I regard the bells, a system in place so the servants can be at the Danthrins’ every beck and call. “So, you just sit here?”
“Yes, Your Highness. In case Lady Danthrin needs me.” She tucks a strand of corn silk–blond hair behind her ear. The move shows off puckered skin on her wrist.
I’ve seen burn marks like that before, on a little boy in a market, for daring to eat a rotten apple off the ground.
“Can I get you something? A drink? A late meal, perhaps?” She takes a step toward, I assume, the kitchen. “I believe there are fruit tarts fresh from the oven and cooling overnight.”
As much as I would love something sweet … “No, thanks. I’m just in need of fresh air.”
Her eyes widen at the door. “You mean, outside? Now? Your Highness, it wouldn’t be wise. It isn’t safe.”
I smile despite my heavy mood, thinking of all I’ve escaped. “We have nineteen warriors out there. Anyone who tries anything with one of them around would have to be an idiot.” I pause. “Though I did meet Ambrose Villier earlier, and I think we can agree he is an idiot.”
She hesitates, biting her lip before a slow smile escapes. “Yes, Your Highness.”
I decide I like her. “What’s your name?”
“Eden, Your Highness.” Her thin frame is still rigid, as if ready to bolt at my first request.
I lean against the wall, trying to soften the mood. “You just sit here all night? In case Lady Danthrin needs something?” How exhausting that would be.
“That is one of my duties, yes.”
How many duties does Eden have? The heavy bags under the young girl’s blue eyes suggest too many. “Does she call you a lot?”
“Rarely. Lady Danthrin is a deep sleeper.” She shrugs. “But it allows me time to knit. One of the other servants in the household is having a baby. I want to surprise her with a sweater when she returns from Cirilea. I should have it ready in time.” Eden holds up the woven scrap that looks nothing like a sweater yet, the move drawing my attention to her angry scar again.
She must be talking about Gracen.
“What happened to your hand?” I ask as gently as I can.
“Oh. Nothing, I just … I was silly.” She tugs at her sleeve to hide the mottled skin.
She’s covering for Danthrin, which boils my blood. But that’s what she feels she needs to do to survive. I know what that’s like.
What will happen when Danthrin returns without Gracen and the children? Is this poor girl primed to follow in her footsteps?
“Why don’t you come for a walk with me? I need a guide to the stables.”
Eden glances at the wall of bells.
“She’s a deep sleeper, right? And if she does wake up, you can blame me.”
With hunched shoulders, Eden collects a lantern from a table and leads me out a different door from the one we entered.
The night air is cool, almost enough to require the cloak I left hanging on a hook upstairs. I don’t recognize this side of the house; the torches casting a dim light over a small but manicured garden.
“Lady Danthrin has quite the green thumb. She spends much time out here.” Eden moves along the narrow path through the floral landscape. Wafts of jasmine and mint stir my senses, and crickets sing in my ears.
“It’s beautiful.” So contrary to the noble who nurtures it.
A shift in the shadows pulls my eyes left where a legionary leans against a tree, watching us.
Eden notices him a second after I do and jumps.
He doesn’t so much as flinch, or smile, or try to appease her in any way.
“Don’t worry, they won’t hurt you.”