Chapter 9
Mother is hosting dinner at my childhood home tonight.
While I’m happy to have the opportunity to see Neris again and pretend that not much else has changed since my marriage, I dread it.
Lady Mari Pendry, my mother-in-law, effervesces with overenthusiastic charisma as she exchanges polite air kisses with Mother.
Her straight blond hair curls slightly at her temples, softening the sharp angles of her face and prominent point of her chin.
Her gown is the color of a robin’s egg, complementing her peachy complexion and bringing out the soft blue of her eyes.
Lord Aled Pendry is an older version of Gruffud with sleek dark hair and stormy eyes.
He greets Mother next, kissing the back of her hand with practiced courtesy.
I smile at Mother, though her caramel eyes regard me with little warmth.
Her slender fingers grasp my shoulders and squeeze with surprising firmness as she lowers her head to press her cheek against mine.
A greeting fit for an acquaintance rather than her own flesh and blood.
As I step back into line with my new family, I catch Neris making a swift escape up the staircase.
She doesn’t even look our way, which is so unlike her.
My logic slips through my fingers as I step forward to go after her.
Gruffud slings his arm across my lower back, his hand catching my hip.
I stop, my eyes flicking to him, and his brow lifts in a question.
“Apologies,” I say, my voice hushed. “May I be excused? I just need to … powder my nose.” I can keep up appearances as well as any daughter of Rhosyn, but lying is absolutely not my strength.
Still, Gruffud releases me. He drops a kiss on my temple, murmuring, “Don’t take too long,” and it feels like a threat more than anything.
I nod and excuse myself, ignoring Mother’s questioning look.
I’m on my way to the staircase when I spot Arionna in front of it.
Intricate braids weave around her head, decorated with tiny golden beads.
The corset beneath her sapphire dress has cinched her waist so tightly that her breasts are practically hoisted up to her chin.
It’s a wonder she can even breathe—I can hardly breathe in my corset, which is considerably looser.
Arionna is absolutely stunning as always.
Her confidence in her body is a constant source of envy for me, but she’s lost her mind if she thinks Mother would approve of such inappropriate attire for a highborn daughter of Lord Eurig Davies.
A dull ache settles into my chest at the thought of Father.
“Little sister,” Arionna says with a mischievous smirk.
“Hello, Arionna. You look lovely.” I respond.
“Thank you, and you look …” She reaches out to the neckline of my dress and tugs it down, exposing my cleavage.
“Arionna!” I hiss through my teeth as I tug my neckline back up.
She smirks and steps around me, moving to greet the Pendrys.
I heave a sigh and hurry up the grand staircase.
I make my way to what used to be my old bedroom—now Neris’s new room—where a framed painting is nailed to the door.
In the painting, a waterfall cascades over a mountain, flowing into a winding river with lustrous waters.
A rainbow reflects through the beams of sunlight.
A smile tugs my lips up as my fingertips settle over the familiar brushstrokes.
Mother had scoffed at this painting, declaring that it didn’t portray reality. That such a sight couldn’t truly exist in nature. But the idea for this particular painting had come to me in a dream. Many of them do.
I knock on the door beneath the ornately carved frame. “It’s me, Winnie,” I say.
No response comes from inside, but Neris’s footsteps approach before the door swings open. I’m left staring at her retreating back. Odd.
“Neris?”
She glances over her shoulder at me. Loose blond coils are plastered to her face where beads of sweat have formed. Her hand is white knuckled around an ivory, wide-tooth comb.
“Are you alright?” I ask.
“Yes. I just—” She lets out a harsh breath. “One of the servants fell ill and there was no one else to fill in with the dinner preparations.”
My lips tug down, and heat spreads across my chest. “Did Mother ask you—”
“Winnie, drop it,” Neris interrupts. Her voice only has the slightest edge to it.
“Lady Rhosyn is not my mother. We both know that my adoption was unofficial; your mother can summon me to do servants’ work whenever she pleases.
Besides, I do enjoy baking.” The smile on her pretty face is almost believable.
She drops onto the stool of her vanity and swivels to face the mirror.
Setting down her comb, she lifts a silken handkerchief to blot her face.
My steps are quick as I make my way toward her.
I run the comb through her hair, pinning it in places to keep the curls out of her eyes.
Then I withdraw rouge from her drawer and brush some lightly over her forehead and the apples of her cheeks.
Her eyes are uncharacteristically glossy. My stomach drops a bit.
“Neris? You’re not feeling … unwell, are you?” I envision her on the ground, shaking uncontrollably.
“I’m fine,” she says, looking away. She blinks rapidly and exhales.
“I’m sorry Mother treats you this way.”
“It isn’t all the time.”
“Still … Father would’ve never allowed it.”
She smiles shakily. “He certainly wouldn’t. By the realms, I miss him.”
I nod and press my hand against my heart as that ache resurfaces. I truly hope he’s alright.
The dinner bell resounds, and my shoulders tense.
“Thank you for making me look acceptable,” Neris says.
I roll my tight shoulders. “You don’t just look acceptable.
” I admire her heart-shaped face and the glow in her cheeks thanks to the rouge.
She isn’t the healthiest, but she’d certainly make a few heads turn tonight.
She’s more stunning than any highborn. “One more thing though.” I open the drawer and hold my hand out, summoning a gold necklace with a dainty circular diamond.
It floats into the palm of my hand and Neris rolls her eyes.
“Show off,” she says with a giggle.
I wouldn’t dare to use my terraforging in front of anyone other than Neris. “Did you take your elixir?”
Neris turns to let me clasp the necklace at the back of her neck. “I did.”
Eventually, we head downstairs to suffer through dinner.
A few others join—a couple of proprietors from right here in Barr na Cahar and a book collector from Darragh.
