Page 5 of House of Roots and Ruin
It wasn’t a question. Few things ever were with her.
I fought the urge to clap my exuberance. I’d been aching to tell Camille about Dauphine Laurent’s letter all day but hadn’t managed to find the opportunity.
Hanna was right. Camille was unlikely to immediately accept. She would have to be convinced, coaxed. And if that didn’t work, coerced. I’d sealed my fate earlier that day, dropping my acceptance letter into the post when my sister wasn’t looking. I had no reason to suspect that Camille riffled through my correspondence, but I didn’t want to leave a single thing to chance.
I was getting away from these islands.
We were seated in a booth far larger than a party of just two required. It was at the back of the tavern, in a secluded corner far from the rest of the open floor, and as Camille carefully tucked herself into the farthest side of the table, hidden away behind a wooden screen, I understood that this was her table, where she always sat. As the duchess.
We rarely went out in public together on the islands—she usually brought her children or husband along with her on visits to Vasa’s shipyards or to bless the beginning of the fishing season with a grand ceremony at Selkirk. She left Hesperus to Annaleigh, certain she could manage the lighthouse all on her own. Our family all attended the Churning festival on Astrea—a weeklong celebration thanking Pontus for his benevolence—and as I pondered over the past year, I realized that was the only time I’d been off Salten with her.
“Why did you want me to come shopping with you today?” I asked after a barmaid brought us great sloshing mugs of cider, leaving them unwiped to create a galaxy of sticky spheres and rings across the thick oaken table.
“Hmm?” she asked distractedly. She’d been watching the room beyond our booth, studying the faces of the townspeople present.
“We never go shopping together. It’s always you and Roland for supplies for the manor or you and the children when it’s time to order new clothing. The last time I went out with you…”
I wracked my memories. There must be one instance…
But I came up short and shrugged.
She dragged her gaze from the bar, glancing down at the table between us. “I hadn’t thought attending fittings or pricing out new shingles would be something of interest for you.”
“I mean, probably not but…it was a surprise when you asked me to come with you this morning. A nice surprise,” I allowed.
Her lips rose in an approximation of a smile and she took a small sip of the cider. I had the distinct feeling she was trying to come up with some bland course of small talk to fill the time and knew I needed to act now if I wanted to say my piece.
I took a breath, the words I’d been preparing all morning heavy on my tongue, but as I opened my mouth, something else entirely fell out.
“Is it me?” I asked, and then was unable to take back the question because her eyes were upon me, finally meeting mine.
“You?”
“You seem distracted or uncomfortable or…something. I just…I get the sense that you would rather be anyplace else in the world than here with me, right now, and I just wondered—”
“Is it you,” she said, supplying my next words.
I nodded, waiting for her denial.
She traced a ring of spilled cider with her middle finger.
“It’s not…you,” she finally said, but there was little assurance in her tone. “You know I love you very much, Verity, and you know how much I treasure having you at Highmoor with us, with me. All of us do. William thinks of you as his little sister. The children adore you.”
“Then what is it?”
Camille winced silently as the barmaid returned, carrying a large tray. She set down bowls of chowder and a basket of crackers before us. Cutlery clattered to the table.
“Anything else, milady?” she asked.
“Thank you, Wynda. I believe we’re quite all right.”
With a nod, Wynda bustled away to check on another table before making her way back to a stool at the bar.
“We’re fourteen years apart, you and I,” Camille said briskly, dropping little rounds of crackers into the chowder. “I’d like to spend more time together, just the two of us, but…we’re at very different stages in our lives. We always have been. I’m a wife, a mother. I have an estate to run and affairs at court. There are so many obligations that you’ll never need to know or worry over. And you…”
“And me,” I echoed, knowing there was nothing in my life that could ever match the mantle of importance placed on Camille’s shoulders.
She reached out and squeezed my hand. “I am so, so wonderfully glad you’re here, that you live with us. Highmoor will always be your home, you know that. Perhaps I’ve not shown you how much I appreciate you being there. I need to do better. I…I will try to be a better sister.”
