Chapter 13
I was bleeding, and my heart was pounding.
My blood stained a rag I stole from the kitchen’s counter, the ivory linens seeped in scarlet. I plucked a sliver of glass from my finger, but it was difficult to find—my vision was darkening, becoming darker still. My cheek was hot, but my bones were cold. Was this the Shadow? Was my rage crafted of myself or something lurking in the unseen?
I was not sure.
Though I was sure of Briarwood’s fate. His silhouette singe within my mind. That lord and his damned hand of discipline. Punishment. The audacity he wore, clouting the innocent as though sins were not tallied, never to be reckoned.
Rhoswen, calm yourself, Deceit hushed, stroking my mind.
Any comfort was lost to the serrated edges of his nails.
Do you sense the Shadow? I asked.
No, he said, but this only deepened my fears.
I garnered a breath. Then two. Three. When my lungs filled to the point of ache, I held my breath for a moment. Blowing slowly, my eyes began to welcome colors once more. Depressed sunlight glinted grime on the windows. Rage diminished. My bones and blood warmed. The cold touch was gone.
“Miss?”
I turned around to find Ewan with a reddened cheek.
I swathed the rag around my bleeding finger and sank to Ewan’s eyeline.
“Lord Briarwood never should have laid a hand on you. I’m sorry for what happened.”
“I only wanted to give my thanks,” he said.
“I can’t say you people tend to help the likes of us.”
“Does the lord ever strike the workers?”
He nodded in confession.
“Just about every day, but Mum said he fell into a long sleep some days ago. I don’t think he’s woken up.”
“No,” I assured.
“Lord Eadric hasn’t woken.”
He sighed in relief with a half-smile and eyes in a childish, innocent glow.
“Oh, good. Mum’ll be glad for that.”
“Ewan, what about Lord Alistair? Does he ever strike you?”
Ewan’s nose scrunched with eyes chasing thoughts.
“Oh, the lord’s son. He—”
“Ewan, Ewan, darling!” Lilian hurried to her son’s side and set ice upon his cheek. I stood straight as she reined him in her arms and held him close. She looked at me.
“What you did, Miss Rhoswen. I-I can’t thank you enough.”
“No one should be treated that way.”
She gazed down at her son, her lips quivering. Lifting her eyes back to mine, she held back a trickle of tears.
“Ah, well.” She sniffled and shrugged.
“Such is the nature of being the lesser in this age.”
Lilian reached up and rubbed her neck—there was a scar below her jawline.
I nearly asked about it, but a playful cry echoed from outside.
“Ewan!” Four beating eyes and two little noses pressed against the iron gate window. Curls bobbed atop heads as two young children yanked the tips of their noses from the frosted window and raced through the doorway. The children charged towards Ewan.
Ewan’s eyes were beaming.
“Paisley! Oliv—”
The racing children hurled themselves onto Ewan with bellows of merriment. Three little shadows leaped from the ground, and Ewan was knocked into sacks of flour. A cloud of grime smothered the air.
“Get off me!” Ewan laughed, and shades of rose flourished across his face.
One of the children waved away the cloud of flour, his eyes finding me.
“Oh gods, you’re bleeding!” A boy, not past ten, falsified a gag.
“Brother, do not be so rude.” The little girl slapped her sibling’s arm. Hazel eyes then rounded as the girl, also not older than ten, looked at me.
“Are you unwell?” She smeared away the flour from her plump cheeks.
I knelt with a smile.
“No, darling, I’m fine.”
“I am glad to hear it, miss. I am Paisley, and that is Oliver.” Her little hand gestured to the boy tossing Ewan back into the mounds of flour.
“It is lovely to meet you, Paisley. I am Rhoswen.”
“By the gods, what a beautiful name you have!” Flecks of gold speckled her eyes, and roses were housed upon her cheeks. Like sunlight, her hair was dressed in pale yellows. Paisley’s voice chirped in my ears.
