“Antonina,” Hector said behind her.
She lifted her skirts to move faster, though she did not run. She could not manage the proper functioning of her limbs. Shewishedshe could run. She wished she could run forever.
She saw the faces of maidens and knights painted in the colored windows of the hallway, blazing greens, reds, and yellows upon the floor.
“Antonina, please stop.”
Flowers and an apple tree sparkled, the sun shining bright through the glass. There was a lamb, too, in a long panel of opalescent glass. It grazed on a perfect meadow.
“Antonina, will you stop and speak to me, please.”
“Nina!” she shrieked, turning toward him and flinging her hand down, opening it, her fingers splayed so wide, they almost hurt.
Panels of glass shattered. The docile sheep was turned into fine bits of crystal, the knight tumbled upon the floor, the maiden was destroyed. The glass fell and she willed it to crash again and again, wanting to grind it into the finest sand. A shard bit into her flesh, sinking into her palm, and she stopped. She felt spent, a flame that had guttered out.
He’d avoided or repelled any damage and stood in the middle of the hallway unscathed while her hand throbbed.
“Nina, for God’s sake, you are injured,” he said, moving toward her.
She raised her hand, stopping him in his tracks, then shoved him back, hard, with a motion of her fingers. “Don’t come near me. Don’t speak to me. Never, ever, speak to me.”
She ran back to her room—she’d remembered how to run, could instruct her legs to do this once again—avoiding the startled servants who muttered and wondered what that infernal racket had been. The door locked, she went into her bathroom, staring at her injured hand.
Nina willed the glass shard to move and slid it out of her skin; she made it float before her eyes, examining it. It was a thin piece of green glass, now tinted crimson with her blood.
She opened the faucet. The cold water comforted her. She washed her hands and wrapped a towel around the wound.
Nina went to the bed and sat in the center of it. She cried, and then she wiped her tears with the towel, and she cried again. She thought she’dnever stop weeping, but eventually her sobs ceased. She lay there, an empty vessel.
The bleeding had subsided.
She closed her eyes.
Then came a knock and she raised her head. Outside it was dark and the stars had come out. She’d slept for many hours, a dreamless, black sleep that did not quench her despair.
“Open up,” Valérie said.
Chapter 19
VALÉRIE SHONE WHEN SHE WASplaced in a difficult situation. In a way, she relished the challenge. Even now as she stood trembling inside, she knew she would find a way out.
Antonina had caused a ruckus, smashing windows and running through Oldhouse. No one knew what had happened, and they gathered in the salon to sit together and gossip. Hector was there, looking as livid as could be, and so were Camille and Madelena, along with several older cousins.
“I am not sure what has occurred,” Camille said. “Mr. Auvray, you said you were with her?”
“Antonina is upset because she was mistaken about Mr. Auvray’s interactions with her. She assumed a marriage proposal was forthcoming, but he cares for her only as a dear friend,” Valérie said quickly, priding herself on her choice of words.
“Is that true, Mr. Auvray?” Camille asked.
Hector nodded. Immediately came a wave of whispering.
Madelena, sitting on a couch, looked up at Valérie. “I cannot believe my sister would behave this way, even if disappointed,” Madelena said.
“A few years ago, did she not shove that boy off his horse? I recall he was injured,” Valérie replied.
Everyone clearly remembered that incident. They looked around at each other, nodding.
“That was four years ago. She was barely more than a child, and Johaness Meinard was an ill-mannered, cruel boy,” Madelena protested.
