“I don’t want… I want Misty.” I look to the butler. “She’s a good horse and has been with me her whole life. It would be no trouble, would it?”
“There is room in my master’s stables.” The man nods.
Joyce shakes her head and brings a hand to her mouth. “I cannot believe it. I know I raised you better.”
I purse my lips. Years of experience has taught me that silence is best when she gets like this.
“To think, you would disrespect your new husband and take from your family unnecessarily at the same time, all over a silly horse.”
“Silly? See, none of you even care about that horse!”
“You are a lady, Katria Applegate. It is unbecoming to shout.” Joyce has gone quiet. “Cordella, please bring that horse back to the stables.”
Cordella glances between Joyce and me. But I know what she’ll do before she does it. She can’t object to Joyce’s demands. Cordella turns.
“No! You can’t do this! Please!” I rush to Cordella.
“Katria.” My name is like a whip from Joyce’s mouth. I flinch and freeze. Halted by the mere sound. “You are upset over nothing and making a fool of yourself.”
I want to scream at her. She has the remnants of my father’s business for herself. She has her four thousand pieces. They could buy a whole herd of horses. Let me have Misty, I want to shout. But I can’t. Because like Misty I have been trained, I have been silenced by an invisible bridle that my stepmother shoved between my teeth long ago.
A gentle touch on my shoulder startles me. I look up to see that the butler has closed the gap. His eyes are surprisingly gentle and sympathetic.
“I will see to it that my master gets you a new horse.”
She will never be left wanting. He had said that was the promise his master made. I could ask for anything I wanted but it would mean nothing. It would be empty kindness for the sake of fulfilling an obligation from people who care more about a book than me.
I jerk away. “I don’t want his horses.” I don’t want his pitying or compulsory kindness. I don’t want anything that could resemble closeness in this marriage.
“It’s always something with you, isn’t it?” Joyce murmurs, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Calm down and be graceful as you venture into this new stage of your life.” She makes it sound as if I have somehow chosen this. As if this was something I wanted. I glare up at her before getting into the carriage.
Laura rushes forth as the butler assumes the driver’s seat.
“Laura!” Joyce is nearing her breaking point.
“Go back to your mother,” I hiss at my sister. I shudder to think of what reprimanding she’ll face. Laura ignores me and Joyce, grabbing the door and preventing me from closing it.
“I’m going to miss you,” she blurts with tear-filled eyes. My sweet sister. Barely fourteen. The best and most unbroken of us all. “You made this place bearable.”
“No, that was all you.” I quickly embrace her. The butler doesn’t rush us. “Don’t lose your kindness, Laura, please. Hang onto it with all your might until you can get out.”
“You don’t either.” She pulls away and I refrain from telling her that mine was lost a long, long time ago. “I’ll look after Misty, I swear it. Cordella will teach me. So maybe the next time you come back, you can take her then. I’ll try and speak to Mother.”
“Don’t risk her ire on my behalf; you know better.” I gently tuck a strand of hair behind Laura’s ear. Movement over her shoulder catches my eye. “Now, go, before your mother comes to collect you.” I gently push her away and shut the door. Joyce ushers Laura up the stairs with some choice, clipped words.
The carriage lurches forward and I quickly lose sight of them. No matter what Laura says…I doubt I’ll ever be coming back.
* * *
Helen saidthat Lord Fenwood lived to the north of town. In my mind, that meant slightly to the north. Kind of like how our manor is just south. But it turns out Lord Fenwood lives much farther. It’s late in the day when we arrive at what is to be my new home.
A tall stone wall, easily twice my height, is the first signifier that we’ve arrived. There has been nothing but rolling hills and the ever-present forest at my right for most of the day. An hour ago we took a small branching road, more like wheel ruts between the grasses, that plodded along toward the forest. I saw the wall first, stretching out from the trees, like some crumbling remnant of a long-ago castle.
Vines cling to the scrollwork of the iron gate. Small white flowers bloom, giving off a pleasant scent. The gate closes with a solemn clang behind us. There is no sign as to who or what could’ve closed it. The sound echoes within me with the same finality as a curtain closing on a performance.
We bumble along a winding road between hedges and small trees. It’s like a miniature version of the ancient forests, without that same heavy oppressiveness that the true forest gives off. In the distance, I see a stag raise its mighty, regal head. There are so many points on its antlers that I know most noblemen would literally kill to have it on their wall. What does it say about this Lord Fenwood that he would allow such an animal to live unharmed on his property?
Eventually, the overgrowth gives way to a circular, gravel area and the carriage comes to a stop. The butler opens the door and helps me down. I get my first look at Lord Fenwood’s manor.