“Might I ask, what happened to your finger?”
“Oh, just a bit of glass is all.”
“Let me see!” Oliver became a rooted stalk at my side, surveying.
Little Paisley overemphasized the roll of her eyes.
“Oliver, you cannot ask to see a lady’s wound. Gods, class is wasted upon you.”
“I do not need class, sister! I will be fighting for the king and cursing the damn gods with the sharp of my sword.” Oliver swung a weapon of air.
“Do not say that, Oliver. Mum is going to kill you.”
“I will, if I can ever catch you wild kids!” A woman’s voice bellowed from the doorway. Smiling bright, she sprinted to where Oliver swung his imaginary sword, her gown of navy blue and ivory stripes dancing with her gait. She lifted Oliver in the air, soaring him high.
“Mummy, put me down!” Oliver squealed, so she unhanded her son and scuffled his brunette strands behind his ears.
I found myself giggling in their banter.
“Hello, Lilian.” The woman set her hand upon Lilian’s arm.
“It is always good to see you.”
“Miss Brown.” Lilian offered a modest bow with the first genuine smile I’d seen.
“Ewan, love?” Miss Brown swept away the flour that buried Ewan’s hair. She had an effortless beauty about her—the simplest face of smooth contours with a dear smile.
“Yes, Miss Brown?”
“Could you please show my children where you keep your biscuits? Save one for me as well but enjoy it yourself.”
“Thank you, ma’am!”
And the three littles fled to sweeter lands.
Not two seconds later, a crash sounded in the distance.
“Oi,” Lilian chanted towards the children.
“Don’t go breaking anything!” She followed the sound of ruffians’ commotion.
Miss Brown wiped her flour-dusted hands upon her gown, dampening the vibrancy of blues. Her kind eyes met mine.
“Apologies for my children, miss…”
I placed my hand upon my chest.
“Rhoswen Fallen, my lady. Though only Rhoswen, please.” My lips curled in sincerity.
“And no need to apologize. It is refreshing seeing such lively spirits in the estate.”
Our hands joined.
“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Rhoswen. I am Edith Brown.” I prepared to inquire about her status, but Edith beat me to the words.
“What is your place in the estate? Surely nothing that involves shards of glass.”
I chuckled.
“It appears today has offered an assortment of duties. I am an advisor for our Lord Alistair.”
“An advisor? But you are so young.” Before I could uphold my quip, Edith humored me.
“Not to say the young cannot be wise. Fresh eyes are often needed in dark days such as these. May I help you?”
“Help me, Miss Brown?”
“Please, I will call you Rhoswen, and you will call me Edith.” Her smile reflected my own.
“And with your wound, love. I am often prepared for the endless scratches and gashes my Oliver brings home.”
My lips parted, but again, it was she who spoke.
“Sit, Rhoswen.”
She yanked a chair before me and pulled a leather sack from beneath her cloak. Edith untied it, and there was nothing of rags, needles, or twine within—only a small vial with gold liquid and swirling stars. A potion.
I took my seat. Edith removed the vial’s cork with a pop and tucked her brown, wavy hair behind her ears.
“How does your time fare with Alistair, Rhoswen?”
It wasn’t voluntary—the recent memories hammering in my mind. Hendry. The assassins in the meadery. The blood. The darkened vision. Shadows.
Deceit stretched out and cradled my mind. My thoughts.
“Intriguing,” I finally let out.
“I have never served a lord that holds so much power.”
Edith gave a short laugh.
“Be honest, dear. I know the makings of an estate in this era.”
“Then I’m sure you are aware of the lords, too.”
Edith chuckled like a songbird, lighthearted and without troubles.
“Indeed, I do. Which is precisely why I live a quiet life apart from it all. My husband and I live in an estate within the valleys to the north.” Her nose scrunched.
“I do not keep counsel, however. Nor do we tend to the neighboring town. We abandoned that life before the war began. Simply, we live, and for that, I am grateful.”
