The Glass Casket (11 page)

Placing her hands behind her, she leaned back, her head tilted to the sky. “We have birds.”

“We have birds as well,” he said, and unable to keep from smiling, he took a seat beside her.

She wrinkled her nose. “No, you don’t have birds. You have great terrible flying things. Monsters. Black as soot, and mangy. We have real birds the color of lily pads, the color of sapphires. And their songs are beautiful. None of this yapping and yammering I hear from your winter birds.”

“Yapping and yammering? That’s the proper term, is it?”

“Yes.” She nodded. “That is indeed the proper term. Oh, if you could only see our birds, the way they glide out over the sea. And the sea itself. It’s a color … well, it’s a color you don’t even have here. It’s a shade of purple that is only at my sea.”

“Maybe someday I can see it,” he said, and she smiled at him, a twinkle in her eye.

“Maybe someday you can.”

And without thinking, he leaned in and kissed her on the cheek.

Not twenty yards away, Rowan leaned against a tree. Watching them. Watching him. Watching his lips touch her cousin’s cheek as they would never touch her own. An unfamiliar sensation rising in her chest, she held a hand to her mouth as if to silence a scream, and soon hot tears streamed down her face, burning her cheeks, as if the very act of her heart breaking had turned her tears to acid. Unable to stop the flow, she backed away, suddenly aware that she was making enough noise that they ought to have noticed and seen her. But they did not. They were so absorbed in each other that she couldn’t have made them realize she was there had she wanted to. And so she turned and ran, gasping for air as if the atmosphere could soothe the rupture in her chest.

When Tom came home that evening, it was immediately apparent that something was different about him. He seemed to bounce in the door, and the color in his cheeks was a brighter red than normal.

“You look like a little girl in love,” Jude said, and his mother swatted him with a dish towel. He swerved out of her reach, ignoring her.

Tom brushed past him and moved into the kitchen to see what might need washing or chopping before supper, Jude on his heels.

“You’ve been to see her.” Jude smiled, leaning in and feigning coquettish interest, batting his eyelashes. “Was
she everything you hoped—everything you dreamed she would be?”

“You joke,” Tom said, unable to contain his enthusiasm. “But she was all that and more. Once you talk to her, you’ll see. She’s amazing. Smart and funny, and … I can’t explain it. Interesting, I suppose. She’s not like girls around here.”

Jude grew serious. “Are you going to ask her father for her twine, then? Do I smell a blessing wreath?”

“It’s a bit soon for marriage, don’t you think?” Tom said, although he barely believed the words himself.

“I don’t know,” Jude said, taking a bite of bread. “Mother is keen to marry one of us off, and it isn’t going to be me.”

“True,” Tom laughed. “She wants a barmaid.”

“So better this beauty of yours than one of the local girls.”

Tom shrugged. “I’ve only just met her. I’ll not be binding her wrist anytime soon. But I can tell you this. There is not a girl for a thousand miles who is fit to touch the hem of her garment. She is special. She is somehow more than a girl ought to be. I don’t know. It’s overwhelming.”

“Well, I can’t wait to meet her. You must bring her round for supper soon.”

Tom nodded. “I will. I promise I will. As soon as it seems appropriate, I will have Father ask her family over, and we shall all break bread together.”

“I’m happy for you,” Jude said, and for once, he seemed to mean it.

“Thanks.” Tom smiled, and quiet joy flooding his veins, he picked up a knife to help his mother with the supper.

A
S SOON AS
Fiona walked through the door, her mouth began to water. Lareina had cooked a rabbit. She was just setting the table, and she looked up with worried eyes.

“Where have you been, my child?”

“Out,” Fiona announced, blushing. “Is supper ready?”

Fiona’s head was still swimming, and instinctively her hand went to the place on her cheek where Tom had been bold enough to kiss her. She’d found herself doing so for the entirety of the walk home, and now in the warmth of the house, she could almost still feel his lips there.

“I’ve been holding it for you,” Lareina said. “Seamus is in his workshop. Why don’t you call him, and we can start eating.”

Fiona avoided her stepmother’s eyes. She wanted to keep Tom a secret, and she knew that Lareina would know she was hiding something. Fiona moved past her stepmother quickly and skipped to the back of the house, opening the door to the workshop without a knock.

“Suppertime,” she called, and the glassblower looked up from his work. His eyes lingered on her a moment, a strange expression on his face.

“You look … different,” he said, and then he smiled at her, an unnerving kind of smile, a smile she’d only ever seen him bestow on her stepmother. She didn’t think much of it, because her head was so filled with thoughts of Tom—the way he smelled, the sensation of his skin against her wrist—that she could barely see for all her joy.

Doing her best to avoid Lareina’s curious eyes, Fiona helped serve the food, and when she sat down, her heart seemed a hundred miles away from her. They ate mostly in silence, Seamus staring at her all the while, that same strange look in his eye, and she noticed that Lareina seemed distracted as well, glancing back and forth between her husband and her stepdaughter, concern on her face.

