“It’s like you’ve grown up overnight,” I whisper, feeling a little less heavy for the first time in far too long.
Planting Days are myfavoritedays.
* * *
“It might just be me, but independence suits you,” I say, patting the soil around the base of my freshly planted willow, loving the feel of dirt on my hands. I push to my feet, glancing out across the rippling gray pond enclosed with a wreath of swaying reeds. A fallen tree slices its center—The Plank—its underbelly decorated with a carpet of dark green moss and curly white mushrooms.
Weepy should like it here. The soil is irrigated enough, and bonus points for being able to check his progress every time Baze makes me train on that death trap reaching across the insidious water.
I rummage through my bag for a jar and spoon, creeping toward the mucky fringe of the stagnant smelling pond. Kneeling in the black mud I use to make my mortar, I scoop big globs of it into a jar, then dart away from the reeds, putting ample space between myself and that body of water before bagging my plunder.
This place is frightening. I never know what’s going to leap out at me from the shrubbery.
Hands wiped on my top, I sigh and make for the castle.
A lump of dread sits heavy in my empty stomach as I weave through cold hallways and ascend vacant stairwells on my way to the breakfast hall.
Willhebe at the dining table? Will Zali be there, too ... smiling up at him and luring him to laugh?
The poisonous thoughts propel my pulse into a hurried, resentful tempo.
Shoulders shoved back, I stalk into the room, my strong stance almost buckling the moment I feel Rhordyn’s frosty stare threatening to tack me in place.
Clearing my throat, I glance at Baze in his regular spot, hunched over the morning report.
His eyes roll up, and he frowns, face half lit by orange light spilling from the roaring hearth on the back wall. “Are you in a better mood this morning?”
I try to ignore the spike of fire that sizzles my veins, but then I remember the vision ofTe Bruk o’ Avalanstealmost colliding with his face and my mood improves dramatically.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Really,” is his lackluster response.
Tanith fails to stifle a giggle as I brush past her on my journey toward my seat, and I offer her a wink. She doesn’t have to attend my meals, but I think the ample entertainment keeps her coming back for more, and I don’t begrudge the moral support.
Sitting, I search the long table for an extra place setting.
There is none.
“Where’s Zali? I thought these family meal times were going to become a ... athing?”
“She had to leave in the middle of the night,” Rhordyn rumbles, the tenor of his voice demanding my reluctant attention.
He’s going to ruin a perfectly good Planting Day, I just know it.
Slowly, I look his way, struck by his catastrophic masculinity. He’s all brooding composure wrapped in finely crafted garb—so at odds with his six-day-old stubble.
“Urgent mail-sprite. She’ll be back for the ball.”
That damn ball. I want to scrunch it up and throw it in the bin.
“Too bad,” I mutter, gaze momentarily dropping to his empty plate.
Alwaysempty.
His eyes narrow, and mine mirror the action.
“Do you have something you want to say, Orlaith?”
