Chapter 8
“Iheard him practicing to ask you to go for a stroll after dinner,” Becca laughs, winking at Maddy. The youngest maid blushes, hiding her face behind her fair blonde hair as Becca giggles.
“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Maddy says quietly, her eyes directed at the vase she’s currently dusting by a window in the third-floor hallway.
I try to appear unconcerned as I make my way toward them. It’s been a week since I came to the manor. So far, everyone has been welcoming, yet I can tell that they’re being cautious with their words.
And who can blame them? ‘You have the eyes of a packless wolf,’ the duke once said when we first met. ‘Desperate, independent and ready to run at any moment.’ And he was right. I’ve attempted to run seven times in the years since I met him.
I tug on my sleeves, seven scars hidden on the underside of my forearm. I won’t be getting an eighth. I’ll die first.
Which is probably why the staff at the manor have been so wary of me. Lone wolves are dangerous. They’ll bite the hand that feeds them simply because they don’t know what trust is anymore.
I can’t remember the last time it felt safe enough to trust someone. Not even with kind people like these.
“Miss Stella,” Christine smiles as I approach, pushing a strand of dark honey colored hair from her face, her countenance welcoming. At twenty, she’s the oldest of the three young maids. The three sisters were orphaned young and Christine has taken on the role of mothering the other two like a natural. “It’s nice to see you. How are you settling in now that it’s been a week?”
“I’m feeling a little less overwhelmed,” I answer honestly, sliding my hands into the pockets of my pants. I still don’t wear anything besides the clothes I came with—other than the soft pajamas they leave out for me every night. There are clothes in the wardrobe I could wear, and I even suspect that Franchesca has made a few new items specifically for me, but I don’t wear them.
Like I said, trust issues.
“That’s good,” Christine nods. “Have you been able to find your way around the manor?”
“Yes, I think I have it mostly memorized now. It took me a few days to stop confusing the kitchen hallway for the one outside the yellow parlor, and the doors to the dining room are remarkably similar to the ballroom doors.”
All three girls chuckle. “The manor is a bit confusing if you’re not used to it,” Becca agrees, pushing her auburn ponytail over her shoulder.
“So what’s this I hear about someone being invited on a walk?” I ask, turning to Maddy.
The young girl’s cheeks go pink beneath her freckles, and she bites her lip to conceal a smile. “Nothing. It’s just rumors.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure,” I shrug, allowing myself a little fun. Of everyone here, I think I can safely rule these three out as potential threats.
Maddy’s eyes light up, and all at once her fifteen years are showing with vibrancy. She’s so eager and innocent. I almost hate for her to like a boy at all. That’s when life starts to get more complicated.
“What do you mean?” she demands excitedly, her blonde hair bobbing. “Did he say something?”
“Well—we are talking about Carson, aren’t we?” I clarify. Maddy nods. Carson and David are Tilda’s sons, but Carson is the older of the two. “I didn’t hear anything about a walk, but I did see him watching you during breakfast this morning.”
Maddy rolls her eyes. “Oh, that’s not proof of anything.”
“He didn’t eat,” I point out. “He actually brought his fork to his mouth with no food on it and bit it before he realized it was empty. He’s besotted.”
Maddy’s face says she’s pleased even though her words insist she’s not. “He’s not besotted.”
“Mhm,” Becca and Christine hum, grinning.
The girls continue to tease each other, and I watch, slightly jealous. I had already ceased these kinds of relationships by the time I was Maddy’s age. Such a shame. I think I would have liked just being fifteen and nothing else.
“So, what are you up to today, Miss Stella?” Becca asks once they’ve embarrassed Maddy to their satisfaction.
“I’m exploring today,” I say, looking around at the wide hall, what little sunlight that comes through the curtained windows reflecting on the marble floors. “I want to find out more about who Alistair was before he came here. I’m hoping that if I can better understand why he was cursed, I can break it.”
“You want to break the curse?” Christine asks, wise enough to be skeptical. I haven’t exactly hidden my dislike of Alistair, and doing something that benefits him doesn’t really fit with my opinions of him.
I feign innocence. “Of course. The sooner he’s free, the sooner I’m free. I would assume that if his curse is broken, so is mine.”
The girls nod thoughtfully but don’t offer up any information. They’re all too loyal to their master to disparage him, and they seem to think that telling me too much information will ruin their chances of breaking the curse.
But I didn’t expect them to tell me anything. I just needed to get them on the topic.
“Well, I’m off. I’ll see you girls later,” I say kindly, smiling as I continue down the hallway.
I feel their stares on my back as I turn the corner, letting my footfalls hit heavy on the polished floors. Once I’ve gone a few paces, I silently turn back and lean against the wall, just barely out of sight.
