Page 92 of Monsters in Love

She waved at the miller as she passed, then a group of washers gathered around the tubs, scrubbing bedding for the Keep. Her gaze lingered on the red cloth hanging beside the miller’s door, a subtle marker that they too wished to leave Windhaven. Along with the three washers, all of whom had cloths hanging from the backs of their aprons.

It was tempting to walk over and unload her worries, to take solace in those who felt as she did.

But that could put them all in danger.

And right now, she had enough trouble.

So, she carried on past them until she stood by the worn wooden fence that separated the Marr’s farm from the rest of the fields. Or, what had been the Marr’s farm. At one time she’d known that thatched cottage and brightly-painted barn as well as her own room. The buildings, with their dark-stained wooden frames and plastered walls, had exuded warmth, and always offered a place to shelter in a storm. Now both buildings felt foreign.

With a sigh, she propped her elbows against the rough pine fence.

In the first months following Thomas’ death, she’d spent hours curled on his bed. Then the structures had been donated to Chastry-appointed nobles, who wouldn’t live there, but also wouldn’t suffer trespassers.

Belle thought it should have gone to Toby, the young farm hand who’d been apprenticing beneath Ser Marr. For a time, it looked like it would. Then Toby disappeared.

Those who worked the fields today did so at the bishop’s bidding, under the management of his nobles. She was no expert, but even she could see they had no love for the work—and no real talent for it, either. They were likely cooks or footmen from the Keep, forced to do necessary work.

Since all our farmers are dead.

She blinked furiously against the heat in her eyes.

She’d shed no more tears over this stretch of land—or anything else the bishop had taken. No. Life in Windhaven had been hard before Thomas died, but now it was nigh unbearable. She’d quietly finish her map, and find a way to use the knowledge she’d gained to break free—

Something touched her arm. “Belle?”

“Ah!” She jumped and spun around to find her sister had joined her. “Gods, Emmi, you gave me a fright.”

“Because I look like a ghost?” Flour dusted her sister’s nose and streaked her copper hair. “The new grains are terrible, aren’t they?” She wrinkled her nose and gave herself a shake, sending up a halo of dust. “If I were a ghost, I believe I’d find a better place to haunt. Maybe I’d lurk around a traveling caravan or explore the old ruins. Definitely no bakeries.”

Belle failed to keep a smile from her lips. “Logical as always.”

“Never say so.” Emmi elbowed her, then propped herself against the railing in a mirror of Belle’s pose. Eyes uncommonly serious, she appeared to study the farm. “Don’t you find it hard being here?”

“Yes,” Belle whispered. “It hurts.”

But I can’t stay away.

Standing side-by-side with her sister on the edge of the farm, she blinked back another unruly tear. Her fingers closed around the silver ring, and her throat flexed. How could she possibly explain that, as much as it hurt, the pain of being here kept the memories alive?

“I miss them, too,” Emmi said quietly. “Did you know that I thought Toby would be my Thomas?”

Belle kissed the dusty top of her sister’s head. “I suspected.”

Heart aching, she wrapped an arm around her sister’s shoulders and gave her a squeeze. Gods, what a tangle their lives had become. She wanted her sister to find that pure love she’d had for Thomas—but not the grief that followed. “When we’re free of this place, we will find love.”

Emmi gave a soft laugh. “You know I know you’re lying, right?”

“What?” Belle started.

“You don’t have any intention of finding love again, and I know it.” Emmi rested her chin on Belle’s shoulder. “But I’m wily and tenacious and am going to make sure love finds you.”

“Hah…” Belle’s attempt at a laugh emerged as a strangled sob.

Her sister pulled away and stared up at her, concern knitting her brows. “What is it? What happened? You were so quiet this morning, and I just knew something was wrong.”

“It’s nothing.” Isabelle shook her head. She couldn’t drag Emmi into her troubles with Jaston. Her sister was like a bottle of black powder held too close to a flame when it came to the captain, all too ready to explode at the drop of a handkerchief. “I am just—”

“If you say sad, I am going to strip naked and run screaming down the road.”

---