Aoife could see the warmth blooming at the edges of her composure. Was Clara shy? Or was there another reason Clara was acting this way?
“Are relationships between staff permitted?”
Clara looked her dead in the eye. “No, so please don’t tell anyone.”
“Tell anyone what?” Aoife smiled, and Clara returned it with a relieved sigh.
By the time the fittings were done, every surface in the room was covered with dresses pinned and ready to be altered. More clothing than Aoife had owned in her life, more than she could imagine needing.
Clara had conceded to hiding Aoife’s old dress at the back of the wardrobe beneath her undergarments. Aoife was never particularly attached to her clothes, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to give them up either.
A knock sounded at the door.
Mrs Harrow entered with a tray heavy with food. “For you, Miss Aoife,” she said. Clara took it from her hands.
Aoife blinked at the spread, more than she’d eaten all week. “Thank you,” she said. “But… I assumed I’d be expected downstairs?”
Mrs Harrow paused, smoothing her apron. “You’ll take your meals up here for now,” Mrs Harrow’s tone was gentle but left no room for argument. “Until the alterations are completed.”
Across the room, Clara was trying to make space to set the tray down.
So Lord Halverton didn’t want to see her again until she looked like an Eldrossi lady. “I see.”
So now Aoife wasn’t just trapped in this estate, she was stuck in this room until her dresses were ready. She had no idea how long that would take. On the other hand, it meant she didn’t have to see him.
Mrs Harrow gave a small nod. “Ring the bell when you’ve finished. Clara will tidy the tray.”
Clara had given up trying to clear a space to lay the tray down, and moved to place it on the windowsill.
Mrs Harrow turned to leave. Clara gave a sharp gasp, hands flying to her mouth.
Aoife crossed the room at once, Mrs Harrow close behind. Outside, beyond the lawns, an enormous dark figure stood at the edge of the forest. It was half-hidden by leaves, but she could tell it was watching them.
Clara’s voice trembled. “What is it?”
Aoife’s gaze held steady on the trees. “It’s an Athraith.”
Mrs Harrow touched her lips and pulled a necklace out from beneath her dress, a small knot on a silver chain. She rubbed it between her thumb and forefinger. “Bless the Shee.”
Clara looked worried. “Is it dangerous?”
“No. At least, I don’t think so,” Aoife told her.
“It’s a bad omen,” Mrs Harrow said. “Come, Clara, we need to tell the footmen to double-check all the doors and windows tonight.”
The two servants gathered up the dresses and left. In the forest, the dark figure shifted. Aoife wasn’t sure if he was a warning or a promise.
Chapter 8
Aoife woke to movement in her room. A maid was crouched by the hearth, striking flint to light the fire. Aoife watched her for a moment, trying to remember what Clara had said. The girl who lit the fires was the scullery maid, Pansy, if she wasn’t mistaken.
Aoife rubbed her chest, the tightness that had settled over her after she said the oath had not lifted. The air held the soft chill of early autumn, but at home they wouldn’t light the fires yet, wouldn’t waste the wood.
“It’s all right,” Aoife said quickly. “You don’t need to bother with that.”
The girl startled, nearly dropping the tinderbox. Aoife winced. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you. It’s only, I don’t need the fire.”
The maid kept her eyes down, looking awkward and unsure.