Lord Murtagh, a longtime friend of Father’s from the Outer Isles, is the last to join us just as we’re migrating to the dining room.
The lilt of his accent is jarring among the aristocratic pretense of the evening; I find it a welcome difference. In fact, I’m mesmerized by it.
From the corner of the dining room, a lone violinist plays a drab tune throughout our meal, but Lord Murtagh remains the most intriguing.
I remember Neris and I watching him spar with Father when we were children.
He’d offered me his sword once and was flabbergasted when I held up the weight without much effort. The memory makes me smile.
Tonight, he keeps everyone entertained with tales of occasional seafaring and trades with marauders from Uldarvik.
It sounds so exciting that I want to follow him home when dinner is finished.
I want to live his life instead of the one I’ve been born into.
Only Mother seems disinterested in Murtagh’s stories and politely redirects the conversation back to business discussions of material acquisition from Ballygort and Ballybaeg.
“What if you cut out the middleman and go straight to Cluain Baile for dyeing plants? It’s not entirely difficult to create dyes. Just a wee bit more elbow grease.”
Mother pins him with a death stare. “The middleman is not an issue, Lord Murtagh.”
“I ken, but think of the adventures, and the attainable skills.” His cerulean eyes turn to me. “Do you still enjoy art, young Gwyneth?”
“Gwyneth has no time for art these days, Lord Murtagh,” Mother interrupts, and I swallow the eager yes that was about to slip from my lips. “Between her studies and marriage—”
“Studies?” Murtagh’s discernible gaze doesn’t leave mine. “What are you studying?”
“Gwyneth is quite the astute historian already,” says Mother, once more cutting me off just as I pull in a breath to respond.
“Does Gwyneth know how to speak for herself?”
All eyes snap to Murtagh, then to Mother. Anyone else would’ve probably apologized, or at least given me the chance to speak. But Mother lifts her dimpled chin, the face of stubborn courage, and says, “She certainly does, but she’s too humble to brag.”
Well played.
“I see.” Lord Murtagh casts me a look that says he doesn’t believe a word.
Not quite sure what to say, I shrug. From across the table, Neris gives me a look that says speak.
“I prefer to keep an air of mystery,” I say, and Neris scrunches up her face at my terrible comeback. I want to kick her, but the table is too wide.
Murtagh’s boisterous laughter cuts through the tension, and I release a slow breath.
“You are more than welcome to visit my estate at any time, young Gwyneth,” says Murtagh.
“The views are breathtaking, and my daughters will be grateful to have another young woman around. If it’s alright with your husband, of course. ”
I smile politely, refusing to look at Gruffud, afraid of what I’d find on his face. “Thank you, Lord Murtagh.”
Mother gives me a look that says we’ll talk later, and now I’m truly grateful that I took my elixir.
It’s going to be a long night.
We finish our courses of roasted quail, lambchops, potatoes in a hearty brown gravy, and a smattering of vegetables.
I idly contemplate how the staff managed to get so many vegetables when the vegetation growth this year has been increasingly appalling.
The gathering eventually moves to the sitting room, where everyone’s engaged in various conversations.
I sip a floral wine that tastes an awful lot like perfume and try to keep a pleasant smile on my face, contributing to any conversation only when spoken to.
The evening seems to drag on, and Neris looks a little pale.
I wonder if she’s lied to me about taking her tonic for whatever reason.
I’m momentarily distracted from Neris by Lady Mari’s pretentious titter.
The amount of phoniness in this room is almost suffocating. I pull my pocket watch from the skirt of my dress and peer at the gold hands again. We’re within the ninth evening hour. Already, I feel the dull ache settling into my joints, something not even the elixir can completely eradicate.
“Dessert is served!” a servant calls out from the kitchen door.
As everyone stands to file back into the dining room, I hang back to check on Neris. I lean close to her, but someone grasps my arm with unnecessary force. I fight the urge to shove them away.
“We need to talk,” a harsh voice says.
I look up at my husband, at the eyes that bear no patience nor understanding.
He turns those eyes toward Neris, but she holds his gaze. “Run along now, orphan,” he sneers.
Her fists clench as she takes a step toward him. My heart leaps. “Neris.” Her name rushes past my lips, helplessly beseeching. “Please.”
She glowers at Gruffud and takes a step back, then another. Briefly, her gaze flicks to my face, something unreadable in her eyes, before she storms away from me. I want so much to walk away from Gruffud as well, to chase after Neris, but I face him. “That was unkind and uncalled for.”
“She needs to be put in her place. Just as you need to be put in your place, wife.”
I clench my teeth and inhale, my dress tightening with the motion. But as my lip parts, his head edges closer to mine.
“She may be your friend, but she’s lowborn. Furthermore, you are a married woman now, tied to my family. Get your fucking act together and stop acting like a homesick child. I expect you to be standing by my side, not cavorting with the help.”
“She’s not—”
My words are cut off as his hand encircles the spot just above my elbow. He squeezes, and the bracelets on my wrist rattle, as if the metal is eager to cleave his hand from me. I exhale slowly and hope with all my might that he didn’t notice.
“If you continue to disrespect me …” He lets the threat hang in the air as he starts to move toward the dining room again. He moves too quickly, his grip unrelenting, so I have no option but to keep up with his rapid pace.
In the dining room, the servants have set out fruit tartlets and a piece of chocolate in front of each place.
I would eat a solid three meals of dessert throughout the day if I had the chance, but my appetite has completely fled.
Gruffud releases my arm and pulls out a chair for me, pushing it in once I’m seated.
Everyone digs into the tartlet, but across the table from me, Neris’s eyes are on me. Her hands are clasped on the table behind her plate.
There is no anger or even disappointment to be found on her face.
But there’s pity.