You Are Mine (Mine, #1)(22)

She nods. “I'll let you know if there's a problem.”

“Perhaps I'll take the one at the bottom of the stairs,” Cynthia says. “That way we'll be close.”

“Would you rather have this room? You can if you would like.”

“Oh, no. If it wasn't for you we wouldn't be here anyway. Besides, you'll enjoy all these windows more than I will.”

Things like this remind me how wonderful she can be. “That's true.”

“Can I bring some breakfast?” the servant asks. “Or would you prefer I draw a bath?”

I'm sticky from traveling, but also have an empty stomach. I don't remember the last time I ate. “Breakfast, I think.”

“Yes, food would be most welcome,” Cynthia says.

The servant nods. “I'll get two trays and your things sent up.” She leaves.

I try to pay more attention to my new room. My very own. Not just for a week, but for good. Or at least until I marry. I don't suppose he'll let me stay here. Mother's room was always close to Father's. I shiver and chase the thought away, replacing it with ones of furniture.

The bed has its headboard curving along the wall. Night tables on each side are also curving. By the window where we're seated are a small table and three chairs. There's also a vanity curving like the others. A small mirror rests on it. More like the one at home than at Thomas's, but easy to see in to. Above it is another window. A third window lies between the stairs and the bed.

“It's rather large,” I say. “Less cramped than our house full of girls.”

“Yes,” Cynthia replies, but with a wistful note. “Certainly quieter.”

She always did spend more time with our sisters than I did. I suppose I spent too much time trying to hide from Father or taking their places for punishments. I still miss them. Perhaps not the same way that brings longing to Cynthia's eyes.

A short while later the servant returns with two trays. She stands off to the side as we settle at the table. Biscuits and chocolate. I devour them, not even taking the time to dunk the thin, sweet wafer in my thick drink. Once my appetite settles, I slow and eat some fruit as well.

I peek at the servant often throughout the meal. As it comes to a close, I work up enough courage to ask, “Do you know in what room Chancellor Zade is staying?”

“I believe he's chosen the back turret on the west side of the house.”

Can I really be that fortunate? All the way on the other side of the house?

“You should easily be able to hide from him if that's the case,” Cynthia whispers.

The servant's face remains impassive.

I respond, “At least until the wedding.”





Chapter Nine





The freedom I gain from being in a new house is odd. All chores are done by the servants. No sisters to keep an eye on and shield from Father. Only Cynthia, but even my relationship with her is changing. There's no need for me to cover for her. It's brought such a relief, more than I thought would happen.

We spend several days staying mostly in one of our rooms. Because of it, I find it easier and easier to wear less face paint, something I've always wanted. Though I do put on a bit more when we attend dinner with the Envadi. Those affairs are more quiet than at home. The Envadi never speaks as Father would. Not to yell or punish, yet no babbling on about other warlocks either.

But this morning, something changed. When a servant was clearing my room, which is strange enough to get used to, she said we didn't have to stay here all the time. We're free to explore the house and the grounds at will.

I don't know if she has the authority to give permission, but I can't help but want it to be true. The rooms, despite their size, have grown confining in the last few days. Cynthia doesn't seem to mind the confinement and chooses to stay in her room, but I'm not wasting an opportunity to get out.

“Are you sure you won't join me?”

She doesn't look up from her embroidery. “I can't believe you're going. The Envadi is probably setting some sort of trap.”

“I'm tired of these rooms. We didn't have a lot of space at Father's, but at least we could go outside and to class. Never thought I would miss class.” I shake my head. I don't really miss learning how I'm never going to be up to the standards a woman should, but this monotony is overbearing. “If something bad happens, it won't be any different than before.”

“Before you avoided trouble instead of racing headlong into it.”

Except for the times I said too much or took on my sisters punishments, which was all the time. “I'll be cautious.”

“I'll be here when you need a shoulder to cry on.”

“I don't cry.”

“Just the same, I'll be here.”

I pick at my gloves hoping she's wrong and exit the room. The house is lovely. Lovelier than I remember, though I suppose being well rested, fed, and not having the shock of my intended being killed and replaced by a barbarian before looking it over, helps.

Rugs cover the length of the halls, cushioning my steps. Pictures, mostly nature scenes, cover the walls. A few women with their large, rounded bellies, and several with warlocks are scattered among them. Tables sit every few feet with vases of fresh flowers, filling the air with their subtle and sweet fragrance. Though I enjoy their scent, keeping so many fresh flowers with a house of only three occupants and their servants is a lot of extra work.