Page 72 of A Treason of Thorns

“Can’t it be both?”

But I ignore their bickering, pressing a hand to the carriage window instead as white flowers bloom among the ivy that covers Burleigh from ground to roofline. It does nothing to dampen my sorrow over Wyn’s refusal to appear, knowing that at least Burleigh can bear to say goodbye.

We jolt down the drive toward the lane. Rain drums against the carriage roof and I stare forlornly out the foggy window until we’re nearly to the bramble gate. But just shy of the gap, I let out a gasp and throw the carriage door open, tumbling out while it’s still in motion.

I can hear Espie’s startled shriek, but I scramble upright and there’s Wyn, waiting near the wall, soaked to his skin. Rain plasters his hair to his forehead. He stands in that familiar way, shoulders hunched, hands in pockets, and the relief I feel at the sight of him is a sharp and burning thing.

“Where were you?” I ask. In answer, Wyn steps forward and puts his arms around me and I can hardly think for missing him, though we’re still together. It was bad enough, being apart when I went to the fens. But since I returned, Wyn’s quiet presence has become essential to me.

“I don’t want to leave you,” I tell him. “But I have to go.”

“I want you to leave,” he says. “And I’d be lying if I said I don’t still wish you wouldn’t come back.”

His words should sting. I know what he means by them, though.

“It’s only for a little while,” I promise, putting a hand to the side of his face. “I’ll be back, and everything will be fine, once Burleigh’s free. I’m a Caretaker, aren’t I? Who’s to say I can’t take care of you both?”

Wyn gives me the ghost of a smile, but he doesn’t meet my eyes.

This feels all wrong. It feels like goodbye forever, not just for a week, but if I stay much longer, I won’t have the heart to go. Choking back a sob, I pull away from Wyn and walk the few steps to the carriage. Esperanza helps me up with a shake of her head.

“All sorted?” Alfred asks.

“For now,” I say bleakly. “Drive on.”

We jolt our way through the gate, and it’s as if I’ve left half of myself behind. I huddle in a corner of the carriage, a few feet between Esperanza and me, and I can’t understand why this feels so like dying. It should feel like victory, like moving toward hope, and yet here I sit, with my heart in tatters.

It’s not till we’ve left Burleigh Halt and are rattling along the southern road that Esperanza speaks, her voice uncharacteristically soft.

“Violet?” she says. “I know it’s hard to be parted. But you were right—it’s not going to be for long. You don’t have to fret on Wyn’s account.”

“My father bound Wyn to the House,” I tell her. “To die on its behalf, if I can’t manage to save it. Papa took the two things I care for most in this world and put their survival at odds with one another. And I’m afraid—I’m afraid Wyn may give himself over to Burleigh while I’m gone, to keep me from becoming anotherMarianne Ingilby, and Burleigh from becoming another Sixth House. He’s worried the House may kill me, and I’m terrified he’ll let it kill him, to stop that from happening.”

“Oh, Vi,” Espie says, and there’s a world of pity in her eyes.

“But what can I do?” I ask, my voice beginning to break. “If I stay, he’ll be dead within a fortnight, when the king comes to burn Burleigh and the House... inhabits him. The only chance for him, not just Burleigh, is for me to go.”

“I’m so sorry, darling,” Esperanza murmurs as I swallow back tears and panic. “So sorry.”

Alfred offers no empty words of comfort. He sits on the bench across from us and his face, as he stares out at the rainy countryside, has a haunted look. After a while, Espie drops off to sleep, and we travel on in silence.

26

EVEN MILES AND MILES AWAY FROM BURLEIGH HOUSE, INCornwall, the weather is bleak. It rains all throughout our journey, and rains as we arrive at St. Ives in late afternoon. I pay the weather no mind, and walk down to the abandoned beach below the town. A stiff breeze whips the waves into whitecaps. I fill my lungs with the good clean smell of brine, as if it could drive the last traces of mortar from my bones, the last vestiges of fear and doubt from my veins.

And it startles me to find that after years on the fens, standing on the shore and hearing the cry of the mournful gulls feels as much like coming home as going back to Burleigh did.

“Violet!” Esperanza calls, coming down the beach wrapped in an enormous and cumbersome oilskin cloak. “Come inside, it’s nearly nightfall. What are you doing out here in the rain?”

I take her by the arm and point to the vast, restless ocean. “Isn’t it beautiful? When I look at it, everything seems simpler. No matter what happens, that will still be there. The waves will still come and go. The tides will still rise and fall.”

“Yes, it’s lovely, but won’t you come in?” Esperanza asks again. “You ought to have something to eat and turn in early, if we’re to track down the deed tomorrow.”

“Not just yet,” I tell her. The sky is clearing on the western horizon, and the rain is beginning to let up. “I want to stay out and count the stars.”

The thing is, I wonder if Wyn might be up on the roof of Burleigh House, numbering the stars and waiting for me. So I sit on the damp sand, and wait until all the sky is a wide, night-blue vault above me, spangled with the light of innumerable, immeasurably distant suns. I count them until I get lost in the dark places between, and then turn inward, to the dark places there, and manage my fears instead.

But they are oh so many, and I lose myself among them as well.