TWENTY-NINE #2
“You look tired.” Shea assesses me, clutching Breccan by the shoulders to keep him from being trampled underfoot by the harried servants in the kitchen.
“It’s been a long day,” I say with a sigh.
She glances around at the turmoil masquerading as party preparations. “I can see that.” She bites her lip. “If I should take him—”
Before she can finish the offer, Lenora whirls around and gives Breccan a plate stacked so high with cookies he can’t see over the top. “Those are for you.” She pats him on the head, earning one of his gap-toothed smiles. “But I’m afraid the kitchen …”
“Don’t worry,” I say as much to her as to Shea. “I know where to take him.”
Shea plucks two cookies off Breccan’s plate as we steer him through the great room, earning her a “hey!”
“You can’t even see where you’re going.” She nods for me to help him out, and I gladly do.
“You’re lucky,” I tell Breccan around a bite. “Lenora has yelled when any of us try to take a cookie.”
He grins wider at this information, but when I lead him into the library, the smile slides from his face, replaced by slack-jawed awe.
I squat beside him, heat prickling my eyes at the sheer joy on his face. It will be worth it when Hadrian hands me my ass over this later. “I thought you might like to wait for us here.”
He bobs his head several times, nearly dropping his plate.
I take it from him and deposit it on one of the tables. “Let’s put these over here.”
“Good idea,” he says, squaring his shoulders like he understands the responsibility he has to the space.
Hadrian might not be happy, but I have no doubt that Breccan will take better care of the books here than any adult living in this house besides him.
“Okay, rules,” I say, biting back a grin when he straightens like a little soldier waiting for orders. “No writing in books. Keep the cookies away from the books.” I try to think of anything else that is likely to make Hadrian apoplectic. “Don’t fold any of the page corners.”
Breccan shrinks back like the mere suggestion horrifies him.
He’s going to get along just fine with Hadrian.
I take a step away, searching the upper stacks for the latter, but I can’t see him, so I call out, “We have a guest in the library. He knows the rules!”
Shea gives me an apprehensive look as I link arms with her, but she smiles down at her brother. “Be good. Follow Arden’s rules.”
“I will,” he promises with a solemn nod.
Footsteps clatter on the spiral staircase, and we all turn to find Hadrian descending, robes flying out behind him. When he makes it to the bottom, he stops dead in his tracks. “There’s a child in my library.”
“Well spotted.” I nod, urging Shea back a step. “This child loves books more than you do.”
But Hadrian is still staring at him when Shea and I reach the library door. I push her gently through it and make it one step out before Hadrian bellows, “Arden, there’s a child in my library!”
I turn to face him just as Breccan presses a finger to his lips, shakes his head, and whispers, “You’re supposed to be quiet in a library.”
Hadrian’s eyebrows bunch as he stares down at the strange creature I’ve deposited in his sacred space. But he looks up, mouth twisting into a curious grimace, and waves me away. “Off with you, then.”
I’m shaking with barely suppressed laughter as I close the door quietly behind us. But Shea lingers beside it. “Are you sure that we should leave?”
“It’s good for him. Hadrian spends too much time with books.”
We’re almost to the stairs when one of Bishop’s cousins steps in our path, carrying a plate of pickled sugar root and onions. The scent is so pungent that I start to cough. He tilts his head, studying us as he plucks a ruby-red strand of onion and pops it into his mouth. “So you’re the harbinger.”
I flinch, but he squints as though he’s trying to spot whatever ominous secret I’m hiding. He shrugs and looks at Shea. “And who are you? Another lovely omen?”
And I thought the vinegar was stomach-churning.
Shea blinks at him and stammers out, “I-I’m training to be a knight,” then adds a strained, “sir.”
“A knight!” His eyes light up as he licks his forefinger and thumb clean. “How quaint! I command the garrison in Isoldoro. Perhaps we can discuss where your future assignment might take you … if you are interested in somewhere more cultured.”
Because nothing says sophistication like sucking pickling juice off your fingers.
