The Glass Casket

by Templeman, Mccormick

  “You don’t know that. You don’t know anything about him. Stay away from him, Ro. He’s dangerous.”

  Rowan laughed. “Now, Emily, you don’t know that.”

  “I do,” Emily said, standing up tall. “They’re all of them dangerous, that lot with their sea god and their riches. He’s a member of the royal family, Ro. You don’t want to mess with those people.”

  “I’m not messing with anyone. He was just asking if I might like to come and work there for a bit. He wants me to work on some translations.”

  “Translations, eh?” Emily said, and putting a hand on her hip and thrusting out her jaw, she gave Rowan a look that could have withered an elder. Then she turned her attention to the sink.

  Feeling strangely guilty but deliciously giddy, Rowan turned and left the room. She was set to meet Tom that morning, and she figured she’d better be on her way. As she walked by the sitting room, she caught sight of the duke again and smiled at him before she left. She couldn’t help notice his eyes following her as she went.

  Rowan found Tom inside the tavern, wiping down the bar. He still wore his grief, but she was pleased to see that the color was beginning to return to his cheeks. The work, it seemed, really was doing him good.

  “Hello, you,” he said.

  “Are you ready for our walk?” Rowan asked.

  “Nearly,” he said, and then, after really looking at her, he squinted. “Are you sure you’re okay going into the woods? I don’t want to put you in any kind of danger.”

  Rowan’s mind flashed to the way Jude had left her on the path back from the cimetière the previous evening, and she wondered what would happen if she told Tom. She knew he would probably beat his boorish brother to a pulp, and for a moment, she considered instigating just that, but then she shook herself from her musing.

  “It’s daytime, and we can bring along a weapon if you like. It’s just through the woods a way to Seelie Lake. We’ve done this walk more times than I can count. I think we’ll be fine,” she said, leaning into the bar. “But what about you, Tom? Are you okay after … after everything that happened? If anyone has a right to be frightened of the woods, it’s you.”

  He sighed. “That’s the thing, though, isn’t it?” he said, setting down his rag. “I am afraid of them, and I don’t want to be. Those woods are part of my life. I can’t go on hiding from them.”

  “I’ll be there with you,” she said, her heart breaking to see him so distraught.

  Smiling at her, as if he were slowly filling back up with life, he nodded. “Let’s go.”

  The walk out was pleasant, and though steel-gray clouds lined the sky, the day wasn’t very cold, and it seemed to Tom that the forest was especially alive. Northern squirrels scuttled alongside them, and deer crossed their path more than once. Birds followed them, their song breaking the stillness of the air and reminding Tom that the forest at its heart was a beautiful place—his place.

  He was excited to return to Seelie Lake, to the place of childhood comfort, but when it came into view, stretching out like an icy maw, Tom fought the urge to recoil in disgust. It was as if someone had replaced a close friend with a terrible creature, a monstrous thing.

  Tom stood there, considering the tableau—the icy gray nothingness before him, the bleakness, and suddenly he knew there would be no return to the kind of innocence and simple happiness he’d known before Fiona’s death. For Tom the world had changed, and he had changed with it. Inside, he was as much a wasteland as the icy landscape before him.

  But Rowan seemed unaffected by it. She danced along the rocks and took a seat in their regular spot.

  “You coming, slowpoke?” she called.

  It seemed to Tom that Rowan stood somehow apart from the tragic emptiness of the place, as if she were lit by a different source. She appeared to glow, so full of life she was, and when she smiled at him, he realized that it wouldn’t get any better than this. Something inside him had died, and he now knew it was never coming back, but there was always Rowan and the happy strength that radiated from her. As long as he could be near that glow, life didn’t have to be completely bleak.

  It was later that day that he spoke to his mother about marriage.

  “You’re sure?” she asked, her eyes bright.

  “I know it’s unexpected.”

  “No,” she said, smiling. “No, it’s not unexpected at all. I must say, I’ve been waiting for this day … hoping for it for years.”

