She looked perfect.
Afraid my agitation would wake her, I returned to my own room. The moment the door clicked closed, my shoulders fell, and tears pricked the backs of my eyes. The weight of the past week came crashing down, smothering me until I couldn’t breathe.
I deserved better than being forced into a loveless marriage.
I deserved better than being threatened to break a prince’s curse.
I deserved better.
8
Rían hadn’t shownhis cursed face in four days. Instead of being happy about his absence, I was on edge, constantly wondering when he’d pop in on a whim. Any time a person stared too long in my direction, I found myself glaring back at them, studying their eyes to see if they were an overwhelming shade of blue.
Last night, my father had been acting strangely, smiling at dinner instead of glaring, and I was sure Rían had stolen his identity. But his eyes revealed him for what he was. When I asked about his change in mood, he told me it was nothing for me to concern myself with. Which concerned me even more.
With concerns mounting, it was all I could do to put one foot in front of the other.
Rían.
I heard his name on the wind. In the rain. In the utter silence in the dead of night.
Rían. Rían. Rían.
Friday brought sunshine and the first mild day since winter. Sunny days in Airren were so few and far between, we made the most of them. This morning, I’d asked Keelynn to go to the seaside. She’d refused. All week she’d been melancholy, preferring to stay inside despite the turn in weather.
So I spent the day in the gardens, pulling weeds that had sprouted over the winter, preparing the beds for planting. My forearms, cheeks, and nose bore the sore effects of a day in the sun. I’d have to slather on an extra layer of cream to cover my new freckles for Saturday night’s ball.
A ball with one invited guest I hoped wouldn’t show.
Although it killed me to do it, I asked Padraig to ready the carriage for town. My face couldn’t take any more sun, and if my father caught me riding, he’d have my sunburned head.
The market should’ve been empty, with most of the townsfolk spending the day at the shore. Instead, it was more crowded than ever, with hordes of people gathering near the square. I hurried to the back of the crowd, struggling to see over heads and hats.
I squeezed between a woman clutching her brooch and a man in a tweed suit and matching flatcap. “Pardon me, but do you know what’s happening?”
The woman nodded, her gaze darting to me before returning to whatever was going on up ahead. “They’re executing two monsters from Tearmann.”
Although executions were prevalent, I’d never been present for one. Why would anyone want to watch someone else die? More spectators filled in behind me, blocking my exit. I lifted to my toes, catching a glimpse of a woman with white hair dangling from the gallows.
Bloody hell. . .
They’d hanged the fortune teller.
A second noose waited, swaying slightly in the light breeze. The sun beat down on my head, leaving sweat collecting at the back of my neck. When I saw the next creature, my stomach lurched.
Red hair sprouted from holes in his threadbare breeches, covered his arms and hands. A heavy brow shadowed kind brown eyes. I’d never seen him without his cloak, but I knew it had to be the grogoch from the cathedral steps.
“What were their crimes?” My voice quivered.
“The old fortune teller was a witch caught practicing black magic,” the woman whispered behind a gloved hand.
“I always knew she was a witch,” the man to my right chimed in, stroking his bearded chin.
A witch who had been hiding in plain sight until I visited her. “And the grogoch?” What could he have done to deserve such a fate?
The man’s hand fell to the dagger at his belt. “Convicted of theft. The bastard stole Lady Eithne O’Meara’s purse.”
The hooded executioner fitted the noose around the grogoch’s head, tightening the knot at the base of his skull.