The Bride Tournament (Hexed Hearts Book 1)(11)

They tiptoed out and shut the door with a quiet click.

They were in and out of the next room before Ellie asked, “Meet me at Meera’s after supper?”

“It’s a date.” Rachel smiled.

The two finished the fires in the women’s wing and put away the trolley. Ellie changed out of her indoor slippers and into her sturdy boots. “It’s breakfast time at home. Mustn’t let the Burbes starve.”

“I would,” Rachel replied wryly. “See you tonight.”

“Deal.” She waved and slipped out of the castle. She greeted Rufus at the stone gate, letting him know she’d be by his wife’s shop after dinner.

“I’ll be there, Ellie dear. You’ve got some—” Rufus pointed to her cheek.

Ellie wiped at her face with one of her kerchiefs, black soot staining the fabric.

“Cinders on our Lady Cinders.” Rufus winked and shooed her off.

Ellie did not miss the irony of being a cinder maid at the castle with the last name Cinders. Ellie shook her head and passed through the forest, her mind on the tasks before her.

Halfway through the abandoned pumpkin patch she noticed the building.

A squat log house dominated a wide berth at the edge of the forest. Green pumpkin vines wound their way toward the side of the wall. Ellie wandered over, mud squished under her boots.

She could have sworn it was nothing more than an old field this morning, but she’d kept her head down and hadn’t looked around. She tugged her cloak off the mucky ground and tapped on the building’s door. No one responded.

The vines bobbed in the breeze and beckoned her around the side of the building. No windows. She trampled through the barbed pumpkin patch and snagged the bottom of her work dress. Leaving a swatch of fabric behind, Ellie tugged her gown free. Great, one more thing to fix today.

The globular orange gourds had already puffed up like sugar in a fire. She patted one that reached her knee. A cheery hollow thump greeted her ears. She’d lug one to Meera’s tonight in repayment for the cookies she’d stolen this week.

Leaving the mysterious building behind, she marched home. The house echoed her quiet sounds. She slipped into her room, changed into a dark plum dress. Undoing the tight bun at the base of her skull, Ellie let her hair fall in a tumbled mass of waves. Within a few hours, the sheer weight of the long strands would straighten them and she’d once again have straw-straight blonde hair.

Ellie wandered into the kitchen, started the kettle and laid muffins on plates to be brought up as soon as the bell chimed.

Sure enough, as the kettle whistled, the horrible screech of the bell sounded. Ellie took the kettle off the fire and opened the speaking valve. “Good morning.”

“Ah, Elizaveta. The carpenters will be here in a minute. Please bring up breakfast before you direct them to the rooms.”

“Yes, Lady Irene.”

Ellie balanced the tray on her hip and meandered up the main staircase. The house creaked in protest. She popped into Lady Irene’s room and dropped off tea and a muffin. The same went for Violet and Marigold.

She had just woken her father up when a knock sounded at the front door.

Eight carpenters stood awkwardly on the doorstep. Ellie let them in, smiling like a good hostess, and showed them to the rooms. They set to work, tossing broken furniture and moth-eaten fabric out the open windows. She bit back the sadness that clamped tight as a vise around her chest. She darned one of Father’s outfits and fixed the hole in her work dress.

Lunch time arrived in a rush and she raced around the kitchen. She made meat and cheese stuffed bread with fresh melon. The family was served first, and then she staggered up the stairs with a heavy tray for the carpenters. They smiled gratefully and dug into the meal.

To her surprise, the rooms had already been gutted of anything moldy and broken beyond repair. She shuffled down the main staircase in time to open the front door for more workers carting wagons of furniture and wood. They, too, went upstairs.

The sounds of hammers banging and wood splintering went on all afternoon. She fixed another of Father’s outfits and took him for a short walk. He leaned on her arm as they strolled through the abandoned field.

She tried the door on the new building but it remained locked.

“I’d like tea now, Ellie,” Father said, his face wan with fatigue.

The toll of the construction showed in the haggard hunch of his shoulders, and Ellie guessed her father likely carried shame for letting his first wife’s room wither to dust. But they hadn’t had money until Lady Irene came along, and the new lady of the house hadn’t wanted to redo the room.

Too much like building a shrine to the dead wife, she’d said.

“Yes, Papa.” Ellie helped him back inside and to his favorite chair in the south parlor.

Excited feminine twitters sounded through the back staircase in the kitchen. She pressed her ear to the closed door. The words were too muffled to understand. She sighed and made a fresh pot of tea.

The afternoon and dinner passed in a blur of movement.

Exhausted, she tugged on her wool cloak and trudged through the muddy field. The green pumpkin vines bit at her fingers as she cut a big gourd free. Ellie rolled the seeded orb over a dry patch of ground and to the forest path.

“Ooof.” Ellie nearly dropped the pumpkin as soon as she lifted it. Heavy and cumbersome, the rounded fruit—or is it a vegetable?—bounced against her belly with every step. She carried it in straight arms and waddled along the path. The sun was low in the sky and the thick trees blocked most of the light.