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With my gaze, I traced his footsteps backwards, and there I saw the dim rectangular glow of light in a small window. The moonlight showing a small shack down the path and I caught the scent of wood smoke.
Groundskeeper, more than likely.
I set forward and in a few long strides I was within arm’s length of him and he staggered back when he saw me. He dropped his nearly empty bottle into the snow, where it landed with a powdery thump.
“You know who I am?” I said, getting in close enough to scare him a bit.
He blinked a few times in the moonlight. “No, sir.”
“Vasile Greengallow,” I said, nearly shouting into the wind.
And he inhaled, sharp and scared.
“You know my name?” I said.
“Yes, yes, sir. I do.”
Truth be told, he’d have to be a fucking half-wit hermit not to know the Greengallow name. We had our hands in most things in this territory, legal, damnably illegal, and everything in between.
I eyed the bottle of vodka sticking out of the snow. It was our label—a business we’d purchased first as a front but then turned straight. Or my father had, anyway. I’d been off doing more important and definitely more legal things.
“If you tell me where I can find Princess Valeria Valentine, I’ll send you a year’s supply of that.” I glanced at the bottle.
There was a flicker of temptation in his glazed eyes, yet he hesitated. “Sir, I… I really should not…”
“Yes,” I said, stepping into him. “You really fucking should.”
He blinked off his drunkenness as best he could.
His faded blue eyes glimmered in the cold moonlight. Now that my vision had adjusted to the darkness, I saw he wasn’t just old.
He was ancient.
He’d probably been here since he was my age or younger. Dutiful protector and all that shit. Appealing to a different side of him would work better. And quicker.
“She’s in trouble. And I’m here to protect her.”
His look of tipsy confusion transformed into a dead-serious stare. “What sort of trouble?”
The worst fucking sort you can imagine.
“Big trouble, old man. Trust me. The less you know, the better.”
He rubbed his reddish cheeks with his crooked fingers, the sound of his phlegmy cough punctuated by a faraway wolf’s howl.
Christ, what a place to live this was—the wilderness of Praque was always calling, always encroaching. Always reminding us that no matter how powerful we thought we were as humans, we were just visitors here.
“She’s on the third floor, west wing,” he said. “The corner room. Toward the moon.”
Now we were fucking talking. I stepped back a little and extended my hand to his to thank him.
“I was never here, we clear?” I asked, as I turned to go.
“Yes, Mr. Greengallow,” he said with a respectful nod.
“A delivery will be on your doorstep within days. Water my horse for me as well will you? You will have my gratitude.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Good man,” I finished as a gust of prickling, frigid air burned my skin and I took off toward the building, still unsure of exactly what the fuck I was about to do.
CHAPTER 8
Valeria
On the ride back to Saint Theodora’s, my shocked horror gave way to an all-encompassing fury.
My father fussed and fumed about my obvious eagerness to leave the Greengallows—and to come back here, of all places. I’m sure he would have rather had me at home, where I could be kept under guard in case I decided to flee the country, but he reluctantly allowed me to stay one last night in my dorm room.
“I’ll be here to collect you tomorrow evening, Valeria,” he told me. “Please make sure you’ve said your goodbyes by then. I won’t be made to wait.”
“Father, there’s no need, I’ll be closer for the wedding if I’m here than at home.”
He simply tsked. “No. There are too many things that we’ll need to get ready the following day. It’s bad enough that I’m bringing you here now, I won’t risk us not being ready in time on the day of your wedding.”
As soon as we arrived, I left our carriage without so much as a goodbye to my father, and hurried up to my room, grateful that it was late and I didn’t encounter anyone as I stomped through the halls to my room.
Inside, I paced, fuming. Digging my fingernails into my clenched palms, I walked the length of my room again and again. My three years here at school made my small room feel more like home than where I grew up. There were faded dried flowers hanging upside down in one corner, bringing back memories of the short but wonderful spring days where we walked and did our reading in the gardens. My pillowcases, embroidered with moons, stars, clouds…how I’d wanted to know the secrets of the heavens.
I ran a finger over the stack of astronomy and adventure books I’d collected and read until the pages were worn and the book bindings barely held them together. My teachers here encouraged my wild dreams of studying the stars, the movement of the earth, things usually only spoken about if you were a man.
