Chapter 9
Nine
- MARCELLA -
I spend the rest of my break before dinner in my room, sitting at the window bench seat and staring at the Serahaven mountains. Picking away at the layers of ice in my skull.
My name is Marcella Briarstone. My brother’s name is Connor. There are many ways to kill someone. But I have a favorite three.
Poison. Stabbing. Asphyxiation.
As we gather for dinner in the dining hall, Lady Bethany selects a woman from our group and Devin leads her off for a one-on-one dinner with Cyrus. As our meals are served, I barely listen to the chatter around us as people gush over the exquisite gardens, the library, and the castle grounds.
I can’t help but eye every place setting, searching for any hint of a knife. Even a butter knife. As I motion for one of the women to pass me the bread and butter, I tuck the butter knife down into a pocket of my dress I had stitched during my break.
With my other hand, I drop a fork to the ground with a clatter and kick it under the clothed table. “Oops, I’m afraid I dropped the butter knife,” I announce loudly.
“Not a worry,” Lady Bethany responds from further down the table and motions to one of the servers. They return with a new one, and I butter a fresh roll before passing the plate to Lyra.
When she takes the plate from me, her gaze bores into mine.
She noticed. And as she places the plate down before her, she narrows her eyes at me while everyone else continues their chatter.
Clearing my throat, I turn back to my plate and take a bite, chewing slowly and ignoring her stare.
“How’s that headache of yours?” she asks.
Incessant. Her and the headache.
“Just fine, thank you,” I respond, taking a sip of wine.
“Interesting…” she mumbles, then finally turns back straight in her seat. “Mine seems to be getting better as well. Though, I swear I might be seeing things sometimes…”
“Like what?” Aelia asks from across the table.
“I don’t know…like…” She pats the sides of her dresses. “I could have sworn when I slipped into this dress earlier I had pockets? And then when I saw myself in the mirror, I swore something was in them. Like something sharp—”
“What do you mean? Like a horn or something?” Aelia laughs.
I swallow down another sip of wine before turning a heavy glare on Lyra. “Perhaps you should close your eyes when you see such things. It might do wonders for your overactive imagination.”
Her head turns slowly, those thick lashes framing her soft blue eyes flicking up to me. “Sometimes I see things even when I close my eyes.”
“Odd,” Aelia says between a chew. “I also have seen some peculiar things. The nightmares, they’ve truly been terrible. Last night I woke up screaming, and my lady’s maids had to come in and settle me.”
We both stop and look at her.
Lyra says, “Nightmares…about what?”
Aelia rolls her eyes playfully and flicks her hand.
“Oh, nothing worthy of note. Truly, it's childish nightmares. You know. The ones with the monsters. You wake, panting and sweating, and when you check underneath your bed, you swear you saw something there. But the longer you’re awake, and the more you blink, you realize it’s only part of your imagination. ”
She laughs, then her expression melts from humor to serious. “What? What is it? Why are you two looking at me like that?”
In unison, we both shake our heads before turning our attention to the food in front of us. Silence settles over us as the other women chatter.
“What? Is it something I said?” Aelia prompts quietly.
“No,” Lyra responds, a little louder than her normal tone. “No. I just…haven’t had any nightmares. But they sound terrifying. I’m sorry they’re troubling you.”
Aelia tilts her head to the side. “But…didn’t you just say you had been seeing things?”
Lyra smiles with a shaky laugh. “Oh, no. I’m sorry. Just…” she points at her head, “a silly, little overactive imagination is all. My mother used to say my head was filled with so many thoughts that they fluttered like birds and could someday take me away.”
Aelia frowns, not entirely buying it, but didn’t press.
We spend the rest of the time chatting about different kinds of flowers they found in the gardens.
Mostly, it’s Lyra droning on about their names, attributes, and the seasons they thrive in.
It’s no wonder every dress she’s worn thus far has been adorned in flowers. She’s clearly obsessed with them.
She’d never last a day in my shoes. I bet she’s never even killed a person.
Never had to look someone in the eyes during the final blow, even if it meant your life or your family’s was on the line.
Depending on what trials we are to be tested with, I have a feeling she won’t even make it through the first one.
As we are dismissed by the dinner bell Lady Bethany rings, we all exit the dining room for our own quarters to turn in for the night. After a few minutes of quiet in my room, I open my door to find Devin is standing on the other side with a lifted fist.
“Oh,” he says, lowering his fist slowly. “I had come to fetch you.”
We walk in silence down the hallways to the office as we had the night prior. He stops at Cyrus’ door and knocks.
From the other side of the door, “Come in.”
The room is the same as the night before.
The dark sky outside the window is peppered with distant stars, the Serahaven mountains spiking into the cloudless night.
The lulling crackle of a fire in the hearth.
