Bathed and dressed in the lightweight tunic and leggings often favored by the staff, my hair braided back from my face, I could still catch that woodsy, soft scent of Thorne on me. At this point, I was beginning to think it was my imagination, because how was that even possible?
I stepped into the alcove Maven’s chamber door was set in, and knocked. There was no answer, but after a few moments the rounded, wooden door cracked open.
Hesitating, I took a deep breath and pushed the door open enough for me to get past, stepping into the chamber, which was lit by dozens of candles stacked on shelves along the stone walls and piled on nearly every flat surface. There had to be electricity in this chamber to heat the water, but Maven seemed to prefer the ambience of the candlelight.
Or the creepiness.
Closing the door behind me, I almost missed her. Shrouded in black, she was seated on one of the many stools, near the wardrobe, her head bowed as she stitched a piece of garment in her lap. The room smelled of laundry soap and faintly of mothballs.
Throat strangely dry, I inched forward. “Maven?” I winced at the hoarse sound of my voice. “I brought back the headpiece. I forgot to do it last night.”
She jerked her head toward one of the shelves holding other elaborate pieces.
Nibbling on my lip, I walked the headpiece to the shelf and found an empty hook to hang it from. Anxiety settled in the center of my chest as I glanced over at her. Limp, dull gray strands of hair fell from the cowl, shielding her face.
“I . . . wanted to ask you something.” I draped the chain over the hook and carefully placed the chains of rubies on the shelf below it.
There was no response as her gnarled fingers drew the needle and thread through the thin red garment.
“Are you Claude’s grandmother?” I asked.
Still, she was silent.
I stared at her hunched shoulders. Like the other night, a shivery pressure settled in between my shoulder blades. The tingling spread throughout my arms and seeped into my muscles, guiding me toward her. Fingers twitching, I made no sound as I approached the woman, lifting my hand— Faster than I would’ve thought her capable, Maven wheeled around on her stool.
I gasped, jerking back a step.
“You think to force an answer outta me, girl?” she demanded in a voice as thin as parchment and as brittle as her bones. “After all this time?”
“I . . .” I didn’t know what to say as I drew my hand back.
She laughed, the sound more of a dry wheeze that shook her entire body. “You never spoke to me before. Never asked me about my kin before. Why now?”
“That’s not true. I’ve spoken to you before, when I first started being brought to you,” I told her, but that was neither here nor there. “Is Claude your grandson?”
The lines in her face were deep gouges. Watery, shadowed eyes met mine, but they were alert and full of curiosity. “What’s it matter to you?”
“Can you just answer the question?”
Stringy silver hair slipped back as she lifted her chin. “Or?”
“Or . . .” My fingers tingled. “I will just get the answer the hard way.” My stomach twisted; the hypocrisy still didn’t sit well with me, especially after my lecture to Thorne about consent. Granted, gaining answers from Maven was nothing like demanding my time and my body, but it felt a lot like splitting hairs. It felt a lot like what I did every time I used my abilities for Claude. Maybe that was why I had such a problem with Thorne’s demands. And maybe that was why I was able to accept them. Heart thudding, I took a step toward her. “You won’t be able to stop me.”
Maven’s answering laugh was more of a cackle. “No, I suppose not.” She rose slowly, shuffling forward, the hem of her black robes dragging unevenly along the floor. “Yeah, he’s my grandson.”
“On his father’s side?”
“Yes.”
I exhaled roughly as she laid the garment on a nearby table. It reminded me of a splash of blood in the darkness. “You understand what I can do.”
“Clearly,” she remarked, ambling back to the stool. She sat down heavily, cheeks puffing with exertion.
I ignored the surprisingly strong tone of sarcasm. “Do you know what ‘starborn’ means?”
“Why you asking me?” She picked up a tuft ball, stabbing the needle through it. “You could’ve asked the Baron.”
“Because he’s busy, and I figured if you’re a caelestia then you may know what that is.”
Maven shook her head, tossing the pincushion into a basket at her feet. “And why would you think that?”