Page 99 of Between Fear and Favor

With full bellies,Cyran and I walked the halls of Ravemont. Fried potatoes, sausage, porridge, and eggs had made for a hearty meal, and it had allowed the tingling anticipation of kissing Cy to fade.

Even though I had wanted to kiss him—desperately.

Thyra trailed along behind us, just far away enough to be out of hearing distance, and I assumed my grandmother had insisted upon a chaperone. My cheeks flushed red, but could I blame her? Shivani had come outside while Cyran held me in his arms. We’d come dangerously close to spanning the treacherous bridge between a volatile friendship and something inherently more deadly. Was it daring or stupidity which made me yearn to cross it? Perhaps a chaperone was prudent.

As I led Cyran to the library, eager to spend a day with him before returning to Crown Cottage, I thought it might be nice to come to Ravemont again in the future. I’d hated it as a child during my brief visits. Stuffy adults who didn’t care enough to know me had always expected me to behave with a certain familiarity they hadn’t earned. Was it wrong to find it more comfortable now that they were all dead? I supposed this place was my inheritance, and the old memories the estate held now belonged to me.

Or Mama, I supposed, but I didn’t think she’d mind. It was funny how quickly Cy’s words had gotten into my head and led me toward reason; I was already having pleasant thoughts about my mother, although I wasn’t sure I wanted to write to her yet.

When Cyran took my hand in his, simply holding it as we walked down the hall, I was pleased to make new memories within these walls. Warm and smooth, his hand wrapped around mine with a surety that made my heart clench. Thyra cleared her throat, but I ignored it. Holding his hand would not kill us. It would not end in licentious behavior that would see my honor as a princess besmirched.

“I’ve been told the library is home to over three thousand books,” I said. “Which, I suppose isn’t a lot compared to Crown Cottage, but?—”

“It is a lot,” Cyran asserted. “I never had a library.”

I stopped in the hall just outside the door. “What do you mean? Did your palace not have a library? I thought you were raised a prince,” I said, teasing him. The curl of his lips was faint before he spoke.

“My father destroyed it when I pointed out something quite trivial.” He shrugged, as if what he’d said was normal. Gods. Faxon had been a decent enough person until he wasn’t—before he betrayed me—so I struggled to imagine growing up with that kind of life. At least I had Mama.

“That’s horrible,” I said.

“Yes. That’s why it took me so long to readThe Discovered Dragon,” he quipped, pushing open the library door and dragging me inside behind him. Lifting our hands as he backed into the room, I thought he planned to kiss my knuckles.

Thyra yelled something, and I dropped Cy’s hand to duck into the hall. “What?”

“Leave door open!” she called, walking briskly toward us.

I groaned. “Do you think my parents had such a persistent chaperone?” My cheeks flushed when I realized he might have thought I wanted to escape Thyra to engage in the behaviors she’d been tasked to subdue, but truthfully, she served as a useful deterrent to making hasty decisions. Cyran didn’t seem to hear me as he took in the room.

A large fireplace on the far wall was flanked by even bigger bookshelves on either side. “Those books are all historical accounts. Histories of Ravemont’s previous lords, how the eastern half of Vesta was settled, things like that,” I began. But when Cyran didn’t turn, didn’t even seem to breathe, I stepped forward, wondering what he was staring at.

The portrait above the fireplace was haunting. My grandparents sat on the small divan that I’d recognized in the drawing room. Behind them stood their two daughters. My mother rested her hands on her father’s shoulder. She was younger than me in this painting, though not by much. My grandfather’s hair barely had any grey in it, and I had been surprised to see him as golden-blonde when I’d first wandered into the library. Though the twins had my grandmother’s eyes, everything else about them favored Kennon. I didn’t like to look at my aunt, the likeness between us a bit frightening sometimes. With my curls and darker skin, the difference was enough, but I was sure it haunted my mother as I had grown older. Lucia was like me in so many ways, especially after hearing tales from my mother, but so unlike me in others. In front of her, my grandmother sat—stern and unhappy. A tight bun of dark hair pulled her features taut, the sharp curve of her jaw almost bird-like in this painting.

“It’s strange, isn’t it?” I asked. “Seeing Mama so young?”

Cyran said nothing as he glided closer to the portrait. With light footsteps, he seemed to be called as if by some divine power.

“Cy?”

“It’s her,” he said, voice croaking as he spoke. Thyra stepped into the room behind us, but I paid her no mind.

“Who?”

“The seer,” he said, pointing a long bejeweled finger at my grandmother. “She’s the one who made me...”

I couldn’t understand what he was saying as he turned and took long-legged strides toward me. He cupped my jaw in his hands, gaze distant as his eyes roamed over my face.

“She’s the seer who made me kill you.”

Chapter 46

LAVENIA

In the timeit took me to pull my leg from the turtle’s grasp, he’d already shifted into a man. His strong hand gripped me by the ankle and yanked me closer. It had all happened so fast, the only sound which came out of me was a startled grunt, and his eyes widened as he shushed me. My grip on the goddess’s comb was strong, but I wouldn’t use it. Not yet.

“Who’s there?” the guard shouted, clearly having returned to his post. The turtle shifter dragged me downward to an opening in the spire, hidden within the seaweed, and shoved me inside. I could barely see due to the dark surroundings, and I fumbled around until the guard swam into view.

I ducked beneath what I realized was a window, uncertain if I’d remained hidden enough.

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