Page 55 of A Treason of Thorns

“I don’t know yet,” I answer truthfully. “I’ll have to think about it.”

And I do think about it. Consequently, I make a muddle of everything for the rest of the evening, until Frey takes me aside and asks me if I’m feeling quite well. I’m not, though there’s nothing wrong with me in body, only in spirit. Everything’s tangled up inside me, a mess of fear and anxiety about what’s to come. As I walk to the door at closing time and remember Falmouth’s hands on my wrists and my throat, fear over what’s already passed hits me as well. The moment I set my hand on the knob, I can feel his arm pressed up against my neck again, and his fingers digging into my flesh.

Shaking my head to clear it, I step out into the damp night air. I will not do this. I will not let one arrogant, entitled nobleman make me afraid of the place I was born to. I’ve enough fears already, and no desire to add to that collection.

Looking up at the stars, I start to count. But I’m interrupted before I number a dozen of them.

“Forget I was coming?” Wyn’s leaning against the inn wall in a patch of moonlight. And suddenly, inexplicably, at the sight of him all my fears vanish.

“I did,” I admit a little shamefacedly. “But you were right earlier—I’m glad you’re here.”

Wyn grins, and we fall into stride with one another, walking down the lane toward home. Though it’s June, the closer we get to Burleigh House the colder it becomes. By the time we’re half a mile away, frost rimes the hedgerows. The stars shine cold and clear overhead, and my breath smokes on the air. I shiver, and wrap my arms around myself.

“This can’t be a good sign,” I say to Wyn.

“No. Vi, about that—something happened to the House today,while you were at the Shilling.”

I stop short. “Something happened?What do you mean?”

Wyn winces and shakes his head. “You’ll see soon enough.”

All my fears spring to life once more, swimming in endless circles through my veins. As we turn in at the bramble gate, I can sense something at once—Burleigh’s pain, which I’m always conscious of on the grounds, is no longer a dull throb. It’s sharp and immediate and impossible to ignore. I gasp as it hits me.

Ivy slithers along the drive the moment I step through the gate and snakes up to twine around my hand. Tiny white flowers unfold along the length of it, and I can feel Burleigh’s pathetic eagerness to have me home.

“Poor darling,” I whisper. “What’s happened here?”

Then I look up at the House itself and a sob rises in my throat.

The roof of the guest wing has collapsed in on itself. Mortar seeps from torn timbers and shattered stone, and blackened brambles are already climbing up the walls. I gather up my skirts and run down the drive, bursting into the House where Burleigh’s pain hits me afresh, blazing like a beacon.

When I open the door to the guest wing, a cloud of dust pours out, choking me. Once it settles, I stare at the wreckage beyond in horror.

A massive two-story hole gapes above us, open to the night sky, and what’s left of the rooms are strewn with mountains of wreckage. There’s mortar everywhere, the lifeblood of my House leaking out from within it, and I press a hand to my mouth at the sight.

“Vi,” Wyn says quietly, appearing at my side as I stand motionless. “Are you alright?”

No. Seeing my House in distress makes me feel as if I’m crumbling on the inside as well. I could serve food and drink and clean tables at the Shilling for five hundred years and never earn enough to repair the damage I’m looking at. Not to mention the deed. A single summer, to attempt what my father couldn’t manage in years, with the full resources of the West Country and the Sterlings’ ancestral lands at his disposal.

I am penniless, keyless, and woefully inexperienced by comparison. I am not enough. I will go down in history as the first and last Sterling to fail Burleigh House.

All of this roils beneath my skin, but if there’s one thing Burleigh and I have in common, it’s a capacity to keep our darkness and unpleasantness locked up inside. I will not break down. I will not let this panic pour out.

But I feel so very small and helpless. I want, more than anything, for Wyn to reach out and take my hand. For him to promise me everything will come out right in the end. I’m not sure it will, but I think if he said it, I’d believe him. And yet I know it’s wrong to expect that of him. Burleigh is my burden to bear.

So Wyn and I stand silently, side by side, looking at the beginning of Burleigh’s end.

“Would you die for something you love?” I ask finally. “If it was the only way for you to keep it from harm?”

Wyn hesitates.

“I would,” he says after a moment. And then Wyn turns to me.

“Violet?” he says. “Come away with me. I promise I won’t ask again, but let’s just go.”

There’s no hope in his voice. He’s asking out of habit, notbecause he thinks there’s a chance.

I reach out and press a hand to one of Burleigh’s failing walls. Fear seeps into my skin. Panic. Loneliness.