  “You have?” he asked, surprised. “Then you think I should do it?”

  “Yes, of course I think you should do it. Oh, my boy,” she murmured, wrapping her arms around him. “I can’t tell you how happy you’ve made me. Oh, my blessed boy.”

  When Rowan arrived home that afternoon, she found the house to be uncharacteristically cold and quiet. Walking past her father’s office, she noticed that although the door was wide open, the room was empty. She stepped inside and saw that his desk was cluttered with papers, which was very unlike her father. Curious, Rowan made her way over to the desk to see what he could have possibly left out, and she was struck by what she saw. The top two pages—the ones her father must have been examining earlier—bore strange images. Pencil drawings. One was of a cage of some kind set upon wheels. For Pema, she wondered? To transport her to the palace city when they eventually set out? She lifted the page, and examining it, she saw that the dimensions were enormous. She set it back down and then focused on the other drawing—a circle within a circle, and between the two circles, seven spokes. She was lifting the paper to scrutinize it further when she was startled by her father’s booming voice.

  “Put that down,” he snapped, and rushing over to her, he snatched the sheet away, quickly collected the other pages, and shoved them inside his desk.

  Rowan, shocked by her father’s behavior, took a step away from him. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t know.”

  “You never,” he said, turning on her, red-faced, “ever go through my things.”

  At first she thought he was giving her a directive, but then she realized it was an observation, and that mixed with his anger was some other emotion. Fear?

  “Father,” she said, “I’m sorry.”

  His brows arched with worry. “Not once,” he sputtered. “Not once have you gone through my papers. Why now, Rowan? Why?”

  Inside, her emotions were warring. She wanted to go to him, to apologize with all her heart for the wrong she’d done, but for the first time in her life, she was afraid of her own father. And yet he too seemed afraid. What could he possibly have to fear?

  Dropping his eyes from her, he shook his head. “Go to your room,” he said. “Do not speak of this again.”

  Rowan was stunned. She wanted to beg for her father’s forgiveness, but instinct told her to do as he asked—to leave quickly, and to try to put the unhappy experience from her mind.

  Turning, she headed out of the room and down the hall. She took the stairs two at a time, and as she was rounding the corner to her chamber, she saw a small dark figure looming over her desk.

  Merrilee stood very still, staring through the legs of the silver candelabra out to the woods beyond. What was she seeing there? Rowan wondered, but her curiosity was overwhelmed by frustration that the girl had entered her room without permission. The fact that Rowan had just been chastised for the same offense only added to her ire.

  “What are you doing in here?” Rowan snarled.

  The girl stepped away from the desk and turned to Rowan, grinning at her. Rowan began to wonder if she might be slow-witted.

  “You’ve a lovely room,” Merrilee said, and after adjusting one of the pearl buttons on the navy dress that fastened clear up to her throat, she clasped her hands behind her back.

  “That doesn’t mean you can explore it whenever you like,” Rowan said, trying to seem taller as she strode into the room.

  The girl looked up at her with her half-moon eyes. “I just came to see if you might want to play a ga
me of cards with me.”

  “Do I seem like I want to play cards with you?” Rowan snapped. “I’m not a child.”

  Merrilee, her face suddenly contorted with disappointment, bowed her head and started toward the door. “I only want to be your friend,” she whimpered.

  Rowan was hit with a wave of guilt. She stopped the girl. “Look,” she said. “I’ll play cards with you later, I promise. I just want to be alone right now.” Merrilee, seemingly on the verge of tears, nodded, and Rowan felt even worse. She realized she knew nothing of the girl’s past, but that it couldn’t have been a happy one. Otherwise she wouldn’t be a ward. Rowan took a step toward the girl and placed a hand on her little bird shoulder. “I promise I will play with you later. I’m sorry I’ve not paid more attention to you since your arrival. I know you must feel out of sorts being in a new place. Tomorrow we shall spend some time together. Would you like that?”

