Nobody's Goddess (Never Veil #1)(55)

Whenever the sun was out over the next few weeks, I took my breakfasts and lunches in the garden. Even when it was overcast and a chill swept through the air, I went to the garden. Only rain disturbed my sanctuary. And dinner, for that was the one meal the lord ordered that I eat with him. He didn’t tell me that—we still didn’t speak—but the specters always appeared at dusk, their hands clenched tightly around my arms, and I was whisked away. I always knew it was coming shortly after they came to water the roses.

I began to feel. And that feeling, I was upset to find, was boredom. I almost wished for the books, the needles, and the paints again, if only to find some way to make each day pass by. But I didn’t want them enough to break my vow of silence. I hardly wanted them at all. Instead, I took to staring at the fountain or pulling out the petals of a rose one by one.

As if hearing my thoughts, the specters started bringing things again. Paper, quill, and ink. A board decorated with black-and-white squares and thirty-two odd-shaped figures made of bone set on top. I laughed one time when they brought me a flute. I didn’t touch it.

Once, they brought me a few blocks of wood and a set of gouges and chisels. I ached to pick up the items and numb my heart with them, but I refused to acknowledge the gift he got right. I didn’t touch them, I wouldn’t look at them, and they didn’t appear again.

Drawing wasn’t my strength, but I picked up the quill and ran it back and forth over the paper. I thought about writing a letter home, but I didn’t know whether I would be allowed to send it, nor if I could even begin to express my feelings at their betrayal. There was no way I could write a letter to Jurij, and even if I could, I wasn’t sure I wanted to. I held the different bone figures in my palms, running my fingers across the cold, smooth surfaces. I liked the one with the multi-pointed crown the best. It reminded me of the elf queen.

One afternoon, the specters brought a letter.

I looked at it warily where it sat on the stone table, at first afraid and then enraged that it might contain a message from the lord. But I felt a stirring in my heart that I hadn’t known in ages as I looked at the script that wrote out my name: “Olivière, second daughter of Aubree and Gideon, Carvers.” It was Elfriede’s hand.

I turned it over and grew hot with fury to see the seal already broken.

I hope this letter finds you well. Jurij’s birthday is next month. Enclosed is our wedding invitation. I hope you can come. His Lordship is welcome as well, if he would like.

I had to laugh at Elfriede’s attempts to act as if all was well. To her, perhaps it was. I was gone and out of her hair, after all.

My fingers ran over the embossed edges of the invitation. A wedding in the hills beyond our home in the first full month of spring. So it was only a month until the wedding now.

I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know what I wanted. At the very least, perhaps I could look out my bedroom window and watch the specks of people gathering in the hills that day. But what would be more painful, to watch or not to watch? To celebrate a sister’s happiness or to keep pretending that happiness didn’t exist for others because it never would again exist for me?

But a thought struck me. I didn’t want to watch—I wanted to go. Not just to see if I could sneak to the pool and test my theory. Not just because any freedom, even for just a day, was better than whatever this was. A wedding may not be the best opportunity to air a deep and terrible secret, but Elfriede and Father at the very least owed me an explanation.

I would just have to do my best to pretend the groom wasn’t the only person I knew who made life worth living.

But to go would be to open my mouth.

But would an order to let me go, even if just for the wedding, incite his anger? I knew that it would. I would just have to find some way to pretend that I had no power over him and to ask permission. Even if it meant locking my feelings away.



***



Every second at dinner, my heart threatened to jump out my skin. From time to time, I would open my mouth to speak, only to quickly grab the goblet or fork and stuff wine or food in to silence myself. I couldn’t let the opportunity pass. Still, it bothered me that he’d read the letter and still he didn’t say a word. He wasn’t the first to lapse into silence, but he wouldn’t be the first to speak.

I cleared my throat. The air felt like knives in my raw airways.

“I assume you read my sister’s invitation. The seal was broken.”

I hadn’t intended to start off so antagonistic, but I found the words and tone tumbling freely from my hibernated mouth. I stabbed at some meat and began chewing to cover some of my indignation.

A small cough came from behind the curtain, and a black glove reached for his goblet of wine. The goblet appeared again in view but remained cradled freely in one hand.

“Yes,” he spoke at last. “Her wedding is next week.”

The fork fell from my grip. “Next week? The letter says next month!”

“It is already the first full month of spring, Olivière.”

I bit down on my lip. Hard. If I hadn’t, I would have started screaming and said more than one thing I’d have regretted. Even if they would have satisfied me immensely before I later regretted them.

I grabbed my goblet from the table. After a large gulp of wine, I slammed it down.

“I would like to go.”