Page 38 of Thorn Season
My heart wrenched at the thought of him. But I made myself ignore the pain.
“Heron disappoints me,” Garret drawled, his near presence startling me. “I thought he would’ve tried confining you to your chambers. Or at least elbowed his way into that carriage with you.”
Surprisingly, Father had done neither. While Amarie had pleaded with me tirelessly—for she’d known about Father’s business with the Capewells all these years—Father had locked himself in his study, and even my departure hadn’t roused him to face me.
But every night since our argument, a shadow had pooled under my door. I’d heard the floorboards creaking, and I’d imagined him raising a fist to knock.
And every night, he’d lost his nerve, leaving me feeling hollow and slightly ashamed.
“Why are you here?” I asked. Like all the Capewells, Garret’s alias as a merchant afforded him entry into every event of the season. But I hadn’t expected him here today, defiant of his purpling bruises, cutting a dapper figure with his freshly pressed trousers and freshly trimmed hair. Only his blazer appeared less crisp, slightly limp from overuse.
As he offered his elbow, I caught its stale citrus-and-lavender scent and realized this was the blazer he’d draped around me when I’d been unconscious at Capewell Manor.
The blazer that must have absorbed the scent of my perfume... and had apparently been spared from the washboard.
“I’m here,” Garret said, quieter now, “so you wouldn’t be alone.”
The words sent a needle through me—acute and startling—and it struck me anew that I hadn’t known who Garret truly was for the last seven years. My perception had centered around our divide when I’d seen his oath band and believed he’d chosen the Hunters over me.
Now, unshackled from the task of protecting me, he was still offering an arm.
My defenses shuddered. Softened.
I remembered how painful it had been when Garret had stopped feeling like my home. But what had Garret been feeling back then, alone? Having been forced to walk away, how difficult had it been to stop looking at me ashishome?
As I studied the memory from a new angle, I suddenly ached to think of the path we might have taken without my father’s interference.Because I knew, deep down, that if we’d kept growing uptowardeach other, we would have inevitably intertwined.
And now I couldn’t help wondering, as Garret patiently awaited my hand, if he also resented the loss of a future neither of us would ever see.
Feeling strangely mournful, I reached up to accept Garret’s arm. His eyes flickered in surprise; he stood straighter, holding his breath. My fingers were just skimming him when I noticed the slight ridge in his blazer. The crease of a weapon, sheathed under the front seam.
I paused. And as my specter hardened with the memory of his double-edged knife, so, too, did my defenses.
Garret appeared quietly defeated—but unsurprised—as I descended into the crowd without anyone on my arm.
In their most recent Hunting, the copycats had targeted the Jacombs’ household, slaughtering their two dozen employees. On my last visit here, news of the mass Hunting had shaken me—had driven me home early. Today, it fueled me.
I’d planned my ensemble like a general designing battle armor: a plunging crystal-beaded bodice; A-line tulle skirts, sparkling with penny-blossom dye; diamond earrings peeking through my loosely waved hair. I’d always wanted to stand apart from the satin and brocade of Henthornian fashion, but as a Wielder-in-hiding, standing apart had its own sinister consequences. The outfit had never been worth the risk.
Now the risk was worth the outfit.
Wray Capewell had supposedly been lured to his death by a ruling noble—a noble who’d accidentally left their palace chamber key at the scene. My first task here would be to test the key along the nobles’ halls; if the locks hadn’t changed, I could discover whose chambers itopened. Until then, I’d planned to learn as much as possible about my suspects.
Five families presided over Daradon’s provinces: the Brogues of Creak, the Jacombs of Dawning, the Byrds of Avanford, the Kaulters of Parrey, and the Paines of Vereen. Excluding my own, that left four families to investigate.
This ballroom swelled with enough information about those families to sink a ship.
If one of them was using the compass to direct the copycats, I would employ every tool in my arsenal to stop them.
As fresh trays flooded the crowd, I glimpsed a long-legged server with a thick braid swishing beyond her waist. The light caught her copper-brown skin and high cheekbones. Her straight nose and clever eyes.
My confidence curdled into horror as I hauled Tari into a dim alcove.“What are you doing here?”
The custard tarts wobbled on her tray. My best friend righted them with a scowl. “Do you mind? I’m working.”
“You don’t work here,” I said, gaping at her servant’s garb: black pinafore trousers over a billowing white blouse. The silver-plated lotus pin—her eternal tribute to Bormia—winked at her collar.
“I do now.” She flicked her braid. “My friend recruits palace staff, and—”