“She can’t find anything by looking around, right?” I hear Becca say, her voice heavy with concern.
“What would she find?” Christine says calmly, handling the situation with maternal instincts beyond her years. “There’s no evidence here of the master’s past behavior. He would never allow it. We’re hardly allowed to speak of it, and only when we’re sure to not be overheard.”
“But what if she’s heard something about him before she came here?” Maddy argues hesitantly. “She might find something here that causes her to connect the dots.”
Christine scoffs. “I highly doubt the master’s brother would allow stories of the master to run rampant in the city. Otherwise, people would show up looking for him. No, I think the master’s brother has seen to it that the master is never spoken of. I doubt Stella has ever heard anything about him. And nothing she finds in the manor could possibly be incriminating.”
“Sure, but Stella isn’t like the other women who’ve stayed here,” Becca points out. “She’s much cleverer.”
“And she’s brave,” Maddy announces affectionately.
I feel a warmth bloom in my chest at the words and try to brush them off. The last thing I need is to form an attachment to the people here. Not when I plan to leave as soon as possible. I would love to believe that I could hide here forever and never worry about the duke ever again.
But I would be trading one prison for another. One cage rusted and cold and the other gilded and cushioned. A cage is still a cage, and I’m tired of seeing life through bars, regardless of whether they’re sparkly or rusted.
“She is,” Becca agrees resolutely, “But there have been other women who were brave enough to argue with the master too. Remember Jessica? She wasn’t afraid of anything, and she put him in his place all the time.”
Christine laughs. “He hated her so much.”
“I know, I loved it,” Becca replies, a smile in her voice. “But Stella seems even more determined than Jessica was. She’s persistent. I don’t think it would take much for her to figure out why the master was cursed.”
“But we don’t even know the true reason,” Christine points out. “Yes, the master has a history of turning a blind eye to his brother’s bad behavior, but who knows if that’s why he was cursed or not.”
There’s a pause and I hear their feet shuffle. “You’re right,” Maddy agrees quietly. “And it does us no good to dwell on it anyway. We chose to be here, and now his curse is just as much ours as it is his. So we can do nothing but wish for his success.”
The other girls agree and I ready myself to move along when Becca speaks up. “Did you hear the master talk about the men who were searching the village yesterday?” she whispers, and I have to lean to the edge of the wall to hear her.
“Yes,” Maddy gasps, “The master said that they were looking for someone but were very cagey about who. What if it’s someone dangerous?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Christine says, shutting down the conversation. “The manor is impenetrable when one of the girls are here.”
“Mostly impenetrable,” Becca corrects ominously. “Anyone who share’s blood with the master can still enter the gates.”
Christine sighs, and I imagine her making a look of motherly disapproval. “We never get such visitors, and since no one else can visit right now, we’re safe.”
The girls shuffle off and I stand paralyzed. The men searching in the village are almost certainly Jareth and his men. They may be unable to get to me while I’m stuck in the manor, but when the three months are up…
I have to break this curse.
I’m about to push off the wall and begin my search of the manor, when a hand clamps over my mouth.
Strong fingers press my shoulder into the wall, and I glare up into Alistair’s green eyes.
“Didn’t anyone ever tell you that eavesdropping is impolite?” he whispers, leaning too close.
Unbidden, memories enter my mind of a hand squeezing my chin as a knife presses against my side. I can still smell his breath as he leans closer, his fingers bruising my jaw. ‘Your independence makes you clever, Little Wolf. But I can snap that part of you off if it becomes a problem,’ he said, and I knew by the cold look in his eye that he meant it.
Out of hard-earned instinct, I slip the knife from under the edge of my bodice, pushing it against Alistair’s chest. I know it’s his eyes I’m seeing and not the duke’s. I know I’m at the manor and not the castle.
But some habits die slowly.
“Easy there, Huntress,” he says quietly, releasing his hold on me. “I wasn’t going to hurt you.”
“Word to the wise,” I hiss, stowing the knife away, “Wild animals don’t see the difference between offered affection and threatened abuse. To us, they both look like raised hands.”
There’s a twitch in his brows and for the first time, his curiosity appears deeper than a desire for entertainment. I’ve become a puzzle he wants to solve, and I wonder if it was a wise shift to make.
“What kind of wild animal are you then?” he asks, crossing his arms with the air of a man who has all day to ask as many questions as he wants.
“Whichever one the situation calls for,” I shrug, stowing the knife away.
Alistair shakes his head, smirking. “No. You might disguise yourself as something sweet like a bunny or a puppy, but I think deep down you’re something with claws and teeth.”
I look him over, unimpressed with his typical ‘too self-involved to care’ attitude that I’ve seen on a hundred other men’s faces. “Then maybe you should keep your distance so I don’t claw you,” I retort with a sugary sweet smile.
