He stopped walking long enough to rub the bottom of his boot on my hair.
“We’ve got bacon,” I said, trying not to laugh and hating that laughing was even possible after last night. “And apricot marmalade.”
He switched directions and started toward the kitchen, dragging me along with him. I let go after a few steps, and getting to my feet, trailed after him. Our cook was working away, and was only now setting the bread dough aside to rise. My mother didn’t keep live-in servants. She said it was because of the cost, but I expected it was more a matter of privacy.
“What hour is it?”
“Almost noon,” Fred replied, sitting down at the table. He was wearing his uniform, with both a sword and pistol buckled at his waist. He had always been tall, but at nearly twenty, he had finally filled out his frame. He looked quite dashing, I thought, bending to examine the badges of rank adorning his chest.
“My brother will be joining me for breakfast,” I said to the cook, taking the seat closest to the fire. My mother would have insisted we eat in the dining room or the parlor, but the farm girl in me wouldn’t let go of the kitchen.
“Yes, mademoiselle.” She did not look up from her dough. My mother did not encourage familiarity with the servants, and she was a difficult woman to work for. The maids changed so often, I could scarce keep track of their names for trying.
“I saw Chris this morning,” Fred said quietly, buttering a piece of yesterday’s bread. “He told me your reclusive friends from the south are stirring up trouble.”
I sighed and nodded, wishing for a moment that I’d never told him the truth. But keeping it a secret from my family had never even occurred to me, even if I could have pulled it off.
Other than my family, only Sabine, Chris, and his father knew the truth. Gran’s magic hadn’t been strong enough to heal my injuries entirely and we’d been forced to come up with a tale to explain them. She told everyone that I’d been attacked by a madman, and only by the grace of God had the Girards been in town to rush me home in time for me to be saved. It was a truth and a lie in one, a fact I was reminded of every time I undressed and saw the six-inch red scar running the length of my ribcage. It was a mark I’d bear for the rest of my life.
“You haven’t told her anything?” He jerked his head up toward the second level where my mother was presumably still abed, keeping an eye on the cook while he did it.
“Are you mad?” I hissed. “Of course I haven’t. Telling her anything would be as good as telling the whole Isle. All she knows is that I got cold feet and spent the summer in the south. Nothing more.” And she never pried into the details. I wasn’t sure if it was because she didn’t care, or if her own secret-keeping tendencies caused her to respect mine. Either way, it worked in my favor.
“That’s good. She’s a way of using information to her advantage.” His eyes were distant. “Though it might be better if the whole damned Isle did know.”
Tension sang down my spine. “Fred, you promised to keep it between us.”
“I know.” He tracked the cook as she moved behind me. “But I don’t like it. I think we should do something. Go on the offensive when they aren’t expecting it.”
I winced. “You wouldn’t have a chance against them. How many times must I explain this to you?” I glanced over my shoulder. “They’ve got magic,” I mouthed.
He snorted, his lips pinching together. “Something else then. Cut them off. Starve them.” He leaned closer to me. “I’ve met the Regent’s son, Lord Aiden. He’s young, not more than a few years older than me, and he’s a man of action. He often walks with the men. He’d grant my request to speak privately, and I could tell him…”
“No!” I heard the cook stop moving, so I lowered my voice. “No, Fred. You can’t. Most of them are good, decent folk. They don’t deserve that. And there’s…”
“Tristan?”
It was strange hearing his name on my brother’s lips. I looked away. “Yes.”
Fred’s hands clenched where they rested on the table. “Him I’d like to have a word or two with. Stealing my little sister and performing godless magic so that I don’t dare strike at him for fear of hurting you. Bastard!”
The cook made a comment under her breath about soldiers and foul language, making Fred’s scowl deepen.
“Well, then, there you have it,” I whispered. “Fine if you have no care for starving innocent people, but at least have a care for your own sister’s life.”
He gnawed on his bottom lip, eyes narrowed to slits. “You’re an idiot and a fool when it comes to judging character, Cécile. Always have been. Refusing to see the black side of folk even when it’s right in front of your eyes.”
Was this about the trolls or our mother?
I pressed my palms against the table, and met his gaze. “You don’t know them, Fred. You don’t know him.”