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Another nobleman joins our little conversation, and soon we are talking about the rebellion.
“The Renzui name is being threatened. I simply want to know by whom.” I tell them seriously. They nod their heads, with equally grim looks on their faces, before the conversation shifts to a lighter topic.
Things are too quiet,I think again.
When I turn to look for my brother, I see that he is standing on the edge of the garden, speaking to three noblewomen. They’re all young – too young to understand the trouble that Fohri is – and they are all looking up at him with expressions of pure, unadulterated adoration on their faces.
Things are safe for now. Everything will be okay if you can just see him.
All I have to do is keep an eye on him at all times. I find myself snacking throughout the night until Vetrin puts a display on for us. It is a beautiful light and color show that sparkles and glows throughout the trees.
And he definitely had nothing to do with it,I think with a wry smile on my face. Vetrin is wealthy, so he probably had some menial servant, who is likely an actual genius, come up with the light show. It does sparkle with dark elf magic, but it is, for the most part, handmade.
I sigh as more drinks and food are brought out. The sun set ages ago, but there are no signs that the party is going to stop any time soon.
And as my brother and I are the guests of honor, the party will only end when Fohri decides that it is over.
Things are too quiet.
Alarm bells sound in my head then, and when I turn, I realize that I’ve lost sight of Fohri. I have lost complete sight of him.
Oh damn—this is not good.
I decide not to panic, as I place my empty glass on the server’s tray, and then start to scout the small garden for my brother. He is nowhere to be seen. I do a headcount – a skill I learned when I was young – and there are roughly the same number of people in the garden as there were before Fohri disappeared.
But maybe he has disappeared with one of the young women and is currently busy making one of those children you’re so afraid of.
My heart sinks to the depths of my stomach as I quickly identify each of the women who were fawning over Fohri. Somehow I must have memorized their faces, because I see each of them quickly, and they are all here.
Oh, dear gods.
I send a desperate prayer up to the Thirteen and hope that one of them is listening.
Don’t let him do anything stupid.
But as I walk around the garden again and again, I have a sinking feeling that something is about to go very, very wrong.
3
ELLIE
“They’re brutes, that’s what they are!” I gasp as my feet freeze, my eyes trained forward.
My thoughts are disgruntled as I hurry to one of the many supply sheds that dot the Anocne property. It is after midnight, and the garden party – which has been going for about nine hours now – has finally started to wind down.
“Brutes!” The disgust is clear in my tone.
I was doing what was supposed to be a last sweep of the garden, when I came across a little bed of tagetes flowers – the mistress’ favorite flowers – that had been trampled on. The flowers are practically dying and I know that if I do not save them in time, the Anocneswillremember that I exist and I will face severe punishment.
I also want to save the flowers for personal reasons. I have come to love all plants, trees, and flowers. But the tagetes have a special place in my heart. I love their fragility. I love their beauty. I love their ability to spring up, stubbornly, year after year, no matter how quickly they die.
The light seeping from the windows of the house illuminates my way, but otherwise, I am in complete darkness. I shove my hair, which has become unruly throughout the day and night, out of my face.
I don't really need the light – I have memorized every part of the property at this point – but someone thought it would be funny to place two chairs on the pathway, which I did not see. I stumble over them, and knock myself painfully, before righting myself.
The shed is up ahead – in fact, I can see it now – and as I get closer to it, I hear sounds that make my cheeks become hot. I am hearing the sounds of a woman, moaning and squealing over background grunts and the sounds of flesh slapping against flesh.
I head for the darkness of the nearby shrubbery, praying to go unnoticed, just as the doors of the shed swing open. And then curse silently as I step onto a bed of dried twigs. The crunching sound of my feet against the twigs is the loudest sound in the world.