“I might have a tinge of jealousy at the thought.”
“Then what keeps you here, serving lords and aiding the king?” Edith pondered my wound as the potion dripped upon my skin. It was hot though far from painful.
I shrugged.
“Convictions, I suppose.”
“Ah, yes. Convictions. They will be the death of us, Rhoswen. All anyone ever longs for in this age is to leave behind a legacy. So many often forget the effect of the passing of ages. We become a name without a face, or a face without a name. In the end, what does it matter how those centuries beyond remember us?”
This, what Edith said, reminded me of Alistair’s… not eulogy, but merely his sentiments at his father’s funeral. The passing of ages is inevitable, and one day, no one will remember this era.
“Do you truly not care about legacy?” I asked.
Her lips pursed in a brief pause.
“I believe our realm has forgotten the purpose of life.”
Sitting both charmed and enchanted by her mind, I asked.
“Edith, do tell, what is life’s purpose?”
“Is it not to love?” Her words were ripe at the threshold of her lips.
“To appreciate what comes of the day and cherish the moments with those we have chosen and have chosen us. A mutual understanding that our breath is finite, and we live together to enjoy such counted days until our last.”
My lips bowed.
“That is a beautiful telling, Edith.”
“It is not only a telling, Rhoswen. It is intentionality to protect the peace we have made for ourselves.” Her hand embraced mine with eyes fixed upon my own.
“As you house yourself in the dark of the estate, remember to find the beads of light. They are always present, even in the shadows.”
Edith then grabbed a fresh rag from a nearby basket and wiped away the potion tangled with my blood. Untouched skin was revealed, supple and new. The wound was healed, wholly.
“What is that?” I asked, looking at the vial.
“It is a healing potion,” she said with a proud grin.
“The quiet life often needs a hobby or two. In fact, I taught Alistair a few things when he was young.”
“When he was young?” I asked, but my question was surmounted by another.
“Edith, darling! Children!” A masculine call rang in the kitchen.
Edith waved him over.
“Reuel, love, meet Rhoswen.”
Reuel’s large hand, as warm as his wife’s, clasped around mine.
“Pleasure, miss.” His two children sprinted into view and lassoed around his legs. Laughter roared from his chest as he scuffled Oliver’s hair that mirrored his, brunette with loose curls.
“Come on, kids. Let’s go see your cousin.”
Paisley’s lips stretched in a pout.
“Ah, Father, must we? I want to stay in the kitchen with Ewan.”
“Of course we must, little darling.” Reuel lifted his daughter upon his waist, hazel eyes peering into Paisley’s.
“That is why we have traveled all this way.”
Paisley shivered in Reuel’s arms.
“But Father, he scares me.”
Edith lifted her hand, stroking her daughter’s back.
“Paisley, come now. There is nothing scary about him.” She sighed and hushed.
“He is only relentlessly serious.”
“May I ask who you have come to visit?” I asked.
“Your Lord Alistair,” Edith said.
“We had hopes to attend my brother’s funeral, though we were delayed. But we are glad to be spending some time with my nephew.” She set her gaze upon Oliver, took his hand, and led the children towards the kitchen’s outlet.
“Rhoswen, let us visit again before I depart, yes?”
The corners of my lips lifted. “Gladly.”
Oliver called over his shoulder.
“Careful the glass!” To his mother, he whispered.
“She’s quite lovely, she is.”
I watched the benevolent family step out the door into the dining hall and called for the god prowling within. How is it that a kind family could share the blood with someone like the lord?
Need I remind you of your father, child? Though… he fell silent.
What is it, Deceit?
What remains in the unseen. A cold beat in your heart. A flicker, a flare, a tainted drop. Dark magic.
My heart tensed. Deceit, I… What Maisie said—
You cannot be chosen by gods and marked by Shadows, child.
You said you do not understand the dark magic. How can you be certain?
I’m not.
