Chapter 31

CHAPTER 31

I got little rest that night, and I wasn’t sure if it was the knowledge that I’d been wrong about Claude or if it was because of Thorne’s absence. I was also uncertain which one of those things was worse— which one was leading to my general sense of unease.

And that unease followed me through the morning and afternoon, as I walked the busy halls of the manor. Staff rushed to and fro, some cradling vases full of banana-hued daisies and streaming, white-petaled petunias while others carried trays of meats provided by Primvera and yet to be prepared. All were far too busy to pay much attention to me.

The Feasts began tomorrow.

Thorne would likely return the day after or the following one.

I stopped by the breezeway, thoughts heavy as they drifted to Claude. What I felt was a mixture of disappointment and anger, confusion and a little bit of heartache. I tried to understand his position, and I did. Mostly. Because he still should have told me what he suspected. I had a right to know, even if there was nothing to be done with that knowledge.

But wasn’t I doing the same thing with Thorne? I didn’t understand why my intuition stopped me, but that didn’t change the fact that our meeting in Union City was likely why Thorne felt like we’d met. What it didn’t explain was how it all tied into what both Maven and Claude had shared. Why it even mattered. My intuition was quiet except for that unease.

I turned, spotting Grady entering the hall. I started toward him. I started to speak.

“Whatever you have to tell me is going to have to wait for a few,” he said, placing his hand on my lower back. “There’s something you need to see.”

Curiosity rose, but so did that anxious energy. It made me jumpy, chest too tight.

“Hymel just came out of the Great Chamber.” Grady led me through the narrow hall, to one of the many interior doors. He kept his voice low as we entered the main hall, one now filled with vases overflowing with those flowers I’d seen earlier, placed upon numerous marble pedestals. “He wasn’t alone.”

I glanced down the wide hall of the foyer that opened on both sides to the outside, my gaze landing on the pillared, stone doors. “Who was he with?”

“You’ll see.” Grady nodded toward one of the windows that looked over a part of the circular drive leading to the manor.

I saw Hymel standing with his back to us, but it was those he stood below that caught and held my attention. There were three of them astride sable-black horses that towered over the shires. One had long, fair hair that reminded me of the lord we’d seen in Union City, knotted at the nape of his neck, but the blond wasn’t the icy white of Lord Samriel’s. Another’s skin was a warm clay in the sun, and the third was raven-haired, and that was who spoke to Hymel.

It was clear they were Hyhborn, but none that I knew who had arrived with Thorne. Besides, Commander Rhaziel and Lord Bastian had left with Thorne.

“Are they from Primvera? Bringing more food?” I asked.

“That’s what I thought until I saw the one who’s speaking to Hymel now,” Grady said, placing his hand on the window. “That’s Prince Rainer.”

My eyes widened as I stepped closer to the window, unable to make out much of any of their features.

“What the hell is he doing here?” Grady questioned.

“Maybe it’s about the Westlands threat,” I said, though I never knew the Prince to have visited Archwood before. “Or about the shadow market.”

“Yeah.” Grady angled his body toward me. “But what the hell is he doing talking with Hymel about those things and not the actual baron?”

That was a damn good question.

Hymel handled quite a bit of the day-to-day functionality of Archwood, but there was no way that the Baron would not be available to speak to the Hyhborn.

Especially not a prince.

The anxiety was now a dread I couldn’t name, but it was pumping through my veins as I hurried through the maze of halls, the hem of the pale gray tunic snapping at my knees. My thoughts bounced between the possibility that Claude and his family had descended from Deminyens— that I had— and what that really meant. If it meant anything. But I set aside what I’d learned from Maven as I reached the gold-adorned doors of the Baron’s personal apartments.

Something wasn’t right.

When I knocked and there was no answer, I tried the handle, finding the door locked. Cursing, I pulled a pin holding the shorter strands back from my hair and knelt.

A wry grin tugged at my lips as I gripped the handle and worked the thin edge of the pin into the keyhole. One thing I could appreciate from my life before Archwood was the certain . . . skills I’d acquired.

