Two girls. Two secrets.
Only one can survive.
Years before Nelle Wychthorn plans her escape, Tabitha Catt may unearth something in a Horned God's lair that is the key to freedom.
Desperate to save her beloved aunt from a dark curse, Tabitha is out t...
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The rich smell of turned earth filled my nostrils as I dug my trowel into the dirt, digging up weeds that had sprouted amongst the roses, their fragile blossoms closed up for the night. Pottering about in my little garden always eased any tension that was going on in my life. Tonight, was the exception. It was late and though I should have been in bed myself, I was still festering over my ill-treatment of Varen.
Overhead the moon was on its nightly journey and edged everything with silver brushstrokes. Others might sit there, gazing upward and marveling at the sight of the celestial beauty, but not me. I ignored it. The moon could go to Nine Hells. However, it, along with the soft illumination spilling from the Commons Room, cast enough light to guide my work. With the wretchedness draped over me like tattered lace, I wanted to hide within the shadowy night and its inky cloak.
By now Oswin would have spoken to Dolcie's parents to ask their permission to wed their daughter before asking Dolcie herself. I assumed it would be a strained conversation. Unlike a couple in love wanting to marry and have their forever, he was there offering himself as Dolcie's shield.
I shifted my position where I kneeled on the brick ground to ease the cramped sensation in my legs. My breath swirled in front of me when I loosened a sigh. To guard myself against the dropping temperature, I was in an old pair of jeans, a warm flannel shirt, and a jersey my aunt had knitted years ago that I still fitted even if the sleeves were a tad short.
Along with the robust smell of coffee, a faint odor of smoke lingered in the air. The red end of the cigarillo glowed in the dark from where Joann sat on a bench seat built into a raised flower bed that edged the courtyard's walls. The occasional tap-tap came from a saucer that rattled on the uneven wooden slats when she placed her coffee cup back on it.
Floating in the background was the tinny sound of a television show and quiet murmuring from those servants in the Commons Room. Most of my colleagues had either left for their night shift duties or were getting ready for bed. It was just the two of us in the servants' private courtyard. Joann liked her own company and silence so she was the perfect companion tonight.
But as I fussed with the roses and ripped out weeds, I felt her heavy regard.
Joann's voice cleaved the quiet apart. "Bad day, huh?"
The worst. I stabbed the trowel into the moist dirt. I'd messed with Varen on several levels. From trying to kick his face in; unintentionally stirring his jealousy; contaminating his sandwich with pepper; and now he was quarantined in a frilly pink bedroom fit for a princess with the stomach flu.
"It was a bit rough," I admitted, putting it mildly.
"Sanela had a rough day too," she replied. Joann was a personal maid to Marissa and Sanela, and I could only imagine what kind of day Joann had, trying to soothe Mrs. Deniaud. "All those magnificent antiques and paintings that were destroyed haven't helped her mood. She hasn't been in her right mind of late. On edge and bitter." She paused to take a sip of her black coffee. "Word is Varen Crowther's having a rough time too."
