“My master is a collector of a certain variety of rare goods. It is come to his attention that you are in possession of a particular tome he has long sought.”
“A book?” A pause. “Oh, you serve him.” Joyce’s voice sharpens. “I know Covolt always refused to sell it, but you will find me a much more amenable businesswoman.”
The book… They couldn’t possibly be talking about that book, could they?
When Joyce entered into our lives she decreed that all remnants of my birth mother be expunged from the halls. I had tried to object, but my father told me it was a natural thing for a new wife to do. That new love couldn’t blossom in the shade of old. One night I went to him, utterly inconsolable. I begged him to save something, anything, just one thing. I had already lost the memories of my mother’s face by then. I didn’t want to lose more.
It was then that he showed me the book. It was a small, old thing. Whatever lettering had once been stamped onto its leather had been mostly worn away with time. The only marking that was still discernible was an eight-pointed star at the top of a mountain imprinted on the spine. The writing inside had faded, leaving only illegible ghosts to haunt mostly blank pages.
My father swore to me that it was the one thing my mother had treasured most. The one thing she wanted me to have and keep safe—my birthright. And when I was a woman, he would give it to me. But in the meantime, he swore me to secrecy on the importance of the title. I’m sure to keep Joyce from destroying it like she did everything else of my mother’s.
When I was worried most that Joyce would discover the book, I had told Father I did not want to wait. Let me hide it, I’d begged. But he said I wasn’t ready. So he gave me the lute to ensure I had something of Mother’s, claiming it was the one she’d used to sing my lullabies.
“My master had hoped that would be the case,” the old man says. “He has empowered me to make the following offer: he will take the young woman’s hand in marriage and look after her for the rest of her, or his, days on this mortal plane—whichever ends first. She will never be left wanting. He asks only for the book as a dowry. Furthermore, to show good faith toward your family, he will pay four thousand pieces when the marriage papers are signed.”
My fate is sealed. Four thousand pieces is more than this entire manor is worth. That is one year’s operations of my father’s trading company during the best of times. I slowly slide down the wall as I realize this mysterious man who could not even be bothered to come in person will be my husband.
“That is a very generous offer indeed.” Joyce’s voice quivers slightly. I can imagine she’s frothing at the mouth. “I shall draw the papers to immortalize this agreement, and cement the marriage. Shall we sign them tomorrow when your master can come?”
“There is no need to wait.”
“Oh?”
“As I said, my master has empowered me to make such decisions on his behalf. I am able to sign for him and he’s given me his seal. He said, should you agree to our terms, to conclude business immediately.”
“Very well then.”
Somewhere between the mutterings over the best wording for the agreement, and the shuffling of papers, I stop listening. I lean against the wall, hands shaking, fighting for air. The world spins sickly fast. I knew this would happen. I knew it. But now it’s real and happening so quickly… I thought… I thought I’d have more time…
“There, it is done,” Joyce declares as she no doubt finishes signing my name on my behalf.
“Good. Tell your daughter to collect her things as you collect the book.” More scraping of chairs. “We will leave within the hour.”
Just like that, I am married and am leaving the only home I’ve ever had…for a man whose name I don’t even know.
Chapter 2
“The mysterious Lord Fenwood.” Laura leans against the doorframe as I pack my meager things. News has traveled fast, expectedly, since there are only about five people at the manor at any given time. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen this particular lord at any events.”
“I think he’s a recluse.” Helen is opposite her sister. She has hardly ever come to my room. Seeing her here is an unwelcome oddity. “I’ve only ever heard him mentioned. They say he lives up north of town, that his estate is right at the edge of the forest.”
“Oh, him!” Laura claps her hands. “I’ve heard townsfolk say he is an ancient wizard.” She spins to face me as if this prospect is the best news she’s heard in months. “If he teaches you magic, promise me you’ll show me?”
“He’s not going to teach me magic.” Still, the optimism of my youngest sister tries to tug a smile onto my face, at least until Helen does her level best at squelching any joy that might exist between us.
“She wouldn’t be taught magic. She would be consumed for it. I hear wizards exclusively drink the warm blood of freshly killed maidens and dance with horned fae in the moonlight.”
“If he drank only the blood of freshly killed maidens there would be no young women left in the village.” I roll my eyes and try to conceal the fact that I am actually somewhat alarmed that neither of my sisters know anything concrete about this man. They’re so embroiled in the social circles of the greater area that if they don’t know him then no one does. I had been hoping for some information on my new circumstances. “And no one dances with fae in the moonlight. If you get that close to a fae, you’d be dead.”
“Assuming fae are real at all.” Helen doesn’t believe the old stories. She’s too practical, she grew up farther inland and closer to her mother’s mines…farther away from the woods and their tales. She thinks Laura and I are ridiculous for our suspicions. Yet she’ll absolutely refuse to go into the woods herself. “It’s far more likely that he’s some horrible, wrinkly old hermit looking for a young woman to make his own.”
“I’m sure he’s wonderful,” Laura insists. “And we will come and visit you and your new husband within the month. I hear Mother is going to buy a new carriage, hire a driver, and get three new footmen for the manor—and that’s just the start! You’ll have to come back and see the spoils your marriage has bought.”
Laura means well, but she doesn’t realize the dagger her words are.
I’m no better than a prized hog. But at least I could be of some use to her.
“It will be nice to finally have some real help around here,” Helen says with a disapproving glance in my direction.
I did everything I could, and then some, for them. When Helen and Joyce first moved in, I tried to make them my family. I began doing things as they asked, when they asked, because I wanted to be a “good daughter.” By the time I realized they were turning me into their personal servant, it had gone on too long for there to be any hope of stopping it. Then Joyce began to encourage Father to spend more time on ships. And after the incident on the roof… I never even dreamed of contradicting them ever again.
“I’m sure you both will be very happy here for years to come,” I say.
“Until our own weddings,” Laura stresses. She just can’t wait to get married off to some charming lord. As the youngest and by far the most beautiful of us, she’ll have her pick of men.