He laughs, the sound nothing but a breath. “Thank you, by the way, for the damage you did in my library. I have to admit I didn’t expect something so clever.”
My smile turns real and I’m glad to know that my trick bothered him enough that he’s mentioning it. “What, did my new cataloguing system mess you up? Can’t you tell the difference between Pierre DeLuca and Saint Venino without the labels on the shelves telling you which section you’re in?”
“You read?” The words are said with such shock that I have no choice but to be offended.
“I know, it’s almost as surprising as the fact that you can speak without insulting me.”
He cocks his head, giving me a dry look. “You showed up here with twigs in your hair, dirt on your face and wearing clothes that didn’t look like they’d been washed in a month. You might as well have been a wild animal.”
“As a man who’s face doesn’t even begin to describe the evil within, you should know that looks can be deceiving.”
His smile grows into a grin and I hate that I’ve given him another reason to be cocky. As if he needed it.
“Aw, Beasty, does that mean you think I’m handsome?”
I roll my eyes and walk away, but he follows. “I knew you were trouble,” I mumble.
“So what did you think of what they said?” he asks.
“Who? Pierre DeLuca?” I say, being purposefully obtuse. “Personally, I think his theories about Poets secretly plotting to take over the continent are a little far fetched, but I agree with his position on the danger of undocumented artifacts.”
“Okay, we’re coming back to what you know about explorers in a moment,” he says, eyeing me with renewed interest. “But I want to know what you think about everything the maids said.”
“They have names, you know. They’re Maddy, Becca and Christa.”
“Christine,” he says automatically. Realizing his mistake, he stills and flicks his eyes to me. “I think.”
“Mhm. So, you know the names of your staff but pretend that you don’t.” I hold up my fingers, ticking off everything I’ve learned so far. “Your most treasured place in the manor is a library, you own a somewhat overweight cat, and you’re so wrapped up in yourself that I don’t think you realized your curse impeded your sight when it comes to women until I told you.”
He shrugs, the picture of an unbothered man. “And?”
“Nothing. Just mentally keeping track of all the facts.”
I think he’s going to pester me about what I’ve decided about him so far, but instead he stuffs his hands in his pockets and looks straight ahead. “So what did you think of the things you overheard, Stella?” he asks again.
I look at him and he winks. “I pay attention to everything, not just the things that are about me,” he smirks.
“For your own gain, no doubt,” I quip. “And as for what the girls said…I don’t know. Clearly, they feel enough loyalty toward you to have chosen to stay here and be cursed with you, and they don’t speak negatively of you in front of me.”
“So does that mean that I’m not a complete nightmare?”
“No, you might just be a good manipulator.”
Alistair sighs and shakes his head. “You’re looking on the dim side of life, Snow Cat. That might be your problem right there.”
“My problem is that I’m stuck in this manor with a man obsessed with his own reflection and the works of every Poet, geographer, and treasure hunter known to man.”
“Speaking of that, what do you know about artifacts?” he asks, arms crossed and gaze studious. I ignore him, feigning interest in the draped windows we pass and the occasional table holding a vase or gilded plate or some other useless knickknack.
“No more than anyone else, I assume.”
He looks unconvinced. “What about Pierre? Do you think he ever knew where the gold rings were, or do you think he just made it up?”
“Well, the rings were certainly real.”
“How do you know?”
“How else would King Reinsford be in Carakass, Montaign, and here in Andaria at the same time? He was documented by multiple different people in each location in the same week. And Carakass is all the way on the other side of Dunrow. There’s no way he could have managed such a feat without the rings.”
“A Poet could have helped him.”
I shake my head. I’m much more well versed in this topic than he thinks I am. The duke was obsessed with the twelve gold rings of the huntress, and I’ve searched for them on more than one occasion at his behest. Thank God I never found them.
“At that time, it’s extremely unlikely,” I argue. “King Reinsford came into power right after the Poets vanished. They didn’t begin to pop back up again until the two hundredth year of the second age, nearly one hundred and fifty years later. No, King Reinsford had to have used an artifact and the only ones that make sense are the rings.”
Alistair is quiet, and I can feel his eyes on my face. But I don’t look at him.
“Alright Tigress,” he says, a smile in his voice. “I get it. There’s more to you than wild desperation.”
“You mean a person can have multiple layers? No,” I gasp sarcastically, giving him a dry look.
He chuckles, but I don’t trust the sound. There’s something so curated about Alistair. Like every breath he takes is chosen on purpose to further endear me or intimidate me depending on his desired outcome. But I won’t be swayed.
“Armor up all you want, but I’ll figure you out, Stella,” he says. Then he winks and saunters off down the hall, leaving me feeling even more unsure than I did before.