…
The day evolved to dusk. I was imprisoned in the bloodred dining hall for the final meal. I had spent the day elbowed between lords, ladies, and children, rights and wrongs, sins and saviors. Endless disputes. When I’d grown weary of words, I’d focus on the estate’s skin folds and mannerisms.
“Why Father won’t let us court is beyond me. I am twenty!” Catriona thrashed her chalice upon the table and wiped her long, russet hair off her shoulders. She snuck a glance at Earnest at the edge of her sight and yanked down her collar line, emphasizing her cleavage.
Sitting a few seats over, Earnest didn’t pay her any mind.
“It is not age,” Maisie said softly.
“There are none suitable in the estate.”
Catriona bulged her eyes at Maisie, then pointed her stare at Earnest.
Maisie shook her head.
“Lord Briarwood,” Lucien called across the table, stealing the room’s attention and interrupting Briarwood and Alistair.
Lucien was a man of art—not in anything visual or musical, rather an art of wedging himself into conversation. His hearty laughter filled my ears too many times today, Lucien demanding attention if others were not keen to offer it.
Alistair sat far off at the head of the table. He wore his serpent smile with foul delight burning in his dark eyes. He and Briarwood had mentioned their crusades against the Guild of the Gods upon numerous occasions, prophesying the blood to seep into the lands until they’d be bathed red. Briarwood harped on the king’s greatness, not forgetting the two princes, Knox and Evandor.
If these lords had it their way, we’d all be dead or forever in the dark.
The two lords thrashed their chalices together, toasting to a condemned fate.
Lucien threw his chalice into the union.
Roses were set in vases, bouquets forming a line down the center of the table—as though this room did not already have enough crimson. I reached out and pinched a stem, the petals falling at my touch, and collected the petals. They were soft, teeming with life they did not know had been bartered for death. I rubbed them together, the petals bruising and wilting.
“Rhoswen, are you all right?” Catriona stole a petal from my palm.
“Of course,” I lied.
“Only weary from all the excitement, I suppose.”
“Yes, you definitely brought an excitement with you this morning.” Her fork scraped between her teeth, peas flattening in her bite. She washed them down with wine.
“I know you have spent much time with lords, though I feel inclined to say—you should not tell a lord how to treat staff.”
“Don’t listen to her.” Maisie leaned against the table, seated across from me.
“Lords need to be reminded that servants are just as important as any of us.”
“Ha! You know nothing, sister,” Catriona slurred.
“Those damn kids need to be beaten every once in a while. Keeps them in line.”
At Catriona’s words, a dark crept over me. My vision dimmed for only a blink—colors muted, shadows lightened. Maisie’s eyes fell over my shoulder.
The Shadow. It was following me.
My stomach tightened. The god held my fears.
Maisie and I exchanged a look.
“Well,” I began and took a calming breath.
“Perhaps it was not my best moment grabbing Lord Briarwood’s wrist.”
Catriona’s fork met her plate. She leaned closer, tongue lazy in a slur.
“Sir Lucien was livid. Father calmed him down, but gods, I’d never seen him so mad. Between this morning with Lord Briarwood and giving Freya some of that wine—” She leaned back in her chair.
“I thought his head might burst, he was so mad.”
Burning bridges with your new friends, are we? Deceit mocked.
Hush.
“Do you know what Lord Alistair thinks?” I asked.
Catriona shrugged, stabbing more peas with the teeth of her fork.
“Don’t worry, darling Rhoswen. It seems you still have a chance to bed him.”
Hot colors spilled into my cheeks.
“Catriona,” I hissed with my teeth in a clench.
Catriona took another swig from her chalice—after far too many swigs—and seemed to note what she said halfway through her gulp. She looked at me over the chalice’s brim with big, guilty eyes. Wine must have filled the wrong pipe, because she had a coughing fit, red splattering the tablecloth.
“What are you talking about?” Maisie asked, brows high.
