A Cursed Heart, page 15
“T-then go. I d-d-don’t want your h-help.” With my chin trembling so badly, I sounded pathetic and weak when I wanted to sound angry.
“Will I take back the dress and leave you in that then?” His stormy blue gaze drifted down my body, lingering on my breasts. My hips. My thighs.
I didn’t want him looking at me like that. I didn’t want him looking at me at all. “T-turn around.”
With a long-suffering sigh, he twisted so his back was to me. I took a moment to study his outline, silhouetted against gray clouds. So perfect on the outside. What a shame his soul was rotten.
I tried to work the ties free on my dress. Removing clothing was hard enough when the garments were dry. Wet? Impossible. Everything stuck together, and my frozen fingers couldn’t open one damned button. My arms felt like they weighed ten stone. Eventually, the shivering got so bad, I was afraid it’d start a bloody earthquake.
Then came the sound of ripping fabric, and the top of my dress fell away. I clutched my hand over a torn seam to keep my breasts from spilling free. When I whirled around, Rían was still staring at the sea.
I peeled myself out of the heavy garment and let it slop onto the stones.
Sea birds circled overhead, their lonely caws echoing against the vast expanse of nothing. The breeze kicked up, and I changed as quickly as I could into the dry gown made of the softest navy-blue cotton and long blue cloak lined with fur that appeared a moment later.
“I’ll have you know that was my favorite gardening dress.”
“And I’ll have you know this was my favorite shirt.” Rían had changed back into the shirt with two dirty handprints on the sleeves.
“All you have to do is wash it.”
“Are you asking me to go for another swim?” he threw over his shoulder, wiggling his eyebrows.
I told him to shove off.
I would rather take my chances with the murderous merrow than swim with him.
“I spoke to my brother this morning,” he said, drawing his knees to his chest. “He’ll meet you in the garden on the night of your betrothal ball.”
That meant I had one week left.
One week to pretend. One week to live.
“Why then?”
“The more witnesses, the better. Wouldn’t want anyone to think you’re faking your own death.”
I wouldn’t be faking it though. I’d actually be dying, no longer in this world but part of whatever lay beyond. “How long will it take for me to come back?”
He picked up a skinny piece of driftwood, snapped it in half, and tossed it into the fire. “It’ll feel like you just closed your eyes.”
“That’s not an answer.”
Rían winced.
“Tell me,” I demanded.
“I can’t.”
“Yes, you can.”
“No, I mean I physically can’t. It’s part of my brother’s curse. But I can tell you this.” He held up a finger.
“What’s that?”
Rolling his eyes, he gestured to the digit.
“One?” I said slowly.
He nodded.
“One day?” I guessed.
He shook his head.
“One week?” Another shake. “One month?” I started to panic when he winced and shook his head again. “One year?”
Rían gave me a sardonic clap.
I shot to my feet. “I’m going to be dead for a bloody year? Are you mad?”
“A lifetime of misery, a year of death, or destitution for your family. Those are your choices, are they not?”
“How do you know about my family’s . . . financial difficulties?”
“I make it a point to learn all I can about those who wish to bargain with me.”
With the options listed so clinically, it felt like I’d chosen the best of the lot.
Still . . . a year?
That may not have seemed like a long time to a powerful immortal like Rían, but it was three hundred and sixty-five days of my life I would never get back.
Keelynn was the only person who would truly miss me. “Who will you torment while I’m gone?” I asked, dropping back to the rocks.
“Probably some orphan. Or a heartbroken widow. Or a crippled old man.”
I picked up a stone and tossed it at his back. “You are awful.”
He chuckled, not bothering to dodge it the way he had the mud. “I know.”
“Will you be there when I wake?”
His shoulders stiffened. “No.”
For some reason, I had expected him to say yes.
“But I will ensure you are kept somewhere safe,” he went on, collecting another sliver of wood to twirl between his fingers. “And then you can put all this nastiness behind you, and live out the rest of your short human life playing in dirt.”
“Until you come to collect your favor.”
His smile faltered before he turned back toward the flames. “Right. Until then.”
A year. That was all.
And when I came back, I could go . . . anywhere.
Anywhere I wanted any time I pleased. I could stay in Airren or travel to Vellana. Or Iodale. Or the continent. It would be up to me.
My choice.
Only mine.
I’d want a base though. Somewhere to call home. A place for Keelynn to visit. And Padraig.
I closed my eyes, envisioning the whitewashed cottage from my dream. “A cottage by the sea.” I inhaled the salty air. “With a garden.”
Preferably with two bedrooms, one for my sister when she visited and one for me.
One would work as well, I supposed. We’d shared a bed plenty of times before. It might be nice to huddle up and pretend we were still young and carefree.
When I opened my eyes, I found Rían staring at me, his head tilted.
“That’s what I would’ve wished for,” I explained, tugging the hem of the dress to cover my bare feet, gritty from the sand beneath the stones. “A place of my own where I could live as I chose without anyone telling me what to do. What to wear. Who to marry.” I could sell flowers in the market and grow my own vegetables. It would be a simple life but one that belonged to me.
