His father glared at him again, but this time he didn’t object.
Aoife’s stomach twisted. She could barely breathe. She pushed her plate away and stood too quickly. The men followed suit out of reflex.
“Excuse me,” she said in her best Eldrossi accent, though her voice wavered.
She left the room before anyone could stop her, the murmur of conversation fading behind her.
She barely made it to the nearest washroom before she was sick. Everything she’d eaten, oysters, fish, wine, came up in painful spasms. When the heaving passed, she pressed a trembling hand to her lips and stood. She rinsed her mouth, gripping the basin as dizziness swayed through her. Whether it was from the food or the conversation, she wasn’t sure.
As she exited the washroom, she glanced up the stairs. Her room called to her. She could barricade the door and disappear from the evening entirely.
Aoife straightened her spine, turning away from the stairs. So far Halverton was pleased, relieved, proud even when she’d succeeded earlier, and if Oswin’s outburst had no other effect, it made her look good by comparison.
She couldn’t vanish. Not tonight.
It surely couldn’t last much longer, and when it was over, there would be plenty of leftovers to send down to the village.
The dessert course had already been served when Aoife returned. Her plate had been cleared, and in its stead sat a slice of pie, glossy and golden under the candlelight.
Lord Halverton looked up as she took her seat. “I have chosen for you,” he said, smiling faintly.
She stared at the plate. The scent of apples rose, warm and spiced, and for a moment she was home, sharing fruit with her siblings, juice sticky on their fingers. What were they eating tonight? If they were eating at all. Her stomach clenched.
“Eat,” Halverton murmured, leaning toward her. “You are being rude.”
Aoife looked at him, then at the fork beside her plate. She drew a slow breath, forced her hand steady, and lifted it. The pie was rich and heavy, sweet with butter and cream. It took effort to swallow.
At the far end of the table, Lord Severcombe knocked over his wine. Crimson spread across the white cloth, splashing his wife’s gown. He barked at the footman. “Watch where you’re standing, you fool!”
James stammered an apology.
Halverton waved to calm his guests. “I am certain the maids will be able to remove the stain. If not, I would be happy to replace the gown.”
“You are too kind,” Lady Severcombe replied, her eyes bright at the thought of a new dress.
Aoife barely heard them. She was concentrating on breathing, on swallowing each bite, on keeping it down.
The rest of the evening blurred into politeness and noise. By the time Aoife returned to her room, her stomach was still churning. The scent of food clung to her skin and hair, sweet andcloying. She sat on the edge of the bed, trembling with the effort of keeping herself composed.
She couldn’t stop replaying what she had heard: the laughter, the callous jokes. It wasn’t one man’s cruelty. It was an entire system, smiling while it devoured. For the first time, she truly understood that Lord Halverton was only one face of a larger monster.
The house was silent now. A silence that wasn’t peace but weight, vast shadows pressing down, filling every corner. She was acutely aware of her own smallness, the space between her and everyone she loved.
All her plans, all her restraint, what good were they against a system this large? One lord could be reasoned with, maybe changed. But an empire? The thought hollowed her. Her determination, so fierce only hours ago, wavered.
She lay back, restless, eyes open in the dark. Sweat prickled her temples.
Then came the sound.
A thin, distant cry, not human. It rose through the night like wind through a graveyard, sharp enough to raise the hairs on her arms. She sat bolt upright, heart hammering.
The wail lingered for a heartbeat, then faded, leaving the silence deeper than before.
Aoife stayed frozen, breath held, the sound echoing in her mind. A banshee’s cry. Again.
She pulled the blanket tight around herself and curled up on her side. Her mind raced with names: her father, her siblings, Clara, Cormac. She prayed it wasn’t for one of them.
The dread sat in her chest, heavy as stone, the scale of what she was trapped inside pressing down on her.