“She fancies the lord,” Catriona whispered and winced.
“Gods, sorry.”
Maisie took away Catriona’s wine and pushed a glass of water to her.
“Fancies him?” Squeaked behind me.
Sands. I knew that voice. By the time I turned, Freya was leaving, her golden hair whisking past the doorframe.
I glared. Gods, I glared. Fixed my face. And smiled.
“Rhoswen, I am so sorry,” Catriona moaned in a hush.
“I can’t keep my bloody mouth shut.”
“They have a courtship,” Maisie added.
“Freya and Lord Alistair. It has been in place since I can remember.”
Catriona coughed up peas.
“Oh gods, I forgot about that. The two act like strangers.”
“Can we leave it be?” I asked.
“Let’s just not say anything, yes? Let the matter lie.”
“Anything for you.” Catriona’s face was redder than the wallpaper.
Drama, drama. Deceit laughed.
Chairs grinded. Briarwood stood from his seat.
“A word,” he said to Alistair and cut his eyes to Lucien. “Alone.”
Alistair and Briarwood approached the door, so I stood.
“Please, excuse me.”
“Oh, sands, I’ve upset you, haven’t I?” Catriona pouted.
Yes.
“Not at all. Just weary. Everything is fine.” I turned towards the door, and Alistair and Briarwood were already gone.
“Goodnight, ladies.” I tipped my head and left.
“Miss Fallen.” Lucien stood before me but five steps from the archway.
“Yes, Sir Lucien?” My foot tapped. Alistair and Briarwood were on the other side of that door, spilling their secrets. I needed to know. Gods, I needed to know.
“I wanted to apologize for my show in Tharen Crest.” Lucien’s sentiments dragged my eyes to him. His brows and eyes were relaxed—it was an odd sight, not seeing his scowl.
“I know apologies cannot make right what I had said, that you should have been arrested for keeping the goddess’s wine. I did not know it was you who had the wine, and I was overwhelmed. Lord Alistair nearly lost his life.” He broke eyes from me for a moment, his face flickered into a glower.
“But you saved him,” he said and calmed the resilient muscles upon his face. “And for that, I should have offered you praise, not condemnation.”
Half my attention began to claw at me. To chase Alistair and Briarwood.
“Sir Lucien, you are kind.”
“No, Miss Fallen.” He set his hand upon his chest.
“I am regretful.”
“Please,” I assured.
“Release your regrets. I hold nothing against you.”
“So, you might still consider myself within your confidence?”
“Yes, of course, Sir Lucien.”
He smiled a smile that left me on edge. It did not look right how his lips bowed upward.
My impatience pined.
“If you’d please excuse me, Sir Lucien, I’d like to retire.”
Lucien bowed and cleared a pathway to the exit. I took the clearing, slipped out of the dining hall, and crept on silent footfall. Low murmurs acted as a beacon in the dark. When I could distinguish words from around the corner, I set myself behind an open door.
“What is your plan, Alistair?” Briarwood asked.
“How have you come by this information?” Alistair’s question was uttered through a tight throat.
“Percival had already been accused of tampering with the elvish slavery laws, but he was not working alone.”
Tampering? My breath thickened.
“How can you be certain?” Alistair asked.
“To what lengths have you confirmed this?”
Deceit, what are they speaking of? What had Percy done?
The god was silent, filling the tunnels of my ears. Listening.
Lord Briarwood adopted the sharp edge of Alistair’s tongue.
“Your friend was conversing with the elves, Alistair. He had plans to tear down the slavery barters. We found letters, that silver sigil on each one. Percival was trotting across your land and sending those damn, disgusting creatures to their abhorrent haven.” Briarwood spat his repulse on the ground in unison with my soul cracking.
Alistair retorted.
“Percy would never do such a thing. His father’s wealth, the entire house, was built on the slavery barters. Had he dealings with elves, his dynasty would fall.”
Deceit, was Percy helping the elves?
