Unexpected Guest #2
“It’s not about the money!” Cybele blusters, her cheeks as red as the coals.
But it’s Euphemia who she aims her outrage at.
“You left without a word. Ismene was beside herself—she said you stole my dowry and told her not to tell anyone. Do you have any idea what sort of position that put her in? And Atia? She’s been inconsolable for days.
Always asking where you are and when you’ll be back.
And Mother? She blames herself, you know.
Says she pushed you away. Thinks she failed our father because of it.
Because he would’ve done better. He would’ve made you stay. ”
There is no holding back the tears now. Not when confronted by something like this.
It is teeth sinking into flesh.
Ripping her open.
Baring her raw, tender flesh.
This isn’t how it was supposed to be.
When Euphemia left, they were supposed to be free. Cared for. Better off.
Somehow, even when she makes the right decisions by them, she still fails them somehow.
“Come home, Euphemia,” her sister pleads.
The room is silent for a long, long while, with only the fire’s crackling and the rains rhythm to fill it. But no matter how much time passes, Euphemia cannot bring herself to speak. She does not know what she would say.
Finally, Kelda stands, attention fixed on Euphemia.
“You are no prisoner here, little cloud. If you wish to visit your family, you are able to do so.” Then, turning to Cybele, she adds with the bite of a guard dog, “Your mother is right to blame herself. She treated Euphemia poorly, as one might treat a rat. If I were her, I would be grateful my daughter wed a man who would never dare treat her so unkindly.”
Turning, Kelda marches from the room, leaving Cybele gawking and Euphemia in stunned silence.
No one has ever stood up for her like that before. Not when it comes to her mother.
Her thoughts snag on something else though. Something Kelda said about Dagfinn.
A man who would never dare treat her so unkindly.
It is yet another small detail about the husband she herself does not know yet. And her chest both eases with relief and hitches with guilt. For she knows in her heart, she has been flirting with temptation again, no matter how many times she tells herself she isn’t.
With Kelda out of the room, the air of hostility around Cybele wanes.
Cybele buries her face in her hands, her sobs muffled. “Euphemia, please. We can’t lose you too.”
Euphemia stands from her settee and Cybele scoots over for her to sit next to her.
“You haven’t lost me. I’m right here.”
Cybele lifts her gaze, eyes raw. “Things are not well back at home.”
Euphemia’s stomach twists. “What do you mean?”
Cybele looks toward the fire. “People have stopped coming to the Saint’s Hearth.”
“What?”
“They stopped trading with us too. Stopped buying from her. Some won’t even speak to her.”
Euphemia feels something cold settling beneath her ribs.
She frowns, unable to keep the panic from her voice. “Why?”
Slowly, Cybele drags her smoldering gaze from the fire.
“Thurstan,” Cybele says around clenched teeth. “He’s told everyone Mother stole what was his and gave it to another man.”
It takes Euphemia a moment to realize what he means. “Me? He’s saying I was his?”
Cybele head wobbles as if to say she knows it sounds insane but it’s true. “That’s what he’s told everyone.”
“But—” a panicked laugh escapes her. “I was never his to begin with!”
“Well, it doesn’t matter now, does it? He’s gone and told everyone that you and Conwal were engaged.”
“What?”
“Says he proposed to you the night before and you gleefully said yes—but then Mother found out and was worried Conwal would take her tavern so she married you off to the first animal who would have you.”
With every word Cybele utters, Euphemia feels more and more like she’s drowning. Lost at sea. Wave after wave crashes atop her. Throwing her between the breakers. Leaving her dizzy. Spinning. Gasping for air.
Her hands tremble in her lap.
“None of that is true,” Euphemia swears, hoping her sister won’t mistake the shaking in her voice for anything but unfettered rage.
“I know,” Cybele says. “I saw the two of you in the market that day. I’ve seen you avoiding him for months. If he proposed to you, you would have said no.”
Relief unfurls in Euphemia’s chest, light and soothing.
But it’s swiftly replaced by panic.
“Why are you here then? If things are so bad back at home, why would you leave our mother? Our sisters?”
“Because Thurstan left town a few days after you did.”
“He leaves town all the time though?” Euphemia offers shakily.
“This was different. He left his cart. And the timing was too suspicious for me to let go of. So I confronted Conwal about it—”
“You what?”
Cybele throws out her arms. “What else was I supposed to do, Euphemia? I was worried. Desperate. And he was the one person I knew I could get talking.”
A startled smirk creeps onto Euphemia’s face. “What did you do to him?”
“I didn’t do anything too terrible.” Cybele sits taller, her thin nose pointed to the rafters. “I only told him that if I found out he was the one spreading rumors I’d slip hemlock into his ale. Not today. Not tomorrow. Maybe not even a year from now.”
“Cybele!” Euphemia can’t believe her ears. Then again, she’s been on the receiving end of Cybele’s torment before. The woman knows how to get what she wants. “Well? What did he say?”
“He denied it. Of course. But I got him to tell me what his father was up to. And, Euphemia, I don’t think it’s good.
” She pauses, lips working as if she doesn’t want to say it.
“He said he was coming for you. Well, for the family you married. He says they owe him for the bride they stole. He intends to collect.”
Euphemia rolls her eyes. “This is ridiculous. No one stole me.”
Cybele’s brow furrows. “Do you promise?”
She looks so unconvinced, so worried, that Euphemia is taken aback.
Her voice is so small when she asks, “Why is it so unbelievable that someone would want to marry me?”
“It never had anything to do with that,” Cybele says, taking her sister’s hands into her own. “The way Ismene described you that night, she didn’t say you were a blushing bride. She said it looked like you were running from something. Or someone.”
Euphemia presses her eyes shut.
She had been wrong to ask Ismene to lie for her.
But what other choice did she have?
“Was it Conwal?” asks Cybele.
“What?”
Cybele swallows, digging deeper for the question she truly wants to ask. “Did he threaten you?”
Lying would be so easy.
Cybele has set her up again to do so.
But she feels buried in lies already.
“No. Conwal did not threaten me.”
The tension in Cybele’s shoulders eases.
Seeing her sister so reassured, Euphemia realizes something.
“You followed Thurstan here? For me?”
A whisper of a smile drifts across Cybele’s face. “Someone had to make sure he didn’t come here and do something to you.”
She never knew how much Cybele cared.
It fills Euphemia’s chest with warmth she did not know she needed.
“I thought I saw him in town the other day,” Euphemia says. “I told myself I was wrong. That I had to be seeing things. But that really was him?”
Cybele nods.
“I looked right at him though, and he ducked into an alley.” Biting her lip, she adds, “If he believes Kelda owes him money, why didn’t he confront us then?”
Cybele lights up as if she’s suddenly just remembered something. “That’s right. I nearly forgot. I saw him talking with someone when he arrived.”
“Who?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Can you describe them?”
Cybele’s shoulders bob, and Euphemia realizes for the first time how damp they are, and how little her frayed cloak must have kept her dry on her journey. “Just some man. Older. Respectable but not wealthy by any means.”
“That could be almost anyone,” Euphemia groans. “Did you hear their conversation?”
“No. They went inside and I left him to it. Started asking around for you. Was finally told of the manor atop the cliffs, and the family no one’s seen in months.” Cybele’s gaze seers into her now. “Please, Euphemia. Tell me what is really happening here.”
“It’s nothing. I swear to you.”
Cybele looks unconvinced. She opens her mouth to demand the truth when a fist pounds against the front door.