It was a rare sight to see Royal Lindsay caught off guard, and Gwyn ought to have enjoyed the odd stillness in his eyes, the uncertain quirk on his mouth. “You’re moving?” he repeated, his voice not quite as light as before. “ToVarrahan?!”
He shot a brief, accusing glance at Lord Anton, who had now begun to look rather smug, his gaze flicking between Roy and Gwyn. “You know our Gwynnie, once she gets an idea into her head,” he said cheerfully. “I’ve decided to allow it for now, but she’ll change her mind soon enough, won’t you?”
He actually had the audacity towinkat her, an action which Roy certainly didn’t miss, his eyes narrowing toward Gwyn. “Varrahan, Gwyn?” he demanded at her. “You’re serious? Next to fuckingOrc Mountain?”
Gwyn twitched a nod, crossing her arms tighter, while an unmistakable anger flared through Roy’s eyes. “That’sfoolishness, Gwynevere,” he snapped. “Do you not know how horribly dangerous those beasts are? Gods, they’ve even been sneaking aroundherelately. One in particular” — his voice dropped — “who needs his uglyheadimpaled on a pike.”
Gwyn grimaced at that lovely little image, and gritted her teeth so tightly it hurt. “Well, thanks to the peace-treatyhehelped ratify,” she said, jerking her head toward her father, “you’re out of luck, Roy. And, if the orcs are actually sneaking around here in Dunburg too, then what conceivable difference does it make if I move to Varrahan?”
Roy stared at her for an instant too long, his jaw flexing in his cheek. “Don’t think I don’t know,” he said, his voice very steady, “what you’re doing with this, Gwynevere.”
Good gods, thesemen, and suddenly Gwyn couldn’t bear to look at them for a moment longer, or feel their infuriating, too-large presences crowding this tiny cramped room. “Indeed, Roy, moving to Varrahan, as I said,” she snapped back. “And I’mverybusy preparing, so please feel free to be on your way at once!”
Roy only kept staring at her, and then came a swift step closer — but thankfully Gwyn lurched backward just in time, and grasped for a bushy pot of fennel to thrust between them. “Very,verybusy,” she said loudly. “Goodbye, both of you. And Father, I meant what I said about that horrible law. We willnotbe speaking again, until you find a way to fix it. Andendit.Permanently.”
Lord Anton’s mouth began babbling again, yet more nonsense about it all being out of his power, but Gwyn cut him off mid-sentence, wildly waving her pot in the air. “Goodbye,” she said, her voice rising. “Goodbye. Both of you!”
Her father and Roy exchanged a brief, meaningful look — saying, perhaps,We’ll discuss this later— while something sharp and shaky jerked in Gwyn’s belly. Something she had to keep in check, these men couldn’t keepdoingthis to her, she was an accomplished herbalist, a certified midwife, she’d borne everything these two had hurled at her all these years, and now they couldn’t even leave her alone in her ownapartment?!
“Will you both justlistento me for once in your damned lives?!” she shouted at them, before she could stop the words from escaping. “I said, goodbye.Now!”
Her voice scraped through the too-small room, shrill and shivering, while her father and Roy shared another dark, speaking look. Until finally,finally, Roy raised his hands, spun on his heel, and strode from the room. And after another frantic wave from Gwyn’s pot, her father did the same, casting her one last pleading, reproachful frown over his shoulder.
Gwyn slammed the door shut behind them, leaning back against it, her chest heaving — but it was almost as though they were both still standing here, looming over her, careless and condescending, making her small and foolish and ashamed. A dotty, unfashionable, plant-obsessed lord’s daughter, who couldn’t even hold the attention of her own damned betrothed. Who couldn’t even move away from her selfish, spoiled father for more than a damned month, without him sending his horrid minions to drag her back.
And without even noticing it, she’d lunged for her candlewood, grasping its painful green spines. Digging them deep and forceful into her palms, while the pain lanced and screamed, obliterating the whole of the room in its wake.
And finally, all was still. And Gwyn had somehow found how to breathe again, her eyes fluttering closed, the certainty swelling in her thoughts.
She was fighting her fate, and making her own way, and moving to gods-damned Varrahan. And even if she had to poison her own lord father, she was never,evercoming back.
2
Afortnight later, Gwyn stepped out of her new house in Varrahan, and shut the door behind her.
It had been two weeks full of exhausting, expensive work. Packing up all her plants and belongings, hiring a top-tier team of movers, and then hovering restlessly about as they’d loaded her precious plants into wagons. She’d had to intervene more than once, and her candlewood had bestowed multiple movers with minor injuries — but in the end, the three-day ordeal had gone as well as she could have hoped, with all her plants still mostly intact.
And gods, thehouse. Gwyn had only ever visited Great-Aunt Agnes a few times growing up — Varrahan was a full two-day ride south of Dunburg, and her father had never spared much thought for her mother’s relations — but the house was even more perfect than she’d remembered. It was snug and well-built, with a kitchen, a sitting-room, and a bedroom, and it boasted large, glazed windows that opened and closed, a reliable well, and a deep-dug outdoor privy.
And most importantly, it was surrounded by a truly breathtaking garden. One that had become somewhat overgrown in recent years, but which still held an astonishing variety of perennial herbs and flowers and shrubs, all protectively encircled by a tall yew hedge. Gwyn had already spent several thoroughly delightful days weeding and digging, followed by cozy lamplit evenings poring over her reference books, working to identify any unfamiliar plants, and developing plans for their care and use.
The house’s only possible drawback, if there was one, was the location. It was technically in Varrahan, which was a busy little town in the middle of Sakkin Province, with a variety of shops and amenities — but in truth, the property stood well on the outskirts of town, and its south side sat directly on the thick green edge of the Sakkin forest.
Which meant, of course, that Gwyn’s lovely new garden looked directly toward Orc Mountain.
And Orc Mountain, she could admit, had proven rather more alarming than she’d expected. Looming huge and grey and craggy over its surrounding forest, streaming steady plumes of dense black smoke into the sky. Silently speaking of bustling activity, of latent power, of a simmering, very realthreat.
And Gwyn was sick to death of being intimidated by powerful males, especially in her own damned home. And thankfully — she squared her shoulders as she strode down her narrow front lane — there were simple, straightforward ways to deal with orcs, unlike with Roy and her wretched father.
“I want to buy a crossbow,” she told the man at the little armoury, on Varrahan’s bustling main street. “The strongest one that I’ll still be able to fire myself.”
The man gave Gwyn a critical once-over, lingering dubiously on her slim frame, and her unimpressive height. “What’s a girl like you need a crossbow for?” he asked. “Not goin’ off to war, are you?”
Gwyn ground her teeth, and fixed the man with her most withering glare. “I’m new to the area, and I live alone,” she snapped back. “And my house is in the bloody shadow of bloodyOrc Mountain!”
Gods above, she sounded just like her father, but thankfully the crease in the man’s brow had faded, his head nodding. “Ah, so you’re the new girl at Agnes’ place,” he said, as he turned to pluck a crossbow off the wall behind him. “Her niece, or summat?”
“Great-niece,” Gwyn said stiffly. “Through my father’s side. I grew up in Talford.”
