I quickly scrubbed the paint from my face and braided my hair. After slipping on my nightgown, I donned a lightweight, cap-sleeved robe that belted at the waist as I toed on a pair of thin-soled boots. I slipped out of the terrace doors of my quarters and into the humid night air, then crossed the narrow patio and started across the back lawn. It must’ve rained a bit ago, but the clouds had cleared. With the glow of the full moon casting silvery light along the grass and stone pathway, I made no attempt to hide my movements from those patrolling the manor walls in the distance. The Baron was well aware of my nighttime travels and had no problem with them.
During the day, city folk often entered the grounds of the manor to wander the gardens, but it was quiet and peaceful at this time of night. The same could not be said about inside the manor, where the party was just beginning in the Great Chamber. All the aristo unaware that something was coming.
Someone was coming.
My stomach wriggled as if it were full of serpents. Could it be warning me of the Iron Knights— their Commander? It was the only thing that made sense, but why would the Iron Knights be working with the Princess of Visalia?
Trying to see into the future where the Deminyens were involved was nearly as unhelpful as trying to see my own. My so-called gifts were no help there when I either heard or saw nothing, or received only vague impressions.
I thought of Claude’s response to my premonition. The Baron had gone quiet before deciding that King Euros would surely do something to prevent whatever political unrest was occurring between the Crown and the Westlands from spilling over into the Midlands. His mood improved then, but mine had worsened, because all I could think of was Astoria, the once-great city on the border between the Midlands and the Westlands. It was said to have been not only the birthplace of Vayne Beylen but also where those who sought to join the rebellion had been given refuge.
King Euros had sanctioned the destruction of Astoria, and the Prince of Vytrus had delivered the King’s wrath. Thousands had been displaced, and only the gods knew how many had been killed. All that that devastation had accomplished was the creation of more rebels.
So, I wasn’t relieved by the idea of the King becoming involved.
Sighing as I passed the darkened buildings where the manor blacksmith and other workers spent their days, I saw the stables come into view. I grinned as I caught sight of Gerold, one of the stable grooms, slumbering propped against the wall, legs spread wide in the straw. Seeing the empty bottle of whiskey between his thighs, I cracked a grin. Gerold wouldn’t be waking anytime soon.
I passed several stalls, heading for the back, where a beautiful sable mare nibbled on a late-night snack of alfalfa in the glow of lantern light. I laughed under my breath. “Iris, how are you always eating?”
The mare huffed, ear twitching.
Smiling, I ran my hand over her glossy coat. Iris was one of many gifts from Claude. She was the only horse I’d ever owned, and she was my favorite of all the gifts he’d bestowed upon me even though she didn’t . . . she didn’t feel like she was truly mine.
Nothing in Archwood did, not even after six years. Everything still felt temporary and on loan. Everything still felt like it could be ripped out from beneath me at any given second.
I picked up a brush and started with her mane, brushing at the bottoms of the strands in downward sections. Besides the gardens and the little section I’d cultivated for myself over the years, the stables were the only place where I felt . . . I didn’t know. Peace? Found pleasure in the simpleness of taking care of Iris? I thought it was the sound— the soft whinny of all the horses and the drag of their hooves on the straw-strewn floor. Even the smells— though, when the stables hadn’t been mucked, not so much. But I liked it here, and it was where I spent much of my free time. The stables weren’t as good at silencing my intuition, though. Only large quantities of alcohol and having my hands in soil accomplished that. Still, it brought me pleasure, and that was important to me and to the Hyhborn.
My nose wrinkled. I had no idea how they . . . they fed on us when there were none around. At least from what I could tell. I supposed it was something we weren’t supposed to know, and I also guessed I was probably better off not understanding.
As I brushed Iris’s mane, the part of me that was a worrier took over— the part that had learned to expect the bad and fear the worst in all situations. What would happen if the unrest in the west made its way into the Midlands— to Archwood? My stomach knotted with dread.
Before Archwood, all the different towns Grady and I had lived in blurred into one nightmare. Finding coin whatever way we could. Taking any job that would hire people our age and resorting to thievery when we couldn’t find work. No real plans for the future. How could there be when every minute of every day was spent on surviving— on all those “not”s? Not starving. Not getting caught. Not becoming a victim to any number of predators. Not getting sick. Not giving up— and gods, that was the hardest when there was no real hope of anything more, because inevitably, we ended the same as we had begun.