Without a word, Milly tosses underthings and a gown over the top. Once I’m dressed, Milly cinches the laces.
I suck in a strangled breath. “I think you enjoy this too much.”
She laughs under her breath and gives the laces another merciless yank. “How are you feeling? Do you think you can go downstairs for a meal, or would you prefer to stay in the room?”
Glancing over my shoulder, I say, “I’ll go down. I feel fine.” I pause. “Mostly.”
She narrows her eyes. “Mostly?”
Frustrated, I face forward again. “I feel…off. I don’t know how to explain it.”
“Do you hurt anywhere?” Like an old woman, she fusses over me and checks my forehead for a fever. “Are you achy? Perhaps dehydrated? Have you had enough liquids?”
I bat her hand away, laughing. “No.” I shake my head, irritated I don’t have words for it. “Never mind.”
She purses her lips, studying my face as if she can figure out what’s wrong just by looking at me. After several moments, her expression softens. “Barowalt wanted to be informed the moment you woke up. If he finds out you’ve already been up and talking for ten minutes now, and he wasn’t informed, he’ll be beside himself.”
“I’ll tell him,” Letta says, her voice still fairly unemotional.
I turn to her. “Do you think you should go downstairs by yourself?”
The girl gives me a funny look and quietly closes the door behind her.
Turning to Milly, I say, “Why hasn’t someone taken her back to the orphanage?”
Milly frowns. “She doesn’t want to go.”
I hold up my hands. “I don’t understand what that has to do with anything.”
A smile twitches at Milly’s lips, and she finally laughs. “No one wants to be the villain who takes her back.”
“None of the men in my Order can work up the courage to take one small girl back the orphanage where she lives? We certainly can’t take her in.” I rub my temples. “She’s not a pet. She’s a child.”
Milly steps forward, giving me that look. The look that she knows will guilt me into doing something I don’t think is wise. “Her parents died at sea.” She waits for the words to sink in, making me remember my own loss, then she lowers her voice. “They were pirates. No one will ever adopt her.”
Feeling both an ache at the memory of my parents and the slightest twinge of guilt, I step back. “It’s not our business. We’re already the sole defenders of unicorns of all things, surely you don’t expect our mission to extend to orphans as well?”
“Of course not. But perhaps she could stay with us a few days?” She glances away, looking hopeful. “Maybe I could buy her some dresses? Plump her up a bit? Get her a doll?”
“You’re already attached!”
I have a bad feeling the rest of them are as well. What on earth do they expect to do with this little girl?
***
I find Barowalt interrogating a long-haired gypsy tied to a chair. Rafe stands beside him, looking menacing. “You’re still telling me you had nothing to do with the attack?”
The man sneers. “I tell fortunes. The kind of magic required to conjure that size of beast is astronomical. It doesn’t exist in the depths of all of Constelita.”
The drapes are drawn, and the room is eerily dark for mid-day.
“Then what is this beast?” Barowalt asks.
“How should I know?”
Barowalt leans down, his eyes hard. “I’m sorry. I was under the impression you could ‘see the future,’ fortune teller.”
The man tilts his head back and lets out a loud laugh. His long, dark hair falls down the back of the chair. “Even if I wanted to tell you—which I don’t—I couldn’t draw dark magic around you, oh brave and valiant unicorn knight.”
I suck in a startled breath, and Barowalt and the man turn to me.
“Audette,” my brother says, his face washing with relief.
My brother strides over and crushes me against him. When he finally pushes me away, he keeps his hands on my arms and studies me. He frowns. “Are you all right?”
I nod. “I’m fine.”
He doesn’t look convinced. “You’re sure?”
“Yes!” I exclaim. “Why does everyone keep asking me like I don’t know myself?”
“Of course. I’m sorry.” Barowalt glances around the darkened room. “I was worried, is all.”
I hear the truth of his words. If I’d died last night, he’d be alone. As stoic as he is, he needs me. Just as I need him.
