TWENTY-NINE
Twelvetide arrives like a savior, delivering me from the latest mess I made.
Or at least delaying the fallout for a few days—long enough for me to get my feet back on solid ground. With the house full of guests, there are plenty of distractions to keep me from running into Bishop.
In the kitchen, heat rolls from the oven in waves, thick with the smell of butter and sugar and something spiced that catches in the back of my throat.
Every surface is occupied. Honey tarts shaped like stars cool on racks next to bowls of flour-dusted dough waiting to be shaped and baked into more.
Biscuits and cakes and cookies crowd the rest of the table.
There are bundles of herbs and pine boughs tied with ribbon and twine stacked wherever they’ll fit.
A box of other necessities, just delivered from Wolf’s Keep, sits by the sink, and cases of wine are wedged beneath the worktable.
Tonight’s party promises to be … memorable, which I’ve learned this year isn’t the same thing as fun.
But regardless, we have to survive the final preparations first. Particularly Lenora, who is digging in one of the lower cupboards, grumbling under her breath.
I crouch next to her. “Can I help?”
She jerks back in surprise, hitting her head on the top of the cabinet. I catch her before she topples over, helping her onto her feet. But she scowls at me. “Everything is under control, and I have plenty of help.”
I bite back a response that won’t earn me any points with her, recognizing the pigheaded determination on her face all too well. It’s the same look my mother used to get when she’d decided something was her responsibility alone. A trait she passed on to Broderic and me.
Something tightens behind my ribs, but before the feeling can take shape, I reach out to help with the tray of candied nuts Lenora is trying to maneuver onto the last available space on the table. She grunts her disapproval at my help.
In fairness, she doesn’t really need it. There are a dozen servants currently in Miradores, half hired help from the village, the other half borrowed from the numerous visitors who have already arrived to turn the estate upside down.
She chirps over her shoulder at one with a cloud of black hair who has inched his way toward the baked goods. “Don’t touch those cookies. I have everything under control.”
He backs up so quickly he nearly tumbles into the kitchen hearth behind him, then edges his way out of the room entirely.
“Are you sure I can’t help?” I ask again, stepping aside just in time for two boys to tear through the kitchen.
They’re twins, judging by their matching faces and curly blond hair.
They skid around the central table, shrieking with laughter, and nearly collide with a woman dressed in a fur-trimmed coat that definitely doesn’t belong around this much butter and flour.
“Boys!” she calls out, already breathless as she barrels after them. “If you break something, I swear—”
The trio vanishes into the great room, allowing the sounds of more chaos to spill through the door. Deep, important voices having deep, important conversations—or what they think qualifies as such. Someone drops a spoon, a bottle clinks, and an argument breaks out above it all.
There hasn’t been a moment’s peace since the last of the guests arrived, filling the corridors, claiming the spare bedrooms, and drowning every quiet corner with gossip and talk of politics.
Not that I’m sure there’s much of a difference between the two topics.
Every one of them looks at me like they believe every rumor they’ve heard.
No one would dare touch me under Bishop’s roof.
That hasn’t stopped the stares and whispers. I’ve been avoiding it all.
Until the baths.
Since quiet has a way of letting the dangerous thoughts surface, the noise dulls their sharp edges. It’s easy to disappear with this many people around.
Easy to avoid him. Easier than admitting that the silence between us feels heavier than my guilt.
But considering that I haven’t seen him since I left him in the baths, Bishop is probably avoiding me, too.
It’s better this way.
Lenora huffs, shaking her head as she stares at the door that’s gradually swinging shut. “Rambunctious boys are the Marius curse.” She glances at me, her mouth curving ever so slightly. “Just so you know.”
“Okay,” I say, not sure why this warning matters to me.
“What I wouldn’t give to have just one little girl running around the estate at Twelvetide,” she adds and winks at me.
Realization slams into me, and I swallow down a laugh.
She’s not warning me. She’s delivering a hint—and not a very subtle one.
So, she doesn’t know what Bishop told me …
about scions not being able to have children.
I can’t help feeling sad for her, but the emotion lingers just a beat too long before I shove it away.
I retreat to the edge of the room, hands waiting uselessly at my sides.
