What Lies Beyond the Veil (Of Flesh & Bone, #1)(20)

I’d walk to my death with my head held high rather than spend the rest of a long life on my knees.

My mother waited in the kitchen, her chair already pulled up to the table where she struggled to slice through the stale loaf of bread resting on top. “Let me,” I said, taking the knife from her hand and slicing through the bread quickly. I spread her favorite homemade jam on top of it, handing it to her and turning away to allow her to have a private moment of feeling embarrassed.

She’d never adjusted to being taken care of by her children after her husband died, and with every year that passed the weakness in her body worsened, spreading from her legs to her upper limbs. Her hands shook as she raised the bread to her mouth and took a bite, chewing slowly.

“You’re happy here, aren’t you?” I asked, dropping the knife into the bucket of dishes I would need to take out to wash in the basin outside before we left for the celebration. The last thing I wanted to do was leave them with work to worry over while they were grieving.

She smiled wistfully, saying, “Of course I am, sweetheart. This is the only place that reminds me of your father.” I bit back the flame inside at the reminder, seeing the phantom of his memory all over the kitchen and realizing that, soon enough, my ghost would join his. My mother would only have her recollections of our moments together to remember me by. “Besides, Lord Byron has been so accommodating with my condition. I couldn’t expect to be treated better anywhere else. Why do you ask?”

“No reason,” I said, forcing myself to shrug and smile back at her as tears stung my eyes. “Finish your toast. I’m going to wash these dishes. It’s the last thing we’ll want to deal with when we roll into bed after the celebration tonight.”

“Aren’t you going to eat something?” she asked, her brow furrowing in concern. If there was one thing I was known for, it was my love of food. There was never enough, and as such, I could never pass up the chance to eat. But I’d be gone in a few hours, anyway. They needed the food more than I did.

“I’m not very hungry today,” I said, giving Brann a meaningful look when he finally stepped out of the hallway into the kitchen. My mother would have been pleased with Lord Byron’s offer, knowing it would mean a better life for all of us. Like my brother, she didn’t know all of the details of my relationship with him.

Unlike my brother, she had no idea why I’d wept every time she’d sent me to the manor with my Mist Guard escort when I’d been too young to walk alone. Brann and I had worked hard to protect her from my injuries, hiding me away for the worst of the healing.

I stepped out of the kitchen and went to wash the dishes as I’d said I would, leaving Brann to make excuses for my poor appetite. The yearly sacrifice made my stomach churn every year, seeing my father’s face in each and every person they bled.

What would I see when it was my throat the knife came for?





6





The celebration was already in full swing by the time Brann pushed Mother’s chair along the path at the center of the village. The Veil loomed in the distance, sparkling like a gateway to the afterlife.

For me, it would be.

My blood would stain the ground, my body left there to rot until the villagers brought me to the funeral pyre. I smiled at my brother for a moment as we walked, everything in me and our day spent together feeling like a deception. We’d entertained ourselves with a card game, the three of us sitting around the kitchen table in a way that was so rare when Brann and I always had to hustle to make sure our family survived.

The streets of the village were wide, the paths lined with dirt between the many houses and shops as we neared the central square. There was a well at the center where most of us drew our water, and the buildings surrounded it, curving around the edges of the dirt roads that were packed down from the foot traffic of villagers going about their day. There were dozens of buildings, all pressed neatly in rows beside one another to save space and protect from the elements once winter arrived. As the roads led farther from the main part of the village, the houses became more sporadic and in ill repair.

Lord Byron waited in the center of the village square as people offered him condolences on the loss of his wife. His eyes were heavy on my face as he waited for the conversation that we both knew we needed to have. He needed to understand that I wouldn’t back down, and the speech he was prepared to give would not end the way he wanted. “I’ll be right back,” I said, touching Brann’s arm with a smile before I took a deep breath.

My skin tingled, goosebumps rising to the surface beneath the fabric of my dress. It wasn’t the autumn air that brought the chill to my skin, but the triumphant look on Byron’s face as I crossed the distance between us.

“Estrella,” he said, his lips tipping into the arrogant expression of a man who was so certain he’d caught his prey in his trap. “Walk with me.”

“Yes, my Lord,” I said, accepting the arm he proffered. A hush fell over the square, because the Lord of Mistfell shouldn’t have offered his arm to a peasant woman. He shouldn’t have bothered with me at all.

“I knew you’d change your mind,” he said, guiding me down the path toward the gardens. Soon enough, everyone else would follow to witness the yearly sacrifice before the evening’s celebration could begin in earnest.