Page 49 of A Treason of Thorns

I clamp my jaws together and glare at him wordlessly. I’ve said too much already, but I’m not foolish enough to let this arrogant nobleman goad me into acknowledging my own treason.

Falmouth drops a handful of banknotes onto the table and gets to his feet.

“I’ll bid you good night, gentlemen,” he says to all those listening in. “The company’s been fine, but the staff here leave something to be desired.”

I let him go. I stuff my anger down so deep inside my very bones ache, but I let him go.

The last few hours of my shift are a blur. At the end of them, I step out into the cool night air and draw in a long breath. I don’t know how much time I’ve got left with Burleigh, but every moment I have I plan to spend working on its behalf.

And come morning, I’ll search again for Wyn, though I’m beginning to suspect he’s gone. Perhaps this last brush with Burleigh’s magic brought him to his senses—made him see how desperately dangerous all this is. In the interest of self-preservation, perhaps he finally left me and my beleaguered House behind.

For now, though, it’s time to go home, and scour Papa’s ledger for a question about the deed my House can bear to answer.

As I step away from the Shilling, rough hands pull me backinto the shadows and shove me up against the tavern wall. Though I wriggle like a landed fish, the Duke of Falmouth’s grip on my wrists is sure and cruel.

“You dare to disrespect me in company, Miss Sterling?” he mutters hot in my ear, and I am all at once blindingly afraid and so furious I can’t speak. “I will teach you to still that rebellious tongue.”

He presses one arm across my throat, choking me, and my field of vision narrows.

“Tell me you’re sorry for answering back,” Falmouth growls. “And use my title while you do it.”

But I can’t speak. Falmouth leans forward, putting more weight on my throat. My eyelids flutter as everything begins to go dark.

The sharp click of the hammer on a flintlock pistol rings through the night.

“Step away from my serving girl,” Frey says coolly, standing on the threshold of the Shilling’s back door.

The duke hesitates, but his weight shifts and I gasp hungrily for air. Frey takes a step forward.

“Walk on,” she orders, her pistol still trained on Falmouth. “Keep walking until you’ve left this village, and don’t come back.”

The duke gives Frey a killing look. “I will run your little tavern out of business, once I’ve seen Burleigh House burned to the ground. I’ll ensure that no one reputable ever stops here again.”

Frey only shakes her head. “Do you think you’re the first disgruntled gentleman I’ve chased off for getting rough with a serving girl? Not the first and not the last. I’ve heard the same threats a dozen times, and they never come to anything. No, folk recognize a devil in fine clothes when they see one.”

Falmouth stalks off toward the inn’s front door, swearing under his breath.

“Not that way,” Frey snaps. “You won’t be staying under my roof tonight, so just you walk on. The Green Lion in Taunton might take you. I’ll send your menservants along come morning.”

Falmouth stops for a moment and his shoulders go stiff, as if he’s about to protest, or turn and threaten Frey, but she speaks once more and there’s a deadly seriousness to her words.

“Walk. On.”

At last, Falmouth does as he’s told. It’s not until he’s half a mile down the lane that Frey turns to me.

“Alright, Violet?”

I nod shakily.

“Good.” Frey tucks her pistol into the band of her apron and sets her hands on her hips. “Now listen closely, because I’ll tell you this once, and you’d do well to remember. There are some men in this world you can play against and win—who’ll keep to the rules and grumble if you best them, but do no more. There are others you will only ever lose to, even if it seems like you’ve won for a moment. Learn to see them coming, and keep out of their way.”

“Thank you, Frey,” I tell her. “I’m not sure what he would have done if you hadn’t come along.”

She shrugs. “I’ve got a sense for trouble, and I generally turn up when I’m needed. You go straight home, then, Vi.”

Frey stands in the shadow of the doorway and watches as I walk down the lane, in the opposite direction from that the Duke of Falmouth was forced to take. But my hands tremble and my throat aches and I don’t feel truly safe until brambles twine shut behindme and I’m back on the grounds of my beloved House.

I make it to the jacaranda before I stumble and fall to my knees and sob. Burleigh wraps me in arms of ivy and grows a bed of moss beneath me, while the wind whispers wordless, comforting things in the branches overhead. When my tears are spent, a pale aurora paints itself across the sky. I lie still as a stone and watch it for a very long time, and I have never felt so hopeless or, in spite of Burleigh’s presence, so alone.