Suddenly, tears blur my vision. The thought of losing Barowalt is too much.
Softer this time, I say, “I promise. I am fully recovered.”
The gypsy snarls something at Rafe, but the knight doesn’t respond.
“Who is this man?” I whisper.
“A con artist we found in Coralridge. We think he might be connected to the incident, so we brought him back to interrogate him.”
A soft chuckle behind us makes my hair stand on end. When I pull away from Barowalt, I find the gypsy smirking at me.
“You’re in trouble, king,” he says.
“Why is that?” Barowalt demands, his voice hard and unforgiving.
The man closes his eyes, still smiling, and rests his head on the back of the chair. “I think I’ll let you figure that one out on your own.”
Without mercy, Barowalt motions Rafe forward. As if the man and chair were children’s toys, Rafe picks up the wooden leg and dangles the man upside down. Feet flailing, the gypsy yelps.
“Again, I’ll ask you, why am I in trouble?” Barowalt asks.
Somewhat recovered from the shock, the gypsy says, his voice tight, “Your sister’s been marked.”
“What does that mean?”
“She’s trackable.”
I tense even though I know better than to listen to a gypsy’s words. They’re notorious liars. This man will say whatever he thinks will save his neck.
Barowalt jerks his head, and Rafe tips the chair right side up.
“So there is a wizard involved.”
Though his arms are still pinned by the rope, the man attempts to roll his shoulders. “I didn’t say that.”
Barowalt motions for Rafe to jerk the chair up again, but the gypsy yells, “I don’t know!”
My brother turns to me, his face grim. “This won’t be pleasant. Why don’t you go for a walk in the gardens?”
Wrinkling my nose, I turn from the room.
***
Letta stares at me as I pick at my food. I try to work up an appetite, though I’m not hungry. I glance at her, notice her watching, and give her an awkward smile.
She only stares back.
“You look funny,” she finally says.
Silence descends over the table. Barowalt, who’s sitting at my side, pauses midway through his recount of the interrogation.
Across from me, Rafe, Grace, and Javid look uncomfortable, and Milly stiffens.
Irving, who hasn’t said a word since he arrived for the evening meal but keeps shooting me silent looks, runs his gaze over my face, frowning.
And now they’re all staring at me.
Grace finally sets aside her napkin and sighs. “She’s right.”
“Excuse me?” I demand.
Self-conscious, I pat my braid.
Apparently no one wants to speak first.
“Your hair is darker, and your eyes are too,” Letta says, obviously not uncomfortable like the rest. “And you’re pale, and you look cold.”
I wait for someone to laugh and dismiss the sentiment as the whimsy of a child. No one does.
Turning to my brother, I say, “Barowalt?”
His brow wrinkles. “I thought it was the candlelight earlier. Your hair is darker, isn’t it?”
Deciding they’ve all lost their minds, I pull my braid over my shoulder. My once platinum hair, identical to Mother’s, is almost brown. I drop the braid like it’s a snake.
“Why�
�what…how could that happen?” My pulse jumps and I turn to Grace. “What would do that?”
She bites her lip. “I don’t know.”
Irving clears his throat. “Are you familiar with the Princess of Lauramore?”
All eyes turn to the prince, and Barowalt says, “She’s our cousin, though a somewhat distant one.”
“Her hair is red like wine,” Irving says. “But it fades to gold at the ends. It’s the strangest thing you’ve ever seen.”
I give him a look, telling him to get to the point.
“It was fairy magic,” Irving explains.
Clasping my hands, trying to keep my temper in check, I lean forward. “Are you telling me that you think that the thing chasing us through the streets…was a fairy?”
“No.” He laughs at my irritation, flashing me a smile that would make me swoon a little if I wasn’t so disturbed. “But whatever it was, it was flesh and blood—I hit it with an arrow, and it fled.” He waits a beat, making sure he has our attention. “It wasn’t conjured.”
We’re silent as we mull the statement over.