  “Yes,” the girl said, and a shy smile crept onto her lips. She turned to leave, but Rowan, a question suddenly upon her, stopped her just as she reached the threshold.

  “Merrilee, what was it you were so intent upon when I came in?”

  “Excuse me?” said the child, clearly confused.

  “You were looking out the window. You seemed very focused on something.”

  The girl seemed at a loss for words for a moment; then she shrugged. “I thought I saw something—something moving—among the trees.”

  A cold shiver of fear swept over Rowan. “I see,” she said, and the child turned to go again before Rowan called out for her once more. “Merrilee,” she said. “Be sure to lock your door tonight.”

  The child nodded and then disappeared around the corner. Quickly, Rowan went to the window and gazed out into the forest. But all was still. Whatever Merrilee had seen out there, it was gone now. Rowan shuddered to think that she and Tom had been deep in the woods only an hour earlier. From now on she would be extra careful about going into the forest—daylight or no.

  Rowan was stepping away from the window when she noticed smudges all over her candelabra. The girl had clearly been fiddling with it while she was looking out the window. Rowan sighed with frustration and started cleaning the prints off with the sleeve of her blouse. She would try her best to be nice to the girl, but she had to admit the child did not make it easy.

  Rowan stayed in her room and worked on her translations for the rest of the afternoon. When she thought she might be ready to speak with her father, she went downstairs to join him in his study, but when she reached the door, she found him playing cards with Merrilee. The girl gave her a sad smile, but her father avoided her eyes, and the scene irritated and hurt Rowan so, she decided to spend the remainder of the evening in her room. Feigning illness, she took her supper up there, and although she wanted to speak with the duke again, wanted to discuss her trip to the palace city further, she didn’t dare interrupt when she heard him below talking with her father late into the night, their voices rising like smoke to her room, their words just out of reach. And when she heard the duke ascend the stairs to his room, she extinguished her candles with a heaviness in her heart.

  9. TEMPERANCE

  IT WAS LATE afternoon the next day when Tom made his intentions known to Rowan. They were walking around the perimeter of the village when he stopped and held a hand to her cheek.

  “Rowan,” he said. “Good old Rowan.”

  She pulled away, unnerved by his behavior. He spoke like a drunk man, only he hadn’t been drinking, which somehow made it worse.

  “Are you okay, Tom?” she asked, and he nodded, smiled even.

  “I’m great. I’ve never been better.” He ran a hand through his hair and looked out into the trees. “I’ve been stupid, really. Mooning around over a girl I didn’t even know. I see that now. You can’t fall in love with a stranger. You can’t build a family, a home, with a girl when you don’t even know how her mind works or what goes on inside her heart.”

  He looked to Rowan for confirmation, but she didn’t know what to say. She wasn’t sure where this was going, but she was increasingly aware of a sick sensation swelling within her belly.

  “Do you understand me?” he asked, looking more lost than ever. She shook her head, and he covered his eyes for a moment as if the action might help him to think. “I’m saying that I know you, Rowan. I’ve known you longer and better than anyone else in my life.”

  She took a step back, and uncovering his eyes, he sank to his knees before her in the snow. When he opened his hand to reveal a thin strip of red twine, she shook her head, certain it couldn’t be for her.

  “Rowan,” he said. “I want you to be my bride.” With those words, he took her left wrist, the wrist that led to her heart, and tied the twine around it with gentle fingers.

  She stared down at the red twine with horror. With one simple action, Tom had just destroyed any chance she might have of being a scholar. Wives could not be scholars. Wives could not travel at their leisure, nor could they study in the libraries of the palace city. From now on, she would go where Tom went and help him with whatever it was he chose to do, which Rowan knew meant a life spent at the inn with Elsbet barking orders at her and drunken oafs puking on her boots. And what was worse, she was now bound to a boy who would never love her, could never love her—not how she wanted to be loved—because his heart would always belong to another.

