Page 7 of House of Roots and Ruin
No.
She just assumed she knew best and went around making sweeping pronouncements like that. Like she always did. Like a duchess always would.
I took a sip of the cider myself, then another. “I don’t recall asking permission.”
Camille’s eyebrow arched sharply. She seemed too stunned to reply.
“I’ll be turning eighteen next week. I’m more than old enough to be making my own decisions.”
“Eighteen is hardly—”
“You let Mercy go to court at sixteen.”
“The king requested it. What was I to do?”
“Honor left at seventeen,” I continued, keeping my voice level.
It had been a double blow, both my closest sisters leavingwithin just months of one another. I’d felt abandoned but tried to stay hopeful, knowing that only in a few years’ time, I too would be old enough to join in their adventures.
Only that had never happened.
They were out there. I was still here.
Always.
“Honor became a governess. She had a job.”
“So do I,” I said, glancing at the letter.
“That’s not…” She trailed off and closed her eyes. “That’s not the same.”
“I already sent her my acceptance.”
There was a quick flash of amber as her eyes opened, narrowing at me. “You what?”
“I wrote back, saying I’d be delighted to accept the post. I mailed it off this morning.”
She took a deep breath. Her cheeks burned brightly and I noticed her hands trembled with rage. “Then you will write her back and say it was a mistake. You’ll have to apologize, of course, but—”
“There’s nothing to apologize for. Iamgoing.”
“You’re not.” Her voice was terrifyingly calm. She’d not raised it once, keeping every word crisp and deliberate.
“I don’t understand. Everyone else has left. Annaleigh, Honor, Mercy, even Lenore! You let all of them go without a fuss. I only want what they did. It’s time for me to find out who I am, who I’m supposed to—”
There was a crack in the veneer of her face, just a small glimpse of the thoughts swirling in her mind that she desperately tried to hide, but as I spoke, it grew bigger, splitting the mask into tatters. “Dammit, Verity,” she snapped, striking at the table with the palm of her hand.
It was as shocking as a slap. My breath caught in the hollow of my throat, unable to understand her reluctance, why there was such fury in her eyes.
“You’re not them. You’re not like any of them!”
She struck the table again, and the bowls and mugs trembled at the force of it. Before I could say anything, Camille swooped off the bench and was out the door. It swung shut behind her, striking against the frame with a resolute finality.
I sat frozen in place, staring at the food before me. I didn’t have to look around the tavern to feel the eyes of everyone in the establishment staring at me, wondering what had occurred. Camille always presented such a calm, dignified façade in public. She must be mortified at the scene she’d caused. I was certain she would quickly return, making up excuses for her out-of-character antics.
A minute passed.
Then another.
