Chapter 17
The summer heat had seeped through the walls into Una's room, and nothing she did could get rid of it. Neither leaving her window open overnight nor blocking the invading light with a thick curtain during the day.
So she had given up. It was late in the afternoon, and she sat at the open window, curtain thrown back.
Her sleeves were buttoned at the cuff and her collar was fastened all the way up her neck.
No one was there to see her. Her father was in the bakehouse, preparing for the harvest feast. The scullery staff would not come unless summoned.
No one passing by below would even notice her in this upper window off the side of the palace.
It was just her and the relentless heat.
But somehow, she couldn't bring herself to unbutton her cuffs, or loosen the collar for air.
Her skin was completely clear. It had been three days since Sable had brought her Matthias' forged letter.
She had not eaten anything but her old usual fare of carrots, peas, oats, and some salted meat stew.
She had avoided wheat completely. It was another thing to add to her list of unsafe foods.
The letter lay on the table, folded along its original creases and sitting under the broken wax seal. She had read it enough times to recite it through. Her father's hand, but not her father's voice.
She could end the apprentice with a word. If she wanted to.
And part of her did want to.
Her father lived by the rules, of the codex, of the kingdom, by the values of honesty and fairness. If she carried that letter down the hall and presented it to him, he would send Matthias home in disgrace.
She wanted to feel the satisfaction of taking that action, but no satisfaction came.
What she felt instead was far quieter. The thought of walking down the hall, of explaining how she came by the letter, of revealing more of herself to her father and possibly even Headmaster Pavard .
. . the thought exhausted her. She wanted to tear the letter into tiny shreds so she would never have to leave this room ever again and do something about it.
But thinking about the letter was easier than thinking about the words that had been running through her head since she read them three days ago.
She is lonely. That will make this easier.
She had built her armor so carefully. She had become the girl who remained safe by tasting nothing and letting no one in. As long as they feared her, no one pitied her.
And it worked. For years. Then a stranger walked into her home, studied her for a handful of weeks, and completely dismantled her armor. Not the rash, the loneliness. He had read her the way she could read a pastry. Quickly, cleanly, and with a little bit of judgment.
A soft knock at the door behind her made her look up. "Who is it?" she asked, instinctively reaching down to check that the buttons of her cuff were closed though she knew they would be.
The door cracked open and her father peered inside. He smelled of flour and sugar and oven smoke. "You weren't in the bakehouse," he said, his tone soft with concern. "You haven't been for three nights now."
"I've been tired," Una said.
It was an easy lie. It wasn't even fully a lie.
Her father had never pushed hard enough to see past the easy lies, nor did he today.
He stepped into the room and set a small plate on her desk right next to the folded letter.
She watched his eyes pass over the familiar gold wax without seeing it, without knowing his own forged signature lay within easy reach.
The plate he set down contained a single, pale roll of bread.
"No butter. No egg," he said. "I didn't have time to add the herbs."
Una's heart broke. It was the opposite effect his kindness was meant to have, which made it all the more impossible for her to tell him what she now knew. "Thank you," she said. "I will have it later."
Renaud smiled, pleased that his effort to care for her had been accepted. He kissed the top of her head and left the room.
Una stared at the roll. At least she had something to feed Sable now. Hopefully, all the work she had done to build up the small bird’s trust had not been ruined by the fact that she hadn’t visited the garden in three days.