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It didn’t stop the rumor from spreading in town, though.
I’m not sure where it originated, but when it became clear the lights weren’t coming back on, turmoil began to bubble on the streets. People needed to know why this was happening to Goldenrod. Why would we lose things if we’d maintained the Order?
Of course, I knew the answer—we’ve been expecting this ever since Beebalm died, and we learned who he really was. I couldn’t very well explain that to them, though. If seeing the faces before me today told me anything, it was that Goldenrod wasn’t ready for the truth.
But it turned out I didn’t have to explain anything. Someone—I don’t know who—came up with a lie for me.
Isolde Sage.
Murderer. Poisoner. Releaser of innocent omegas.
And now she’d killed her helpless maid. The beta who stuck by her through thick and thin. If there was a disturbance in the Order, who else could we blame but such an omega?
I was lucky an angry mob hadn’t shown up at Sage House to tear her limb from limb. She’d mostly been whispered about and feared.
Isolde Sage, the witch on the hill.
So, there’s no way she’s going to wander the streets of Goldenrod.
I throw the rest of my whiskey down my throat, leaving my empty glass on the counter as I step toward her. She’s staring down at the floor, and when I reach her, I put my hand on her shoulder and squeeze gently.
“I believe you,” I whisper, the whiskey making my voice scratchy. “I know you’d never hurt Tansy.”
When she looks up, her eyes are brimming with tears. “She was my best friend,” she says. “The only one left who still … knows me.”
I pull her body into mine. Immediately, she releases a choked sob that sets off a chain of sniffles, her body shaking dramatically.
“I don’t know how this happened, Noah,” she breathes into my shoulder. “I never thought it would get like this. When I … did what I did to your father … I thought I was helping.”
“I know,” I murmur gently, patting her on the back methodically, patiently letting her work through this bout of emotion.
“I want them to come back,” she sobs into my shoulder.
I stiffen. “Who?”
“The betas…” She frowns, eyes downcast. “Henrietta especially. She should be here. It’s not safe for her out there.”
My heart pangs. It’s not safe for her here. “That’s not a good idea,” I say softly.
“Who knows what will happen to her living at Cypress House?” she continues tearfully. “And wandering around town where anyone can see her? She might even—”
She cuts herself off with a sob, and I shush her gently. We’ve done this countless times over the past month, and just like all the times before, she eventually quiets and pulls away, smiling up at me bravely. Her emotions usually pass quickly, and when they do, the mask is always set firmly back in place.
“Do you feel better?” I ask evenly, my brows raised.
She nods. “I’m going to spend some time in the greenhouse, I think.” Delicately, she dabs her eyes with a handkerchief she had stored up her sleeve.
“Good idea.” I attempt a soothing voice and awkwardly squeeze her shoulder.
I watch her walk from the room on wobbly feet. When she’s finally gone, I don’t stifle my rough sigh of relief—I’ve been looking forward to being alone, staring out the kitchen window all day, and now here I am.
Standing in the still darkness, I stare out the window, absorbing it all.
Outside, the bright afternoon sun streams through the high poplar leaves, creating lacy shadows on the overgrown grass. Hydrangeas bob up and down in the breeze, and a couple of cardinals dance among the bushes, singing happily.
As images from the night under the stars with Hetty flood my consciousness, I close my eyes and don’t fight them.
Her face.