They know, Fiona thought to herself. They know everything I’ve done. Wishing to curry favor, she decided to tell them about her interaction with Rowan. She knew Seamus wanted her to try to meet the girl. She knew he was looking for any possible way to make contact with her uncle.

“I’ve met my cousin,” she said after swallowing down a crusty piece of bread.

“You have?” the glassblower said, grinning. “Well now,
that’s fantastic, it is. What did you talk about? Did she ask about us? Did she say why her father won’t see us? Did she invite you over?”

“Darling,” Lareina said, laying a hand on her husband’s arm. “Why don’t you let her speak?”

They looked to Fiona that she might go on.

Fiona shrugged, trying to seem calm and detached, but inside she felt frantic, doing anything she could to keep them from noticing the unfamiliar stirrings of her heart.

“She seemed nice enough. We didn’t talk long. We met on the path, and she introduced herself. We talked about the weather, and I told her some of what it was like back home.”

“Did you make plans to speak again?” the glassblower asked eagerly, and though they had not, Fiona had a feeling that such an answer would not be acceptable, so she nodded.

“Yes. We’ve not planned a specific time. She just said if we met again and neither of us had chores to do, that we might walk and talk some more.”

Goi Flint rubbed his hands together and smiled proudly. “That’s a good girl,” he said. “I knew you could do it.” And then he cocked his head and stared at her. “You look different.”

“Do I?” she asked, raising a hand to her cheek as if to hide the kiss she wore there.

“You do,” he said. “Older somehow. More lovely. You know, Lareina,” he said, a twisted grin on his face, “I think it’s true. Fiona Eira is now even fairer than you.”

Lareina, not knowing how to reply, nodded, and picking up their plates, headed to the kitchen. When she was out of sight, she set them down on the first space she saw and leaned her back against the wall. She was shaking, trying to catch her breath, trying desperately to quiet the dread that was slowly swelling in her breast.

When Rowan returned home that night, she found Emily in the kitchen, washing dishes.

“Where are our guests?” Rowan asked, eager to finally meet them.

“Gone out,” Emily said, raising an eyebrow to show her disapproval.

“Gone out?” Rowan said, disappointed. “But it’s night. Where could they have gone?”

Emily shrugged. “No business of mine. If the lot of them catch the chill, it’s not my doing.”

Rowan was confused, but she was also hurt. Her father had kept her from the guests all day, and when she returned, they were gone? Was he ashamed of her? Did he not think she was good enough for his guests?

“That seems odd,” she said, looking out the window into the snow beyond.

Emily leaned into the counter. “You want to know what seems odd? I’ll tell you what seems odd. This duke, I ask you, how many servants do you think he brought with him?”

Rowan opened her mouth to speak, but then she was
struck by the utter quiet of the house, and she began to see what Emily meant.

“Not one!” Emily proclaimed, unable to hide the frustration in her widening eyes. “I’m supposed to look after you lot, and the brother of the queen, without a bit of help? It’s downright disgraceful. Rude, it is. What kind of nobleman doesn’t travel with a valet or a lady’s maid for his ward? ‘Oh, don’t mind us,’ he says. ‘We take care of ourselves. We’re not like the others.’ I’m supposed to believe that?”

Emily turned back to the dishes, and Rowan could feel the anger radiating from her. She had to admit it seemed exceedingly strange that the duke had not brought his own people, but then, she’d never met a duke before.

“If you need help …” Rowan tried to choose her words carefully, for she knew how offended Emily could get about anything she perceived as criticism. “Give me chores, and I shall do them.”

Emily softened, and setting aside the dish she was drying, she held a hand to Rowan’s cheek. “Aw, sweet, I know you will. You’re a good girl. Always have been. I’m just testy tonight. I saved your supper over there. You must be starving.”

“I’m sorry for missing supper. I lost track of time.”

“You didn’t miss much,” Emily said, turning back to her work. “Listening in on them, I swear you would have died from boredom. And the three of them certainly ate enough. They must have gone though a week’s worth of my supplies, I tell you.”

Rowan took a piece of raw carrot and popped it in her mouth.

“What were they discussing?”

“Goddess, I don’t know. It seemed to be mostly about what happened up on Beggar’s Drift. How you can spend an entire dinner discussing such things, I don’t know. Surely that can’t be considered polite.”

Rowan laughed and reached for another carrot, but Emily slapped her hand away.

“Like I said, yours is over there. You eat it up in your room. I’ve had all I can handle down here tonight.”

Rowan took a plate from Emily and began drying it. “What are they like? Is the duke as handsome as everyone says?”

“Well, I have my Bill, of course.” Emily lowered her voice and smiled. “So I’m not one to say, but I can tell you they make their men mighty pretty in the palace city.”

“Emily!” Rowan laughed.

“He certainly lovelies up the place, I’ll give him that.”

“And the little girl?” Rowan asked. “What’s she like?”

A glorious smile spread across Emily’s lips. “Oh, she’s a doll. I could eat her up. You’re going to love her, Ro.”

Rowan was more excited than ever to meet the girl. She had visions of taking her on long walks, maybe even reading to her.