Page 94 of Monsters in Love

Wait.

That was it.

Her eyes snapped to her sister. “You’re right, he wants a prize—not a person. So, what if I am no longer a prize to covet?”

“Oooh.” Her sister's eyes resembled saucers. “That’sbrilliant.”

“Yes, yes is it.” A true smile shaped Isabelle’s lips, and she straightened with renewed resolve. No one could spend years keeping Emmi out of trouble and not learn a few tricks of their own. “I will simply have to disgrace myself at the ball. Not anything terrible enough to endanger you or Mama, but just enough to make Jaston reconsider his intentions.”

Maybe even turn his attentions elsewhere.

Fragile hope burned in her chest.

Emmi grinned mischievously. “Lucky for you, I’m an expert at this.”

“The gods have blessed me,” Isabelle said with a laugh. She held out her arm. “Come then, my sister who is an expert at public disgrace. Let’s go home and you can teach me your ways while we dress for the ball.”

Laughing over their schemes, they returned to the cottage and readied themselves for the Harvest Tyne. Their mother joined them for a time, ensuring necklines were modest and their hair was styled in a Chastry-approved manner. When mother brushed Isabelle’s hair, just as she had when Isabelle had been little, tears once again threatened to fall.

“There,” Mama said. “Aren’t you a beauty.”

Isabelle nearly confessed everything.

She missed the mother she’d known. She longed to be swept into a hug and told everything would be alright. But as much as she wanted to believe her mother would stand beside her, the words caught in her throat. Mama had grown even more devout over the past year. Every word was a hymn or chastising phrase. Every action designed to please the bishop.

If he approved of her marrying Jaston, her mother would move mountains to make it happen.

“Thank you, Mama,” she said softly. “I will be down in a moment.”

“Don’t dally.” Her mother walked to the door without a backward glance. “It is sinful to be late to our Bishop’s celebration.”

Emmi made a face as she followed.

Belle forced a smile for her sister’s benefit. She waited until her mother and Emmi were downstairs, then she pulled out what she considered her safety kit. Folded parchment map. Flint. Twine. And a roll of waxed cotton that could be used to create a small torch.

She carefully secured the items in her corset.

Ever since Thomas had been cast below, she’d been prepared to suffer the same fate. And while she planned to counter Jaston with simple fumbles and minor offenses, this ball could be no exception.

Night had fallen and torches lined the roads.

Isabelle would have been struck by the novelty of walking the streets in the dark, swept up in the magic of flames warming the sides of buildings and the stars twinkling above. Except she was about to embark on the social equivalent of warfare, and dread sat in her throat like a frog.

Keeping close to Emmi, she followed her mother and joined all the townspeople walking in the same direction: toward the Keep.

They flowed down the streets, a stream of attendees.

Emmi reached up and took her hand—Isabelle held tight without shame.

When she’d been young, she and Emmi had skipped down the streets, singing songs and delighting in the pageantry of it all. She remembered the people around them laughing and joking, swapping tall tales. But revelry had fled with the years. Now, Mama marched as seriously as a soldier drilling on a field. And the people around them walked with careful expressions and spoke in hushed tones.

Sure, there was a smile here, a laugh there.

Yet the overall feel was somber.

Ominous.

They turned a corner and her heart beat faster. They’d almost reached the Chastry and the Keep lay just beyond. While shorter than the Chastry, the Keep’s sprawling footprint more than made up the space.

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