I grip Shea’s elbow and aim her toward the staircase, forcing a smile. “We need to get ready. If you’ll excuse us …”
“I’m starting to understand why my invitation ordered me to leave weapons at the Bellatorum,” Shea mutters under her breath as we race up the steps.
“Me too.” I suppose it’s the same reason that Bishop locked the armory before the first guest stepped through the estate’s postern.
But when we reach my door, Vessica is standing there, and my heart stops.
“What is it?” I ask, already imagining about a dozen worst-case scenarios.
Her mouth flattens into a thin line as she looks at Shea. “You didn’t tell her.”
“Shit,” Shea says, turning to me. “I meant to say something. I invited her to join us, but it was so loud down there and—”
“It’s no big deal,” I cut her off, shoulders sagging as relief floods through me. I thought she was here on behalf of Bishop. That he sent her.
Or worse, that …
I bury the thought and force a smile. I could use a few allies around here, especially with Twelvetide’s mixed company. I stride forward and quickly draw the nochtimetric pattern on the lock Bishop installed last week—a concession I made so I could stay in my bedroom while the guests are here.
“Do you want to borrow something?” I ask Vessica as soon as we’re inside. Pausing, I yank off my boots and toss them next to the fire.
“I’m fine.” She smooths her tailored dress uniform as she says it, but her eyes tighten slightly.
“Are you sure?” I throw open my wardrobe to reveal the new gowns and mirror hanging inside. “Because Lenora ordered half the dress shop after that fitting, and you know I’m never going to wear most of them.”
The impracticality of it, with the estate needing so much work …
“Come on.” Shea nudges Vessica toward the wardrobe. “We’re doing her a favor.”
“You really would be,” I insist. I push the gowns apart on the rod, showing her a glimpse of a midnight-blue gown, the color so deep that it’s nearly black.
It’s not quite the gown I caught her admiring in the shop.
The neckline is higher, and the sleeves are lined with gold fabric, but it’s cut in the same severe, stunning angle. “This one,” I whisper.
She tries to shake her head, but her eyes stay on the dress. “I don’t need—”
“No one needs a ball gown”—contrary to the belief of most of the people currently crowding the estate—“but sometimes you deserve one.”
“Are you sure?” She brushes her hand across the silky fabric.
“Yes.” I lift it from the rod and shove it into her arms. “And you can keep it. I really don’t know what I’m going to do with all these dresses. It’s not like I have anywhere to go.”
Shea steps forward and begins looking at the others. “You could wear them for Bishop,” she says casually.
I nearly choke on my own spit. “What?”
“You two have been training together constantly.” Shea shrugs a shoulder, her attention pausing on a sleeveless gown of soft gold silk with a flowing skirt and neckline that’s cut unapologetically low.
There’s a capelet of white fur to wear with it—the dressmaker’s concession to my request to keep my mark covered.
“The whole Bellatorum is talking about it.”
So much for the privacy of training at the astrolatory. I glance at Vessica, who is doing an admirable job of pretending not to care.
“You have to have considered it.” Shea holds the dress to her chest and sighs dreamily. “He’s …”
“He’s what?” I ask slowly.
“Beautiful,” Vessica supplies with a snort like it’s perfectly obvious.
But both Shea and I stare at her.
I mean, she’s not wrong.
“What? I have eyes.” She holds up a palm like she thinks I’m some kind of feral dog that needs a firm hand. “Relax. He’s not my type.”
“I’m not jealous,” I say a little too quickly, beginning to reach for the final dress. They’ve left me the most daring option. Naturally. “And it’s not like … I mean, we’re not …”
But I can’t quite force the lie out. Not after the bathhouse. Not when the memory of his body pressing against mine is still so fresh. Just thinking about it starts a low pulse thrumming at my core.
Shea tilts her head, biting her lip but not managing to cover her smirk. “It isn’t? Because it sure looks like—”
A knock at the door saves me from further embarrassment. I have no idea who else wants to join our little party. Taliesin probably sensed three women were in the same room and ran here as fast as he could.
“Nothing is going on with Bishop and me,” I say smoothly, the lie easier with my back turned to them.
But when I open the door, he’s on the other side.