“You think it’s a magical beast?” Grace asks.
“A dragon couldn’t…” I motion to my hair. “I mean, that’s not how their magic works…”
Intrigued, Grace leans forward. “But what if it were something else altogether?”
A large part of me doesn’t want to believe that a beast that size and that powerful is real. It seemed much less deadly when it was the work of a wizard.
“We must consider the possibility,” Barowalt says, though he looks skeptical, “but for now, I think it’s best we return to the estate.”
Though it isn’t obvious, the table’s attention subtly shifts to the girl.
Her eyes dart between us, and her face falls. “Does that mean you’re taking me back to the orphanage?”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Letta looks out the carriage window, her eyes as bright as I’ve ever seen them. For some reason unbeknownst to me, we brought the girl with us. Before we left, Irving rode to the orphanage to gather her things. He came back empty-handed. Her only belonging was the dress she was wearing when we found her.
Now Letta has three dresses, two new pairs of boots, a lightweight cape, and seven guardians that have no idea how to parent her.
Grace and Javid take us to the villa, say their goodbyes to us and Letta, and then continue on to the castle. After they leave, Letta stands in the courtyard, marveling at the estate with her hands clasped over the wooden doll Milly bought her before we left Constelita.
Maids and menservants scurry about, gathering our things. At first, many do double takes when they see me, and then they send curious glances my way, which I choose to ignore. Since last night, my hair has darkened further from light brown to the color of dark ale.
I lock the door when I reach my quarters and immediately go to the mirror. My reflection startles me. With a tentative hand, I undo my braid and run my fingers through my hair. There are streaks of pale blond, areas not touched by magic, and they mingle with the dark strands, twisting in the braid-crinkled waves.
As Letta said, my eyes are a shade darker too, though the change isn’t as noticeable as my hair.
The color is odd on me, different. Though I was partial to my blond hair, the reason for my melancholy is not caused by vanity. It’s that I no longer resemble my mother. It used to be that if I’d look in the mirror and turn a certain way, I could see her in my reflection. Remember her.
My hand freezes as the light catches my ring. With my stomach feeling as if it’s dropped to the floor, I yank my hand from my hair and examine the stone.
The light blue aquamarine, the jewel Mother wore every day because she said it reminded her of the Ptarmish sea, is as black as night.
Safe in my room, alone from pitying eyes, I allow my emotions to flow to the surface. I close my eyes and wrap my hands in my hair. Hot tears run down my cheeks. I know I’m wallowing; I know crying won’t do any good, but I can’t seem to stop myself.
Suddenly, I look up. In the reflection, my darkened, tear-stained eyes look determined. Hopeful.
The unicorns can fix it.
With that fortifying thought tucked in my heart, I again braid my hair and turn my back on the mirror.
***
If Aunt Camilla finds me in her hall in the wee hours of the morning, knocking on Irving’s door, I’ll never hear the end of it.
It was simple enough to slip past the knights in the halls. Though they might have been curious about my presence, they only nodded respectfully when I passed. Aunt Camilla would be more than curious.
Nervous, I wait for Irving to answer. What if he didn’t even hear the knock? He’s probably one of those people who could sleep peacefully through the castle’s warning bells.
That would be my luck.
Just when I’m about to give up, I knock one more time.
I hold my breath and watch a nearby torch flicker. The firelight sends flame-shaped shadows dancing on the stone wall. After several more minutes of waiting, my shoulders sag. I turn, disappointed and feeling foolish. As I do, footsteps echo on the other side of the door, and I look back over my shoulder.
Irving opens the door, looking groggy and sleep-rumpled. Light stubble shadows his jaw, and he wears a wrinkled tunic and trousers that appear as if they were hastily pulled on.
“Audette?” Not believing his eyes, he blinks several times.
Glancing down the hall to ensure we’re alone, I push him into his chambers and close the door behind us. “I have a favor to ask of you.”
