Page 89 of Monsters in Love

Blowing out a soft whistle, she noted the tunnel on her map and then carefully returned her notebook to its hiding place in her sleeve.

She’d spent the past year methodically finishing her father’s charts, completing his life’s work. She wondered whether that work had gotten him killed, but the only person to ask was Mama, and the only result would be an order to stop—and Isabelle couldn’t stop. Some nights as she lay alone and aching for her lost love, tracing those lines in her head was the only thing that kept her from falling apart.

Well, that and her sister.

Emmi would have loved this project, but her sister never knew when to hold her tongue.

Her sister’s life was worth more than company on cold mornings.

And why Isabelle needed to finish this map.

As soon as Emmi was of age, they were getting out of Windhaven. A map shouldn’t be necessary for that, but the more the bishop tightened his grip on the town, the more Isabelle feared it might be.

She pushed strands of pale hair from her face and studied the stone path as it wound past the well to the forge and beyond. She wanted to track the tunnel further, to see if it spread beyond the town’s outer wall, but the blacksmith’s chimney belched smoke and the crackling of the forge drowned out the quiet scrape of the claws beneath.

She blew out a frustrated breath.

Gods of Gold and Scale, this work is taking an age.

Still, stopping for the day was probably for the best. As summer slid into autumn, the townspeople had been told to stay indoors at dawn and dusk. It gave her a window in which to work each morning—but also made that work increasingly risky. If she got caught, she’d draw even more attention from the guards and might lose any chance she had of escaping with her sister.

The sun was brighter now and the lanterns were sputtering out for the day. The townspeople would be up soon, and Mama would expect to find Isabelle in the kitchen, ready to prepare dozens of Chastry-approved buns.

Tasteless lumps that they are.

Ensuring her parchment was concealed and her pencil hidden in her hair, she reluctantly turned toward home.

The ring of iron horseshoes on cobblestones echoed down the alley.

Her shoulders tightened.

Fingers fisted in her skirts, she forced herself to keep walking. Sound carried in the morning streets. The city guard could be in the square, or circling the wall. There was no cause to look over her shoulder or hurry down the alley like a thief caught with stolen wares.

Oh, Gods. Let it be a false—

“Isabelle,” Jaston’s polished voice dashed her hopes. “You rose early this morning.”

Be calm.

Be charming.

Do not show your feelings.

Coaxing her lips into a smile that would never match her eyes, she turned to regard the Captain of Windhaven’s guard. Clad in brightly polished armor, his bold plume of red dancing atop his helm and his horse’s white coat brushed to a fine sheen, he looked every inch the brave knight coming to pay tribute to his lady.

How looks can deceive.

Behind that easy smile and golden armor was a damned vulture circling its prey.

Unfortunately, she was the rabbit.

She swallowed hard and willed cheer into her tone. “Good morning, Captain Danilo.” She shifted her gaze to the two guards flanking him on either side. “And to you both as well, brave Sers.”

“What brings you out so early, Isabelle?” Jaston’s outward expression didn’t flicker, but a thread of steel laced his words. “You know the bishop has advised people to stay inside.”

“Oh, you know…” She waved a hand and mentally flailed for an excuse.Come on, think. His eyes narrowed and her stomach flipped with worry. Desperate, she latched onto the one thing he wanted to hear—the one thing she least wanted to say. “Ah… with the ball tonight, I was too excited to sleep, Ser. I thought to get an early start to the day, to have time for preparations…”

Forgive me, Thomas.

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