Tears began to scrape my eye, and the god left any answers unspoken.
I shouted within, Was he innocent?
“His dynasty fell regardless,” Briarwood seethed.
“You need to be mindful of the company you keep. It is not only the Guild of the Gods that threatens us. It is the very lords sworn to obey the king’s rule.”
“I have complete confidence in my men.”
“Even your ladies, my lord?” Briarwood asked.
Alistair growled.
“What are you questioning?”
“That Fallen girl. I do not trust her.”
Deceit echoed Alistair’s snarl.
“It is not for you to say what counsel I keep, Briarwood.”
“Do not be foolish, Alistair. How many houses has she served that have died to the guild? Two, that we are aware of, but how many others?”
He sees too much. Deceit was alive in my mind. Alive and tense.
“Foolish?” Alistair’s tone would silence anyone, save for another lord.
“She saved my life. Though you may not trust her, I do.”
“Do not forget who saved your father’s life time and again,” Briarwood uttered and sucked a lungful of air.
“Fallen may have used illegal wine to heal your wounds, but my house has stood beside your family for generations. Do not misplace your trust.”
Alistair took a low breath, composing himself.
“Lord Briarwood, as you know, being a lord means I must cultivate allies. I do not disregard all you have done for my father. Tharen Crest was near hopeless to reinforce without your aid. I will never forget this. Though, understand that I aim to build a house stronger than my father’s before me. Such efforts will bring new allies.”
“And what of those lords that conspire against the crown?”
“Anyone who dares dishonor King Paden, I will gladly see fall to his guillotine.”
Briarwood huffed.
“I expect nothing less. Some lords are uniting in aims to discover those who plot behind the king’s back. I will send a raven to let you know when we plan to meet next. I trust you will attend.”
“I will aid however I can,” Alistair said.
“Good. And your kinship to the prince is of benefit to us. You will keep us in good graces with Prince Evandor, yes?”
“I cannot speak for the prince, though, so long as we serve the crown, I have no doubt we will have Evandor’s blessing.”
My princess labors under a lord’s authority, the god began. And this lord is held in high regard with my darling’s blood. The blood she could never drain from her veins.
“You take well after your father,” Briarwood said in a pleased breath.
“I merely live to see the gods fall and Shadows rise.”
“Then the unity between my house and yours will prevail.” Briarwood cleared his throat.
“I will see you at the library upon nightfall.”
“Until then.”
Footsteps gained then faded as I tucked behind the door, becoming a distant thrum that washed away into silence, but my mind… My mind knew no silence.
Deceit, I began, the words near not forming amidst the lurid thoughts pelting my mind. Was Percy innocent?
The god still said nothing.
Tell me! I threw the livid thoughts at him. Was Percy helping the elves?
I do not know, child, he said brashly, clawing back, cutting at me. The gods do not see all that transpires in the realm. But, even if a grain of innocence knew him, Percival paid the price for the sins of his father and his father before him.
Now, silence knew me. Such heavy, burdensome silence, I nearly fell to the ground.
Was it so simple? Life and death, teetering upon a surface so veiled, so unknown, and yet Percy’s fate was decided without question? Though I did not speak to the god, he was forced to listen to my unrelenting questions all twisting around the notion… The notion I knew to be true. The notion I should have listened to as I led another marked soul to Taison’s blade.
Percy was good.
I stepped out from hiding, guilt a raging force in my gut. Emerging into torchlight, I glanced down the hall, seeing none but the horde of stones. My gown whisked as I turned the corner, and—
My knees buckled. I bit down a gasp.
Alistair was drenched in the same firelight as me, leaning against the wall, head kicked back. His lips were moving, though no sounds escaped him. His eyes were closed. I twisted as slowly as I could and—sands—a floorboard groaned beneath my feet.
Alistair’s eyes cut open, and his muscles stiffened.
“Fallen,” he growled so low, it rumbled in my soles.