“I go where Brielle goes,” she said, holding her ground.
Lord Treveon’s face contorted with rage as he took a step towards her, hand outstretched as if he would strike her. Hecaught himself, but Luci never flinched despite the thumping of her heart. She would not cower for the brute before her.
“You are my greatest failure. I will not parade an orphan girl around the nobility like some sort of laughing stock. Brielle will attend the ball alone,” he ordered.
“You remember the last time you tried to separate us,” she challenged.
His face paled as he remembered, but there was a hardness to the set of his jaw that said he would not be moved.
“Once she gets out of this miserable house and sees what life can be, she won’t need you. You are a symptom, not the cure.” His eyes narrowed, conviction in every word.
The symptom. As if he understood who Brielle was at all. A chill air ran over the room and wrapped itself around Luci’s throat, constricting. Her chest ached with the onslaught of pressure that grew with every passing moment. Brielle’s words haunted her, echoing each stale breath. The way she wondered what her life could be like if she weren’t always ill. A life filled with love and laughter. Was happiness enough to cure her spirit?
“I see you understand,” he said, though his words felt far away. “I am glad we finally understand one another.”
Luci was vaguely aware of the door closing behind him, but her feet were stuck to the soft, deep blue carpet that felt like it was sucking her into the ground. Quicksand is consuming her inch by inch. It might have been hours before she moved; no one could really say for sure, but one thing was certain. Luci no longer knew herself.
Chapter three
The Dress
Many a magical night has started with a beautiful dress and a sturdy pair of shoes.
-Tales From Meridia, Volume II
The setting sun was painting Blythe’s strawberry fields in a hazy pink set with orange streaks that should have taken Luci’s breath away. Instead, she had hardly breathed in the last fortnight. She was a ghost of herself as she stared at Brielle’s too still form lying in the bed they shared. It had come on suddenly without any warning.
Leaning forward, Luci pressed her hand to Brielle’s forehead and jerked it back as if burned. It might as well have been for how hot her skin was. At least she had stopped shaking, though it was hard to say which was worse. Luci never took her eyes away from Brielle’s chest as she counted each breath, willing the next one to come.
“Any change?” Lady Margaret asked from the doorway.
Slowly turning her head as if in a fog, Luci saw Margaret in her finest gown. A golden monstrosity, carefully embroidered with navy strawberries and flowers. Her red hair was done up in a carefully crafted array of curls, the rouge on her lips red as the strawberries they grew. She looked lovely.
Stasia and Drusilla sat by the door as if they knew that Luci wasn’t to be messed with tonight. At least they had some sense of self-preservation.
“No,” Luci answered, turning back just in time to see another breath lift Brielle’s frail chest.
“We are supposed to leave shortly,” Lady Margaret said quietly.
“She isn’t going.”
It shouldn’t have needed to be stated. She was the symptom. Not the cure. Brielle had been well for the last fortnight. Almost to the point that Luci forgot she was prone to illness for a moment. All her preparations for the ball were made with a sparkle of hope in her eyes. The kind of hope that made Luci more sure than ever that lord Treveon had been right. Just a little purpose to look forward to, and Brielle was transformed.
At first, she had begged Luci to go with her to the ball, but after a few days, she relented. There had been disappointment in her eyes the final time Luci said no, but Lord Treveon’s words haunted her like a restless spirit. Crawling beside her in the dark and whispering around every corner. As much as Luci’s heartwas breaking, there was a joy that wrapped around her heart watching Brielle pick her dress, shoes, and hair for the ball.
“Luci,” Brielle’s voice was a hoarse whisper.
She was the lighthouse, and Luci was the ship that followed her call. Without hesitation, Luci pressed forward in the chair that never left Brielle’s bedside and reached for her friend’s too-warm hand. Brielle’s eyes fluttered open with surprising clarity.
“Go to the ball,” Brielle said.
Shaking her head, Luci reached for the tray of tonics beside her bed. She was due for another ginger tonic. It might not break the fever, but at least it won’t get worse.
“I don’t need the tonic. Listen to me,” Brielle said as she tried to push herself up.
To her credit, Lady Margaret was there without a moment’s hesitation, helping her up. She may not have been a mother through blood, but she cared for Brielle, and that mattered. Forced to concede for the moment, Luci helped prop up one of the dozen pillows on the bed for Brielle. As soon as she was up, a coughing fit took her, and Luci’s stomach hollowed as she watched her friend struggle. Honey. Luci reached for the dark honey and scooped out a spoonful, breathing in its sweet, warm scent, but Brielle waved her hand.
“Listen to me,” she repeated when she caught her breath.