“Brielle Treveon!” Luci screeched, staring with mock anger.
Blond hair, soaked through, ran in waves over her back as Brielle stood in the small pond with a devilish smile that lit up her whole face. Happiness. It was everything Luci could ever hope to see on her friend’s face.
“Stop being a stick in the mud and come in.” Brielle pouted.
“Absolutely not,” Luci affirmed, situating herself more firmly against the oak tree she had settled against.
Its rich green leaves draped over her as if it were her own little cocoon. A safe place that the outside world and Brielle’s ailments couldn’t touch because whenever she came here, it was a good day. The night before, the fluid in Brielle’s knee had receded. Whether due to the endless tonics Luci had spent the years perfecting or from the release of winter’s hold, it was hard to say. Honestly, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was Brielle splashing her from her favorite pond.
The dark water was always the first place Brielle asked to go when she was feeling better, as if the chilly pond held some sort of secret remedy. Then again, Luci supposed it did. It had been Brielle’s mother’s favorite spot at Blythe, and Luci imagined it held more than just sentimental value for her friend.
Arching an eyebrow, Luci dared her friend to complete the dark thought that had glistened in her eyes. If she splashed her one more time, Luci would- well, she would probably do nothing. In fact, it was a good tactic considering she would eventually give in.
However, she was saved by the sound of hooves clomping down the dirt path that led to Blythe Manor. The creaking and groaning of the carriage behind left a pit in Luci’s stomach. Too soon. It had only been three months. It was far too early.
Her eyes met Brielle’s pale blue and saw the same thoughts written on her face. Neither of them spoke as Luci hurried over to her, wrapping a towel around her dripping, thin frame. Brielle shivered, and it was unlikely to be from the chill air.
“Come on, we can go around back,” Luci said gently.
They usually had at least a few minutes before he remembered he had a daughter. After all, Lord Treveon had more important things to worry about, like climbing the social ladder at court.
Even the air changed, like it had a bite to it that hadn’t been there before. As they crested the hill above the pond, Blythe came into view, and it was mayhem. Servants flittered along the front lawn in an attempt to line up and greet their master. No one had expected the visit, and the long faces and hurried gestures only emphasized that, but there was no denying the blue-and-white carriage, littered with gold filigree, that pulled up to the manor.
“Why do you think he’s here?” Brielle asked, her voice small.
Biting her lip, Luci shook her head. “It’s probably nothing.”
A pretty lie. Twenty years at Blythe and its turnings and routines were clockwork as if spelled by the great fairies before. Even though they were a thing of myth, Luci might have believed they had once existed just for the reliability of Blythe, at least until now.
Brielle didn’t call the lie what it was. They could pretend a little bit longer.
“Where is Brielle?” The lord’s deep voice boomed.
Luci’s heart fell into her stomach.
“Oh no,” Brielle whispered beside her.
There wasn’t time to give in to the trembling in Luci’s hands. Brielle needed her to be steady, constant, so she willed her hands to stop. Willed her heart to slow and her words to come out even.
“It’s fine. You go around the back, and I’ll stall.” Luci said, gently shoving her towards the eastern side of the manor.
“My hair,” Brielle said, gripping the drenched strands in her fist, eyes wide.
“Just tie it back, he won’t notice. Go,” she said before running towards the manor.
Stone-faced servants who usually smiled and laughed easily stood in a long line. At the front was Mrs. Blakesley, dressed in the severest of blacks, her gray hair pulled up in a tight bun that must have given her a constant headache. From this close, she could see the lines that pulled at her lips from being in a place of constant frowning and the crow’s feet next to her eyes that marked her for her age.
“Sir Treveon, we had not been expecting you.” Mrs. Blakesley tried.
The lord of Blythe Manor turned to the carriage. A white-gloved hand, decorated with gold rings with diamonds that shimmered in the sunlight, reached for him. Sir Treveon huffed out an irritated breath, his brown mustache spread out over his lips much like a caterpillar on a branch. In fact, his eyebrows might have been matching baby caterpillars. With his tanned skin and severe demeanor, Luci often wondered whether there had been a mistake and he wasn’t Brielle’s father. At least, she would have been convinced if it weren’t for the pale blue eyes that lifted to hers in that moment.
His eyebrow caterpillars narrowed as he took her in, noting the absence of his daughter. Caught with nowhere to go, Luci slowed her run and smoothed out her brown dress, hoping she would catch her breath in time to make some sense.
“It’s all very exciting, Mrs. Blakesley.” Lady Treveon said, her voice high with excitement.
The lady of the manor took her husband’s hand and stepped out of the carriage in a light pink dress that was made of frills and excess. Just how she liked it. The louder the better, which was generally how all the nobles lived their lives.
“Where is Brielle?” Lord Treveon said, glaring at Luci.