“If you could have anything in the world, you’d want a shack and some flowers?” Snorting, Rían added more bits of wood to the fire. “Humans are so disappointing.”
I snagged another stone and threw it at his back. “All right, almighty prince. What would you wish for?”
The ghost of a dimple appeared as he peered down at his clenched hands. “Someone took something precious from me long ago. If I could have anything in the world, I would make her pay for it with her life.”
I understood wanting someone to suffer. I thought of Lady Eithne. I’d hated the woman for years. But now that she was gone, I realized her death hadn’t fixed anything.
It hadn’t taken away my guilt.
It hadn’t brought Charlie back.
Her suffering was just that. Her suffering.
It hadn’t eased mine.
“You’d honestly rather punish the person than have the item returned?” I asked.
Rían’s penetrating gaze met mine.
“Sounds like a waste of a wish to me,” I said, standing and brushing off my skirts.
Rían could keep his vengeance.
All I wanted was a shack and some flowers.
17
The woolly gray clouds hovering overhead looked as if one poke would flood the entire town.
“You’re awfully chipper for a woman claiming she doesn’t want to get married,” Keelynn grumbled, trudging by my side toward the first of three stops.
“I’m trying to make the best of things,” I told her.
Our father had met me on the back patio with a to-do list of useless tasks for a wedding that wouldn’t happen.
When I finished them, I wanted to swing by Dame Meranda’s. Padraig had delivered her a trunk of my dresses, along with a note explaining my desire to sell the lot. She was the only one I trusted to give me a fair price. I would need funds to start my new life. I had a little in savings, along with the few pieces of my mother’s jewelry that she’d left to me. I didn’t want to sell those but would if it came down to it.
Somewhere between my father’s house and town, it struck me: Keelynn may be the one marrying Robert in the end. If that was the case, I was planning her wedding, not mine.
Tarnett’s dressmakers was empty at this hour, with most people enjoying lunch in the pubs and tea houses around town. Dresses and bolts of fabric had been organized into neat rows along the walls, nothing like the mayhem inside Meranda’s cluttered shop.
I collected a deep burgundy day gown from one of the racks, holding it against my chest. The color didn’t suit, and I’d never have a chance of fitting into the thing.
On Keelynn, though, it would be a vision. “What do you think of this one?” I asked.
Keelynn traced the lace along a daring evening gown with no back. “Why does it matter what I think?”
“Come on? Please?” A pang of guilt struck my heart. Would she forgive me for what I was about to do? She’d be upset at first, but Robert would be there to comfort her.
A sigh. “It’s beautiful.”
Anything she smiled at or seemed to linger over I added to the growing stack of items for Lord Trench’s tab. The dressmaker skipped behind me, pulling dresses from hangers and dress forms and bolts of cloth, piling them on the main counter. With the tower ready to topple, I figured we’d bought enough.
I pulled a folded piece of paper from my purse and slipped it into the woman’s hand. “I would like all of the dresses made to these measurements.”
Her thin brows pulled together. “I have your measurements on file, Lady Aveen.”
“Not the ones on file,” I said, too low for Keelynn to overhear from where she loitered next to the entrance. “Use the ones I’ve written down.”
Our second stop was to the designer making my wedding gown. I told her that I had started the tea-and-brown-bread diet she’d suggested and needed my gown altered to the same measurements I’d given the first woman.
The next shop—and my favorite of the lot—was the florist.
The heady scent of roses filled the air in the converted chapel. I touched the feather-soft petals on a hydrangea bloom. My sister’s favorite flowers. “For the church and my bouquet, I’m thinking of going with these.” When I turned around with a cluster in my hands, Keelynn’s face fell.
“Shouldn’t you choose your favorite flower?” she sighed.
“I think having white flowers at a wedding is more timeless.”
Tears brimmed in her eyes. Bless Keelynn: her heart was breaking, and yet she forced a smile. “They’re perfect.”
I ordered the bouquet and decorations for the church, knowing full well I wouldn’t be there. Once we finished, we stepped out of the florist’s shop into the market.
The fish monger called from his stall, waving people toward what was left of his catch. Next to him, Farmer Warren tied bunches of blooms with twine, settling them in clumps next to a basket of dirt-crusted potatoes.
Keelynn started up the street toward the carriage.
When I didn’t immediately follow, she stopped to give me a questioning look.
“I need to go to Dame Meranda’s,” I told her.
“For what? You’ve already bought an entire year’s worth of dresses.”
“For something special.”
Rolling her eyes, Keelynn drew her cloak closed over her stunning emerald-green dress. “My feet hurt. I’m going back to the carriage with Padraig. I’ll wait for you there.”
I could taste her disappointment, bitter and sour as the smells wafting from the pub across the street.
It’s all for you, I wanted to scream.
“Keelynn.” I caught my sister’s wrist. “You know I do not love Robert, right? I’m not going to marry him,” I vowed, to my sister, to myself, to the folks not paying us one bit of attention as they ventured from one stall to the next. “I’m going to fix this. All of it.”
She gestured toward the dress shop. “But you just paid for your trousseau.”
