Chapter
9

Britta

“BRITTAAA!” GILLIAN’S BIRD WARBLE IS LOUD enough to reach Castle Neart.

I huff a breath and brush down Snowfire. “Do you know, most people just say ‘Britta’? No bellowing and carrying on. It’s quite nice.”

She rushes out of the cottage, waving her hands in the air like she’s shooing away a pest. “Why didn’t you tell me you’d come home?”

“I’ve only just dismounted my horse.”

She sniffs away a fake tear. “A hello would’ve been nice.”

My head falls against Snowfire’s flank and I groan. If I could, I’d fall right into bed. Though it’s still an hour or so till sunset, I want to hide away in my room and not come out till tomorrow. It’s been a harrowing day. The king’s visit, Phelia’s attack, and the visit to Castle Neart have worn my sanity as thin as my old hunting trousers.

My frustration is drowned out by her laugh. “You’re so dramatic. The kind Captain Omar sent a missive, which of course I opened.” Gillian flits around Snowfire.

I start to argue with her over the merits of Captain Omar, and then realize she just disclosed she opened my letter.

“Gillian, was the missive for me? Or you?”

“You’re ridiculous. All my letters go to the castle. Before you invited me to live with you, I lived in the servants’ quarters. So of course the missive isn’t for me.”

“You mean before the king commanded you to live with me.”

“Details, details.” She flicks her hand in the air between us and laughs as she pulls a folded piece of parchment from her pocket. “Captain Omar has assigned two guards to patrol the land around your cottage, and another two to search the woods. He’s kindly asked that you report to him if there are any more disturbances. And he shared his gratitude for seeing the king home.” Her hand presses against her chest. “You rode with the king to the castle? What happened? Why didn’t you tell me?”

I snatch the letter from her hands. “And you say I’m being ridiculous. I’ve only just returned home.”

Leif steps out of the cottage and waves at me. I glance around, shocked because I thought I’d ditched him at the castle.

“There’s a shorter route through town. Captain Omar asked me to deliver the message, but you’d already left.”

“That’s the only reason?”

Leif’s face reddens. “The king asked me to ensure you returned home safely. And I’m assigned to see that your property remains free of trespassers.”

Figures. Between Cohen and the king and Captain Omar, it’s shocking I’m allowed to use the privy without someone holding my hand. Though, when I glance at the wall of trees along my property, the accompanying bout of unease is lessened knowing Leif and the other guards are nearby.

I turn to put my tack away. Frost crunches the field underfoot from the stable to my cottage. The air nips at my exposed skin, making me wish for a thicker coat.

Gillian’s hands go to her hips when she catches up to me. “I heard you trussed the king to the back of your horse like some sort of deer you’d shot in the woods.”

I roll my eyes at her and trudge to the door. She follows behind with Leif, entering the cozy warmth of the cottage.

A sigh slips out of me as I plunk down in Papa’s old chair, its familiar curves hugging my body, wood worn smooth from years of use. When I close my eyes, I can practically imagine Papa’s here with me—reading beside the fire, cleaning his daggers, showing me how to skin and gut prey. Papa taught me to shoot an arrow, ride a horse, and anticipate danger. Like the years of wear on his chair, his lessons have shaped me into who I am.

This thought I hold on to like a lifeline. Papa made me who I am. I am his daughter. Not Phelia’s.

I see her face again. The black veins curling over her skin. I wanted to first introduce myself as your mother.

Did Papa know she was alive? I hate to even think it, but considering all the secrets Papa kept, I’d be a fool not to suspect. Where has Phelia been my entire life? How is she alive when everyone thought she was dead? And why return now?

I’ve lived so much of my life not knowing who I really am that now I cannot settle for not having answers.

Across the room, Gillian lowers herself into a seat, her movements giving new meaning to the word “genteel” as she picks up her needlepoint. I smile at her, my frilly friend, remembering her last comment about putting the king on my horse. “First of all, I wouldn’t truss an animal to the back of Snowfire. I’d gut and quarter the beast in the woods. Entrails make too much mess.”

She makes a delicate gagging sound. “Ladies of the court do not talk about entrails.”

Court. The Winter Feast. The king’s voice: At the Royal Winter Feast Ball. Where you’ll be presented to the court as nobility. My hands are fists and I’ve forgotten all other worries.

“This is something you’ll have to learn once the king presents you to court . . .” She’s still talking. Nobody talks more than Gillian. “Nobility has a refined way of—”

“No” comes out like a groan. Do we have to have this conversation tonight?

Leif, who hasn’t taken a seat, shuffles awkwardly near the doorway that looks a little too small for his wide frame. “I should go meet up with the other guards and set up our patrol times.”

I stare out the window at the woods, Phelia and her words and her strange dark markings sitting heavily on my mind.

“We’ll find her,” Leif says, though that’s not truly my worry.

“I trust you.” I turn back to face him.

He echoes my somber smile before nodding to Gillian. “Good day, Miss Tierney.”

Two bright spots of color touch Gillian’s cheeks.

Her mouth opens and closes. Leif usually achieves a maximum of three words in my handmaid’s presence. I haven’t noticed Gillian’s interest in my friend before. It’s somewhat of a shock—I’d have thought Gillian and all her fanciful ideas would be more interested in a stuffy lord or a haughty guard. Not Leif, who is as gentle as he is large.

If only Leif could appear at a moment’s notice. The snap of my fingers and my handmaid would go silent. That would be magic worth using regardless of the risk of being caught. I chuckle at my own thought, and Gillian’s eyes cut to me until I hide my mouth behind a fist.

“Please, call me Gillian.” She curtsies to Leif.

He repeats her name in a murmured tone. As soon as he steps out the door, she whips a deadly glare in my direction and hisses, “Not a word.”

My laughter doesn’t stop for quite some time.

You don’t need a lot of friends, just a good one, Papa had said at a time I felt the crush of loneliness. I thought he meant Cohen. But in the time since Enat was killed, while Cohen’s been away, Gillian has been my rock. A pretty painted rock, but someone to lean on nonetheless.

I would’ve never handpicked her as a friend. But we’ve shared more laughter in the last month than I’ve had most of my life.

When she exits the room, my humor fades. What will she think of me when she finds out Phelia is my mother?

Gillian. Leif. Cohen. I remember the time before them, when I almost starved after Papa’s death. Now I have three people to depend on.

When they know the truth, will I be alone again?