Page 32 of Stolen Threadwitch Bride
In the couple of hours I’d spent with Sylvie, I’d already come to like her for her easy demeanour, absent of the deference I’d seen in my clients’ servants. She had such a ready smile that I didn’t mind her sharp teeth—or maybe I’d grown used to Lysander’s.
There was no sign of any of that now—her full lips pressed together and her gaze fixed on the path. “It’s ill. The stables are just ahead.” That was all she said and such sorrow deadened her eyes, I couldn’t bring myself to probe further.
To one side of the main house were stables for the deer with open doorways that allowed them to come and go, as well as other outbuildings. It constituted a village in its own right. She mentioned there was also a lake, but it was too far to go on foot before dinner, and she promised we’d go another day.
When we returned to the house, Sylvie took me through a different door, away from the diseased yew tree, but the image of its broken form and dull leaves haunted me the rest of the afternoon.
The Bargain
Dinner was… not what I’d expected. When Sylvie had shown me around the grand house with its formal dining room, I expected to sit at one end of the table, with Lysander at the other, and a retinue of servants fussing around us. Rose had told me that was what the Hawthornes and the rest of the nobility did. But not fae lords, apparently… or at least notthisfae lord.
Because after seeing the house, there was no doubt—Lysander was a lord.
Instead, Sylvie collected me as the sun set and showed me to a cosy room with a round, well-worn table, an assortment of mismatched chairs, and the largest wine glasses I’d ever seen. They were as big as my head and of such fine glass, a wrong look might break them.
One door led to the kitchen, judging by the clatter and savoury smells coming through whenever it opened.
The gardeners and butler I’d met earlier were already here, and Sylvie ushered me to a seat across from them. She took the chair to my right and settled into a conversation with the butler, Boyd, in a language I didn’t understand.
I was eating with the servants. Thank the gods. This was far better than the idea of that stuffy dining table. Lysander would eat alone, it seemed. That suited me fine.
A short fae, the same height as me, bustled in, her apron and flour-dusted hair suggesting she was the cook. When her hazel eyes fixed on me, her pointed face broke into a warm smile. “Ah, and here she is—Ariadne, isn’t it?”
Everyone turned to me and my tongue withered. Chest tightening, I nodded.
“Such a pretty girl.” She patted my cheek, the gesture so like my mother’s whenever she’d say goodbye, it made my eyes sting. “My name’s Hylder, but most call me Hil. Any time you’re hungry, you let me know. Now, you make sure you’re comfortable and dinner will be right out. You must be famished after your journey.”
With that she bustled back into the kitchen and the attention on me faded. I rubbed my chest and sank into the chair as the separate conversations resumed.
“Where is that boy?” Hil huffed, shaking her head as she returned carrying a great tureen. Apparently her carrying it was all for show, because the moment it touched the table, a dozen more bowls and platters appeared, tinting the air with sweet magic. “Late for his own dinner.”
I glanced around, searching for a kitchen lad with short trousers and mucky knees, like Rose’s youngest brothers.
“Not late, Hil, just in time.” From the doorway behind me came a deep voice, one I’d grown used to over the past few days. It must’ve been the familiarity in the midst of all this strangeness that sent a thrill through my veins. “Ah, Ariadne”—his fingertips grazed my shoulder—“I see Sylvie remembered to fetch you.”
I had to swallow before I could look up at him. It was just as well I prepared myself, because he stood there freshly-shaven and clean of the travel grime that had clung to us both. Just like that first time I’d seen him, it stole my breath. He’d combed his hair, but the lengths on top still flopped onto his forehead, brushing his dark eyebrows. He still wore midnight blue, but just a shirt and breeches, the soft linen of the former draping over the muscles of his shoulders and chest in a way that invited my gaze to linger.
The others were already piling their plates with food as he slid into the seat next to me and opened his mouth as if to speak.
“Oh, itisgood to have you back”—Hil threw me a glance—“mylord.”
Lysander snorted. “I think that pretence is like locking the stable door after the stag has bolted.” He gestured to the table, then threw me a conspiratorial half-smile. “I’d wager Ari’s already worked out we don’t operate like that. What gave it away, the table or—?”
“No one bowed when we arrived,” I murmured, lifting one shoulder. Of course the dining arrangements shouldn’t have been a surprise.
“Ah.” He nodded slowly, and offered me a dish of golden roast potatoes before he took any for himself. “We’re all the caretakers of this land, it’s just my job is a little more…”
“Fancy,” Sylvie said in a stage whisper.
I bit back a laugh as I loaded my plate, determined to try a little of everything.
He cleared his throat. “Tied to its magic, I was going to say. Whereas Sylvie’s job is to keep me humble.” He shot her a sidelong look. “She’s very good at it.”
Lysander,humble? I ducked my head to hide my raised eyebrow.
Sylvie gave a mock bow, canines showing. “Glad to be of service,sire.”
Chuckles rippled through the group, and conversation turned to gossip, with Sylvie and Hil filling Lysander in on what he’d missed in his time away.