“Father insists I do all of these things, and I am complying so he doesn’t get suspicious. I have a plan. I’m going to—” Pain shot through my head, and the confession died in a strangled choke.
Keelynn’s eyebrows lifted as I struggled with the truth.
“There’s something I must tell you,” I tried again, gasping and gripping her shoulders. “I’m not—” The pain was too excruciating. I couldn’t get it out without collapsing.
Bloody Rían.
What had he done to me?
“I will make this right,” I managed, my gaze landing on the brick townhouse next to Dame Meranda’s that the wicked prince had claimed to be renting.
Keelynn sighed. “Your hands are as tied as mine. Just get your last few bits and meet me in the carriage.” Her posture remained rigid as she swept past the fortune teller’s empty booth and disappeared around the corner.
Shoppers carried boxes from the bakery past a group of sailors pouring from the pub, singing a bawdy tune. The air buzzed with the sounds of spring—bees and birds and bustling servants.
The townhouse stood out like a beacon. I hadn’t a clue if Rían was actually renting it or if he would be home. But if I found the bastard, I would give him a piece of my mind.
When I reached the blue door, I pounded it with my fist, pretending it was his face. A moment later, it opened, and Rían—posing as Lady Marissa—dragged me inside by the elbow.
Ornate patchwork tiles in the hallway gleamed beneath my boots. The place smelled of fresh plaster and paint. Above our heads, a small chandelier cast glittering rainbows against the white walls.
“You’re here.” With a flick of his wrist, he was back to his evil self, in a black shirt and fitted trousers. “Why are you here?” His eyes narrowed. “And you’re angry. Why are you angry? Did something happen?”
He could take his false concern and choke on it. “You happened you . . . you . . . you cad.”
His brows flicked up. “I’m a cad, am I?”
“You are worse than a cad. You’re a fiend—and a villain.”
The corner of his lips lifted ever so slightly. “Thank you.”
“It wasn’t a compliment!”
“Maybe not to you.” He threw an arm around the mahogany newel post. “Out of curiosity, what have I done to earn such scathing insults?”
Damn it all, the smile playing on his lips made me want to smack him. And he’d probably like it. “I tried to tell my sister about our bargain, and it felt like nails were being driven into my skull.”
“Ah. That.” His shiny black boots tapped against the tiles as he rocked back and forth on his heels. “A simple binding spell to ensure you kept your promise.”
I had promised not to tell her, but I hadn’t meant it. “I was lying.”
Gasping in mock horror, his hand flew to his chest. “You were lying? I am shocked and offended.”
“Oh, shove off.”
“I must admit, I like angry Aveen. She’s quite entertaining.”
I’d show him entertaining. My hands clenched into fists. “Remove the spell.”
“Ah . . . No.” He turned and started for the first room off the hallway. A small parlor with blue striped wallpaper, a fireplace, and damask curtains.
That was it.
No furniture, no rugs, no knickknacks.
Then Rían flicked his wrist.
Two chairs appeared, separated by a low coffee table. “Would you like some tea?” he threw over his shoulder.
“I’m not staying for tea. I just want you to get rid of the bloody spell.”
He eased himself onto the blue velvet chair. “I hate to disappoint, but I’m afraid the spell remains.”
A silver tea set appeared. He poured one cup, then another, setting the first in front of the empty chair.
A chair that looked very familiar. “Is that . . .” Bloody Rían. “That’s my chair from my bedroom.”
“Is it?”
I stomped over to check the back. Sure enough, I found a small burn mark at the bottom from the time I’d moved it too close to the fire. “You can’t do that. You can’t just take whatever you want.”
“It’s a gray area.” He lifted the lid from one of the small silver cups on the tray. “Sugar?”
“Two please—I mean, no. I don’t want sugar because I don’t want tea.” Even so, I plopped onto my chair. Who stole a person’s chair? Who did that?
A villain, that’s who.
Two lumps of sugar splashed into my cup. I only picked it up to give my hands something to do besides strangle him.
He held the cream toward me. “No cream?”
“No cream.”
By the time he finished preparing his cup, it was more cream than tea.
“What do you mean ‘it’s a gray area’?”
Settling himself against the blue cushion at his back, he took a long, slow sip. “The law says that I cannot shift items from a ship or a shop or a bank, but it does not explicitly state that I cannot shift personal items that have already been purchased if the owner leaves his or her door unlocked.”
Well then. I’d just have to remember to lock my bloody door next time, wouldn’t I?
I took a sip of tea. “And what does the law say about binding spells?”
“It says that if a human is foolish enough to bargain with the fae, she accepts the consequences.” His smile peeked from over his cup. “So, while I appreciate you calling for tea, I must decline your request to remove the spell.”
I wanted to stamp my foot or pull my hair or—or pull his hair. Instead, I set my tea back on the tray. “Why?”
His finger tapped against the chair like the ticking of a clock. “Because using magic to avoid marriage is another gray area. And the fewer people who know of my involvement, the better.”
“My sister would never tell anyone.”
“Forgive me for not taking the word of a liar.”
“I’m not a—” The words melted on my tongue. I had just admitted to lying to him about not telling my sister. What a bloody disaster.
Rían hid his grin in his teacup.