“There are only a few things that a nightly visit brings to mind,” he says cheekily. “But you must know I’m a gentleman and wouldn’t consider it.”
“Of course you wouldn’t,” I answer, my voice dry. “But that is most certainly not why I’m here.”
He didn’t bother to light a candle before he answered the door, and his room is perfectly dark. A knot tightens in my stomach, and I begin to doubt the wisdom of my decision to come here. If we are caught, this will look very bad indeed.
If you hadn’t run away from your wedding, you’d be here right now and no one would say a thing about it.
Heat stains my cheeks, and I’m now grateful for the blackness.
“I want you to ride with me to Asher’s lands.”
“Tonight?”
My eyes grow accustomed to the dark, and I can just see Irving run a hand through his hair as he stretches his shoulders.
The reason for the visit makes me feel weak. Not only do I want the unicorns to fix my hair, but I want them to share memories of my mother. I don’t exactly know why, but I feel as if I lost a piece of her.
Instead of explaining, I simply say, “Please?”
After contemplating it for a moment and holding back a yawn, he finally nods. “All right. I was just thinking I hadn’t gone on a moonlit ride for far too long.”
“You were not,” I say, my voice soft. “You were fast asleep.”
He takes a step closer, and though we don’t touch, I can feel him in the dark.
“Maybe I was dreaming of you,” he whispers. The words are voiced playfully, but his tone is too soft to have a teasing effect. Instead, the words sound like a line from a sonnet.
A warm sensation spreads from my chest to my stomach, and common sense tells me we need to leave now or I’ll do something I regret. Something like leap into his arms and let him comfort me with his pretty words and empty kisses.
Because I feel the need to move closer, I step back. “You might want to bring a cloak. Another storm has moved in, and it’s rather cool.”
We slip from Aunt Camilla’s hall without incident, this time weaving through empty, unlit corridors to avoid the guards. Near the entrance, the two men I passed earlier are playing a game of dice. They’re relaxed, laughing as they share stories.
Irving and I peer around a corner, watching them.
“I’ll distract them, and
you slip out,” Irving says. “I’ll meet you in the stables.”
He sounds almost gleeful, happy for the game. The feeling is catching. I glance at him and, unable to stop myself, grin at the intrigue.
His face softens, and out of nowhere, he cups my cheek with his hand. Slowly, his fingers slide into my hair, and he examines the darkened strands. He doesn’t say anything, and I ache to ask him what he’s thinking.
Before I dare, he wags his eyebrows and grins. “Be ready to slip out.”
“I already am,” I promise.
He strides around the corner as if it’s completely normal to take a stroll through the castle in the middle of the night. I don’t dare peek for fear the guards will notice me, so I stand with my back to the wall, listening.
“Evening,” Irving says, his voice cheerful and bright.
The guards sound startled at first, but then they’re just as friendly as he is. They speak for several minutes, and Irving manages to lead them a few paces down the hall. When their voices grow slightly fainter, I poke my head around the corner. The men are only ten paces from their table, but they face down the hall to where Irving is motioning.
Silent as possible, I dart into the night and race to the stables. Biting my lip to keep from laughing out loud, I slip past a groom who fell asleep on his watch.
In several moments, Irving joins me.
“Did they see me?” I ask.
He shakes his head, his eyes bright. “They don’t have the slightest idea that I slipped into the night with the loveliest girl in Ptarma.”
I roll my eyes, but I warm at the flattery.
The prince laughs and turns to saddle his horse. I watch him for several moments, feeling disconcerted, and then I ready my mare.
In less than fifteen minutes, we ride down the road. My mind churns with the gypsy’s words. If he’s right, if the beast marked me, I could be leading trouble straight to the blessing. But Irving injured the creature badly enough it fled. Tonight, it will likely be in its lair, nursing its wounds.
And I need the unicorns, need their gentle reassurance and their memories.
Audette of Brookraven (The Eldentimber Series Book 4) Page 13
