treaty?”
“Careful, old man.” The stranger’s fingers push through his hair as he lets out a semi-restrained groan. “I hear elderly bones snap like twigs.”
“Am I supposed to sit back and smile like a fool?” My father turns abruptly, wine swirling in his glass. “You can’t reap or harm any law-abiding person. Am I correct?”
“Your Highness!” the stranger corrects, cutting my father off.
His boots drop from the desk, sending dirtied letters to the floor, and he stands abruptly.
“I have a title. I advise that you use it.” His palms flatten against the desk as he stares daggers at my father.
“Don’t forget your place, Lord Ashglo. I am your prince, the commander of your king’s army.
If my brother falters, I will be next to inherit the throne.
When the king’s presence is absent, I am the law. ”
There’s a long pause. “Yes, Prince Odhran.” The restraint in my father’s voice is unmistakable as he hands Prince Odhran the glass.
I can’t see the man’s face, but somehow I know his smirk echoes his posture.
The way he stands with his feet shoulder-breadth apart, shoving a hand into the pocket of his black pants, tailored to fit him all too well.
He raises his hand, and the glass sparkles in the warm light, catching a glow from the hearth before he empties its contents in one gulp.
My father’s shoulders tense, and his lips form their familiar press once more.
Nothing about this prince screams refinement or sophistication expected from an aristocrat, nothing except for his attire.
It must be a thorn in my, wine swirling, fine dining father’s side to witness this blatant sign of disregard.
“My staff have already prepared your quarters…”
“I prefer staying with my men.”
“In the servants’ quarters? In this weather?” My father huffs a laugh, as though the prince is jesting with him. “Surely…”
“I stay with my men,” Prince Odhran clarifies with a snarl.
The air is stale with tension as they glare at each other. Neither of them yielding. Neither making a move. “Then I bid you a good night, Your Highness.” My father drops his chin to his chest, lowering into a poorly executed bow.
“Your hospitality has been… generous.” Prince Odhran smirks, sarcasm practically oozing from his pores when he raises his chin.
He passes my father to collect not only a refill for his empty glass but the entire bottle from the cabinet, along with a spare.
My father seethes, his hands balling into fists at his sides, but he doesn’t say a word.
His collection is his treasure, which is being plundered while he stands defenceless.
When Prince Odhran turns, I finally see his face and the smirk I sensed earlier.
That smirk disappears instantly the moment he finds me watching him from the shadows, listening in on their private conversation.
By right, he can have me dragged to the town square for my ear to be removed this very instant.
According to the king’s decree, he’s obligated to.
A single offender sliding past without reprimand sets a standard for more to follow. Letting me go is the start of chaos.
My heart races, and I scurry back. The shadow from the balustrades is narrow, but I’m hidden within it. I ought not to be visible at all. Blood roars in my ears as every beat of my heart pounds painfully in my chest, panic coursing through me.
“Too late, young one. One can’t hide once seen.” The menacing voice laughs from the echoes of my mind.
My muscles tense, locking me in place as I watch the man below.
I stare at him while he looks directly at me in return.
One moment stretches into another until time practically stands still.
Then he straightens his posture, flattens the lapels of his black coat, and exits the manor without a formal acknowledgement of my presence or my intrusion.
A cold breeze blows from behind me, brushing against my cheek, and I jump to my feet, padding to my room as quickly and as quietly as I can.
My hands tremble. If he truly saw me, if he reports my transgression…
I feel sick. There will be no one to defend me against his allegation.
No one willing. No one able. Not even Declan.
Unless… I swallow, suppressing my fears.
Unless he lies and says I was with him. His family will exile him from their home.
Our lives will change instantly. He’d blame me for it all.
I’d rather lose a damn ear than hurt him.
If Declan even thinks of saving me… I squeeze my eyes shut. I won’t allow it.