RISING (#2, of Crows and Thorns)

Chapter 48

How could I let Valarie take the blame? Yet, I needed those locks of hair desperately. But what would happen to Valarie? She'd be punished severely by the Wychthorn Princess. Guilt, dirty shameful guilt, slithered its way through my soul.

I couldn't even meet Romain's gaze as he darted swift glances at me, hearing what the girls were shrieking at one another. He quickly and efficiently wound the strip of cloth around Yveta's leg, binding the gaping flesh and tying the ends into a tight knot. "Sort this mess out," he bit at me, a hard judgmental note to his tone.

Romain rose and swept the Troelsen girl up into his arms, hurrying away with long, fast strides. Yveta's shrill voice carried down the hallway, growing fainter, but her disgust with Laurena lingered in the air. "I wish it was me! I wish I'd been the one to cut off your hair!"

I got to my feet, hands spread wide, trying to come between Laurena and Valarie. I should have confessed, I knew it deep down, but instead, I said something stupid and mundane. "Miss Wychthorn, I'm here to help you leave if you..."

My words drifted apart. I don't even know why I even bothered. As far as Laurena was concerned I wasn't even there, an invisible servant once again.

She spun on Valarie like a wolf. Her chilling smile was hateful. Voice vicious. "You didn't like me telling you some home truths about your family. That you'll never rise as Matriarch to Great House Wychthorn. You even tried to hit me. But you couldn't, could you? Because you're a coward," she sneered, prowling closer. "So what did you do instead? Wait until I was asleep and then skulk in with your creepy Crowther ways and cut all my hair off. Pathetic."

Once again I was rooted to the spot. Revulsion at Laurena's inability for empathy hurtled through me. Why didn't she see the state we were in? See what was going on? She was so self-absorbed. We were a blot of darkness in the hallway. We'd brought a stench of smoke and the metallic aftertaste of blood and death. I couldn't understand why Laurena couldn't see what was before her.

Anger churned through my veins—the bloodhound in me snarled.

I wanted to lash out. I wanted to strike her.

It wasn't just me I realized, as my gaze darted to Valarie. So many words were etched upon Valarie's face. So many things she wanted to say, but couldn't. Bitter resentment vibrated from her taut body. Injustice and mortification that this person before her, accusing her of something so small and insignificant compared to what we'd endure and survived, ruled us all.

I put a hand on Valarie's filthy shoulder. Her gaze sliced to me. A brief flare of surprise lit her gaze, to see that I was standing there. But she listened as I reminded her quietly. "A paintbrush. Paint the words into a picture in your mind and then hold them, stretch them tight like a rubber band, and let them fly."

Valarie whipped her gaze back to the Wychthorn Princess, sucked in a breath, paused, and then let everything she'd kept in, out. "People d-died, Laurena! So many people died tonight!" She stabbed a finger into the other girl's chest, and snarled, "And you st-stand there and go on about your b-bald head. That someone dared cut your h-hair off! You are ugly! You are so ugly! It's not even the l-lack of hair, it's your cruel, barbaric, unfeeling personality—th-that's what makes you ugly!"

Rage. Unadulterated, spiteful rage quaked through Laurena's limbs, contorted her features into wrath, and blazed through feral blue eyes. A shriek of outrage burbled from her throat to be spoken to like that.

Laurena flung her arm back and swung wide—

Her flattened fingers and palm sliced through the air—

Valarie moved fast, a smear of movement.

She stopped Laurena's impending slap across her cheek. Her fingers clenched around Laurena's wrist were so tight the knuckles were white. "Don't you dare," she hissed.