Page 63 of Tusk Love

“It doesn’t exactly match your magnificent gown,” ventured Lady Portgomery, “but itisa rather unique piece, for all that.”

Wensleydale recovered smoothly, shooting his friends a sly grin. “It seems I was in error, having provided the gown and not the jewels. I’ve every faith that my betrothed will provide me with ample opportunity to make up for my oversight.”

“As she should!” Lady Machemont declared. Without missing a beat, she turned to Guinevere and said in a stage whisper, “I shall give you the addresses of several renowned jewelers…”

More of that droll, decorous laughter, the kind that Guinevere would hear every day throughout a lifetime of balls like this, and brunches and high teas and croquet matches. She didn’t say anything as she looked from one set of aristocratic features to the next and the next and the next, still clutching the sparrow skull, digging the tip of her finger into the black earth of its crevice.

Not a single one of these wealthy, privileged people realized that this wasn’t just a necklace, when even a ragtag bunch of bandits had known that it was a totem. High society was trapped in a cage of its own making.

Was she really going to lock herself in with them?

No.

The answer stole upon her like a bolt of lightning. It froze her where she stood; it lit her up from within with its stark, undeniable conviction.

This glittering, hollow realm—these insincere, pedigreed people, fabulously out of touch—this monotonous parade of properly regimented days and nights—this wasnotthe life she wanted.

Her gaze fell on her parents several feet away, fawning over their conversation partners, drinking to disguise their nerves, oblivious to the thinly veiled contempt that would hound their every move from now on. They looked so small, so harmless. As did everyone else in this room. Her time on the Amber Road had cut them all down to size.

I can go,Guinevere thought.I can just leave.It was as simple as that, like unlocking a door she’d had the key to all along. Wensleydale had his historically significant Parure, and her mother and her father had their wits, their gumption, and each other. They were going to be fine.

I can go.

There was nothing stopping her but her own fears.

And shewasafraid—but she was going to do it anyway. She was going to find Oskar and lay her heart at his feet, and together they would leave all of this behind.

Guinevere waited until a fewof Wensleydale’s business partners had drifted over to him. “My lord,” she said smoothly, “I believe my nose is in dire need of powdering. Please excuse me.”

He waved her off with a distracted, indulgent nod, too embroiled in his discussion, too accepting of her ladylike docility to suspect her of any nefarious plans. It would have been insulting, if she’d cared about him one whit.

And that was the thing. Shewantedto care about someone she was going to marry. She wanted passion, and adventure, and the freedom to justbe.

That was all within her grasp. She just had to reach for it. She just had to listen to the song of her heart.

Guinevere made her way through the crowd, walking briskly, looking straight ahead. Ignoring all those who hailed her and their miffed noises when she didn’t stop to chat. She didn’t care. She was never going to see any of these people again.

The powder room was mercifully deserted. There was a window over the washbasin, and Guinevere stood on tiptoe to peer outside. No guards that she could spot. She had to do it now, before someone came in.

Her pulse racing a mile a minute, she kicked off her heeled shoes and scrambled on top of the marble counter, prying the window open as far as it would go. Then she tossed her shoes out onto the grass and followed them, hauled herself through the window the way Oskar had taught her how to haul herself over deadfall and rocky slopes. This was the least conspicuous exit from the ballroom; her plan was tosearch for him on the nearby grounds and, if she wasn’t successful, nip back in through the servants’ entrance and tear the whole mansion apart looking for him if need be. Her bare feet hit the grass, cool and damp with evening dew. She pulled her shoes back on, and she gathered bunches of her skirts into her hands and lifted them up and ran—at first, with the single-minded purpose of finding Oskar as quickly as possible, then eventually also with the sheer joy of running through the moonlight, unbridled, a lifetime of manacles slipping away.

She ran all along the white alabaster side of the main house, past the gardens and the hedgerows. There were fewer guards than she thought there’d be, and they were all moonlit figures in the distance, their backs to her, looking outward. Then again, the bulk of the security had apparently been concentrated in the ballroom and the hallway where the trunk was located. She would have dashed right past the stables had it not been for the golden light visible through the windows, and within its rays the careful movements of a familiar silhouette that was as dear to her as a homecoming.

Pudding and Vindicator greeted her with soft huffs as she stepped inside, her skirts trailing over dirt and hay. In the glow of a lone lantern, Oskar was in the process of retrieving the horses’ saddles from the rack. He paused when he heard Guinevere approach, but he didn’t turn around.

“What are you doing here?”

His distant tone set off alarm bells in her head. She belatedly noticed that he was wearing traveling clothes and that his packed rucksack lay at his feet.

“You…” She swallowed. “You were just going to leave? Without saying goodbye?”

“Iwasgoing to,” he responded flatly. “But you’ve caught me. So—goodbye.”

Her fists clenched, her nails digging into the skin of her palms. But even that grinding pain was nothing compared to the slow fracture blossoming through her chest. He was as acerbic as he’d been thenight they met, yet also less brusque. Less charged. And that was worse than any anger on his part would have been, because it meant that he didn’t care anymore.

But it was possible that he was just tired and she was just being overly anxious. She would never know until she asked. She’d come too far to not ask.

“Oskar.” His name was a prayer in the shadows. It carried with it all of her hope. Every dream she’d ever had. “Will you take me with you to Boroftkrah? I…I want to go with you. There’s nothing for me here. I’ve seen more of the world now, and I should very much like to see the rest. With you by my side.”

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