Taking a deep breath, I willed my hand to be steady and gentle as I wiggled the pin left and then right. Picking locks was truly an exercise in patience, a virtue that neither living on the streets nor in a nice home had helped me develop. Must be nice to be a Hyhborn and able to just will the door to unlock.

Or able to simply kick it in.

If I tried that, I’d likely break my foot.

Finally, I heard the soft snick of finding the tumbler. Biting down on my lip, I continued to wiggle the pin until I felt the mechanism give a little. I kept my hand steady as I turned counterclockwise. The handle turned in my palm.

A brief smile of satisfaction tugged at my lips as I shoved the pin back into the braid and rose, pushing open the door.

The private quarters of the Baron were all wealth and luxury. I remembered the first time I’d been in these chambers. I hadn’t been able to stop touching everything.

It had been at least two years since I’d entered Claude’s chambers. Maybe even longer, and it was strange being in here now. I ran a hand over the plush back of a couch. Fruits and meats were left out, half eaten, on a polished table. Ceiling fans stirred silk curtains finer than any clothing most lowborn would ever own.

“Claude?” I called out.

There was no answer.

I snatched what appeared to be an untouched slice of orange and popped it into my mouth. The sweet and tart taste coursed down my throat as I walked past a chair outfitted with thick velvet cushions. I stopped, letting the memories of sitting in that chair and being held by Claude as he read mail from a neighboring baron engulf me. That had been a habit of ours for a little while. We’d wake and have breakfast in bed, something I’d only heard of people doing before. (The first time we’d done it, I’d been so afraid of getting crumbs on the sheets, but Claude made a far larger mess than I could ever hope to and he laughed while doing so.) Then he’d lead me out to this chair, where we’d spend hours doing nothing much. I remembered feeling . . . safe. Warm. Wanted.

But I never felt like I belonged. Like I was supposed to be there.

Not much had changed since then, but everything felt different.

A knot lodged in my chest as my hand slipped off the chair. Claude had always known that— known how I felt, even if I hadn’t realized it. He knew as he laughed and smiled, as he kissed my lips and my skin. He knew.

And he tried to change that.

It just wasn’t in his heart, and it hadn’t been in mine. But if it had? If Claude had loved me and I’d felt the same? Would I have ended up like Maven, a mistress raising the children that another woman, one deemed suitable by the aristo, claimed as hers? Or would Claude have continued to buck tradition and married me?

I didn’t even know why I was thinking about any of that as I walked past a brightly colored tunic left on the floor. In a way, it felt like I was . . . I was mourning what could never be.

Walking through the rounded archway, I glanced around the bed-chamber. A breeze carried the floral and woodsy scent of the gardenias filling the tall vases positioned along the walls of the circular chamber.

Gardenias were a favorite of Claude’s.

Allyson had been smelling a lot like gardenias.

I focused on the bed seated on a slightly raised platform beneath open windows, a tremor hitting my hands. I sucked my lower lip between my teeth. My steps were light as I stepped onto the platform. Through the rippling fabric, I could make out only lumps.

My heart began to pound as I reached forward, parting the curtains.

The bed was empty.

Letting the curtains fall into place, I stepped off the platform and went to the bathing chamber. That too was empty, and didn’t appear to have been used that morning. If so, there would’ve been towels scattered about and puddles of water. Claude was messier than me.

I turned back to the bed, that dread increasing. A cool finger pressed against the nape of my neck. A tingling pressure settled between my shoulder blades.

Something isn’t right.

I took a step and it happened. Without warning, my skin prickled all over. Pressure settled between my shoulder blades as the skin behind my left ear tingled. Claude’s chamber fell away and I saw blood.

Pools of blood. Rivers of it streaming between still limbs, seeping into gold veining. Bare arms with deep gouges. So many of them, their mouths gaping open in frozen, silent horror. Brocade and jewel-encrusted masks torn, strewn across the floor. Silver and sapphire drenched in blood.

Sucking in a sharp breath, I stumbled back, bumping into the wall. I’d . . . I’d seen death.