  He looked up at her with a broad smile, and yet his eyes were completely lifeless—empty, even—and she realized she needed to try to smile. She loved Tom. He was her best friend, and when she had thought she might lose him, she’d realized that her feelings ran deeper, but marriage was something she couldn’t consider.

  And what of the boy who had cried love at first sight? Where was he? Fiona Eira’s body was barely cold, and here he was tying a nuptial band round Rowan’s wrist. She gazed down at the scarlet twine, bold against her pale skin, and she realized that she was nothing but a consolation prize. He had done what his mother wanted. He had chosen with his head instead of his heart because his heart had been ripped from him the moment Fiona Eira’s had been ripped from her chest.

  She felt the warmth of tears flowing down her cheeks, felt the sting as they glided past the cut on her lip, and Tom smiled up at her, and mistaking her grief for joy, he took both her hands in his. If it had been in her power to refuse, she would have done so. She no more wanted this for him than she did for herself. But he already had her family nuptial band. Her father had given consent, and she had no choice in the matter. She bit down on her lip to staunch the flow of tears as she wondered how her father could have done this without talking to her first.

  Laughing now, crying too, Tom stood and took her face in his hands.

  “I will take care of you,” he said, and then leaning forward like he might topple over at any moment, he placed his cold mouth against hers. Politely, she met him with ruby lips, her heart breaking, and then she pulled back and nodded.

  “I have to get home,” she said, and he looked confused.

  “Now?” he asked. “Don’t you want to celebrate? My mother is eager to see you.”

  She held a hand to her stomach. “I feel unwell. I need to go home. Later … later we will celebrate.” And with that, she turned and started off onto the forest path.

  “Ro,” he called after her, his voice anxious. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  She turned and smiled at him. “I’ll be fine,” she said. “We’ll speak later.”

  He nodded, and she held his gaze for a moment, and then headed out. When she knew she was hidden from sight, she veered from the path and delved deeper into the trees, the sky spinning above her, the crows circling as if waiting for her to trip and fall and split open her head. When she was certain no one would come upon her, she knelt on the ground and wept. She wept until she thought she might vomit. She wept until she thought there was nothing left inside her anymore. She wept for the girl she once was and for the girl she would never be, and inside h
er a rage began to burn.

  When she had calmed herself, she wiped away the tears and walked home. As she approached her house, she could see that her father’s light was burning in his study. Once inside, she didn’t call out for Emily, as was her custom, but rather went straight to her father’s office. She didn’t bother knocking. She threw open his door, and he flinched, quickly closing the heavy leather book he was consulting, and stuffing a second—a thin black book—into his drawer.

  “Rowan,” he said, clearly unsettled by her presence. “What is it, child?”

  She thrust out her wrist to him, displaying the red band that now yoked her forever and always to Tom.

  “Ah, then.” He smiled. “He’s told you. What a joyous night. I’ll have Emily fix something special.”

  Rowan stood aghast. “How could you?”

  Henry Rose shook his head, appearing to be genuinely surprised. “You’re not pleased?”

  “You expected me to be pleased?” she asked, unable to keep the anger from her voice.

  “Of course I did, my child. I would never want for you to be unhappy. It’s been apparent for some time that you have feelings for the boy. When he came to me, my suspicions were confirmed. He’ll make a good and faithful husband.”

  “He’s mad with grief. He was in love with Fiona Eira. He doesn’t love me.”

  “He will grow to love you. It is now his duty.”

  “I don’t want loving me to be someone’s duty,” Rowan cried, tears threatening to flow. “I don’t want to be someone’s second choice, and I don’t want to live my whole life in Nag’s End. I want to be a scholar. Please, Father, you have to call it off.”

  He looked to the window and shook his head. “I can’t do that,” he said.

  “Please, Father,” she begged, desperation breaking her voice. “I can’t do this. I’m meant to be a scholar. Please don’t take that away from me. I can’t marry Tom. I don’t want to.”

  “Silly child, you’re in love with the boy,” he said, averting his eyes. “And times are dark. You need a husband to keep you safe. It’s for your own good.”