Cyrus sits in a tufted armchair, the one next to the chair I sat in last night.
His boots are perched on the ottoman, his head resting on a fist as he looks at the two of us expectantly.
Devin closes the door behind us and bows. “I’ve brought her per your wishes, your excellence.”
Awkwardly, I curtsy.
Cyrus chuckles, “Nonsense. Stop that. No one else is here but us three.”
Us three? A layer of familiarity runs beneath those two words. I straighten, as does Devin, and when I toss him a confused look, he just tucks his hands behind his back.
“We shall try this again. Marcella, you may stand or take a seat wherever you’re most comfortable,” Cyrus says.
When I turn back to Cyrus, he’s still in his chair. Casual as ever. But something about being in this room with two powerful men has me tapping self-consciously against the meager butter knife I’ve stored in my dress pocket.
“Do you know why you are here, Marcella?” Cyrus asks again. My name rolling perfectly off his lips.
I swallow. “Yes.”
“And?”
I release a breath. “Just as all the women are. Here to…” I clear the tension in my throat. “…here for your…hand. My king. Just as all of them are.”
Devin chuckles behind me, and I glare at him over my shoulder.
Cyrus interjects, “Devin, that’s enough. Her memory hasn’t fully returned yet.”
I swivel back to Cyrus, and walk toward the hearth, not comfortable being sandwiched between the two of them. They know something I don’t. And I don’t like being the only one out of the loop. At least from here, I have both of them in my sights. And only the fire at my back.
“My king, she lies already,” Devin whispers. “I told you we shouldn’t have let her in. She can’t be trusted.”
If I could burn him with my glare, I would. But as Cyrus rises from his chair, towering at nearly six feet tall…no, more than that, my anger at Devin melts away. Into terror. Fear.
I shouldn’t be so easily shaken, but as Cyrus takes step after thunderous step toward me, his shadow crawling across the floor as if it too fears him, I can’t help but shudder.
My shoulder blades hit the marbled hearth behind me, the fire warming me to an uncomfortable, sweltering level.
I scramble for my pocket, slipping my hand inside as I grip the butter knife tightly.
He stops a few steps away, my neck bent to look up at those unforgiving white eyes that reflect the flames behind me.
“Not a step further,” I warn in a whisper, holding his gaze without flinching. Maybe he knows I’m only here to get the power to pardon my brother. That I’m here to use him. To set my brother free. Or at the very least, be able to send a letter for the Gods’ sake.
My betrayal might mean time in the dungeons. Maybe worse, depending on what kind of king he is and if he wants to make an example of me.
Swift as a blink, he snatches my wrist and rips me away from the hearth.
I slash out at him with the butter knife, the metal bending as it slams into his gloved hand.
He growls and lets go of my wrist, dropping down into a crouch.
Slipping his jacket off himself, I rear back and kick his solid wall of a chest hard enough that he falls back onto his hands.
“Your dress, Marcella!” he barks.
Smoke fills my nostrils, and as I follow it, I find the back edge of my dress smoldering. I drop to the floor, miserably trying to cut the edge off with the bent knife before Cyrus slams his jacket down and snuffs out the flames.
I slowly drag my gaze off the floor to Cyrus. “I didn’t realize you were trying to—”
“You thought I was trying to hurt you,” he interrupts. “Marcella, I’ve told you many times before this. Asked you thousands of times over if you wanted to be here. You came of your own volition. I may be the King, but I cannot force your hand. And even if I could, I wouldn’t.”
“Perhaps I remind you again she is not the best fit for this,” Devin calls from behind him.
But Cyrus only retrieves his smoky jacket and rises. “I trust her. Even if she does not remember it.”
My eyes widen. He…trusts me? How would he know to trust someone he’s never met? Unless we have met before. “You do know me? You know who I am?” I ask on a breath.
Cyrus tosses his jacket on the ottoman. “Yes. You are Marcella Briarstone from Millton. Your mother is Catherine, and your brother is Connor.”
“My brother?” My voice pitches higher. “So, you—”
“Yes.” He dips his head. “Yes, Connor is in Millton serving out his life sentence. And in exchange for his pardon, you’re here to spy.”
Devin’s cunning smile catches my attention before he crosses his arms over his chest and leans into the door.
I flick my gaze back to Cyrus. “I’m not here to compete for your hand?”
“No, Marcella,” he says gently. “You would never marry me. You have been hired as an insider to find the traitors within the group. To befriend them. To keep a watchful eye. Our intel informed us there may be assassins within the group, tasked with killing me. We only found out after all of you women were brought here. That’s why your memories were all wiped. ”
My heart gallops in my chest. “Then why did you wipe my memory? Why did you not allow me to keep mine?”
Cyrus searches my eyes like he might find the reason there before I can. “Because you asked me to.”