There’s nowhere to stand without being in the way, nowhere to breathe without inhaling cinnamon and pine and woodsmoke and something sweet enough to make my teeth ache.
But even though I’m grateful for the full house, I have zero desire to make small talk while all of Bishop’s distant relatives leer at the harbinger.
Lenora pivots back to the box that’s just been delivered and actually curses, the sound so surprising that two borrowed servants scatter into the great room before they can be tapped for this duty.
She glares after them, whipping off her apron.
“They always forget something in the delivery this time of year. I’ll have to send someone down to the village. ”
I gulp. Going into Wolf’s Keep is the last thing I want to do, but I did offer to help, and I can’t hide at Miradores forever.
“I could—” I say weakly.
The sad look she gives cuts me off mid-sentence.
“You will not be going there unchaperoned. Bishop is off doing Stars know what.” She shakes her head as she lays out a fresh towel and begins piling baked goods in the middle.
“The beggars are horrible this time of year,” she explains, blanching as if she’s already dreading their hopeful hands. “It breaks my heart.”
But there is something I can do about that. “Wait. Will you do me a favor while you’re there?”
“Of course,” she says slowly, as if she’s afraid she’s just added more to her crushingly long to-do list.
“Just a second.” I race up the narrow staircase hidden by the back door before I can overthink this idea. I grab the leather pouch from Kieren’s things, ignoring a pang at how empty the box of his belongings looks without the clothes I gave away a few days ago.
Lenora is waiting for me at the door, and her brows rise when I pass the money pouch to her. “Give this to anyone who needs it.”
“Love, you don’t have to—”
“Please,” I cut her off, a lump forming in my throat. I can do Kieren’s Interstice right. I need to—since I’m fucking up everything else. “It’s not … mine.”
Understanding dawns in her eyes. She purses her lips and then holds the pouch back out to me. “Go on then. Take it.”
I back up a step. “I don’t want it.”
The lines of her face set with determination. “A woman should have some means tucked away. Your friend would agree. He would have wanted you to keep it … just in case.”
“I can’t.” I shake my head. That’s not how this works, and even if it was, just knowing his things are still in my room … “It hurts too much to see it.”
“I understand, love. But that’s not a problem.” She pulls a tea canister off the highest shelf, and a cloud of dust puffs off the lid when she opens it, coins rattling inside.
I take a step closer, curiosity winning out over grief.
“You can keep it with mine. Fifty years, and I’ve never had to touch it.” She lifts her chin like she’s proud of that fact.
“You have a secret stash?” Lenora is full of surprises.
“When I came here, I didn’t know a soul,” she confides. “No one in my family had ever traveled this far west. My brother gave it to me before I left. Told me to hide it, so I’d have a way to get home if I ever needed to.”
Something squeezes my heart as she talks about her family. “And you never used it?”
“I never needed to.” She snorts like even the idea seems silly now.
“But just knowing it was there eased my mind while I settled in here. I still like knowing it’s there, but now I like thinking about what I might do with it,” she says, lowering her voice as if this is a wicked confession.
“Maybe I’ll take a trip. I never dared leave Bishop to his own devices before, but he’s been very occupied lately. ”
I swallow around the lump that forms in my throat at her suggestive tone. She’ll be heartbroken when she realizes nothing is going to happen between us.
We can start a club.
Not that I have any right to be heartbroken. But still …
“Is there anything you need from Wolf’s Keep?” she asks, slipping on her coat.
I have everything I need at Miradores, a fact that slightly unsettles me. “Nothing.” I pause. “Unless the bakery there has some of those crescent pastries.”
Despite the never-ending feast she’s preparing, that is one delicacy she flat refused to “fiddle with,” as she put it.
“You’ll have to go to Wintour for those.” She shakes her head, adding with that knowing, hopeful smile, “Get Bishop to take you.”
I force myself to return her smile. There’s no reason to ruin her Twelvetide with the truth.
I’ve already done enough damage.
The day passes, and I’m still successfully avoiding Bishop.
His extended family is another story, and there’s no getting out of the party.
By the time Shea arrives to get ready with me, Breccan in tow, I’ve lied to one, considered strangling another, and potentially sold myself into an arranged marriage with an elderly uncle who seems to think my name is Lizabette.