Fall of Ruin and Wrath (Awakening, #1)

Something wasn’t right.

When I knocked and there was no answer, I tried the handle, finding the door locked. Cursing, I pulled a pin holding the shorter strands back from my hair and knelt.

A wry grin tugged at my lips as I gripped the handle and worked the thin edge of the pin into the keyhole. One thing I could appreciate from my life before Archwood was the certain . . . skills I’d acquired.

Taking a deep breath, I willed my hand to be steady and gentle as I wiggled the pin left and then right. Picking locks was truly an exercise in patience, a virtue that neither living on the streets nor in a nice home had helped me develop. Must be nice to be a Hyhborn and able to just will the door to unlock.

Or able to simply kick it in.

If I tried that, I’d likely break my foot.

Finally, I heard the soft snick of finding the tumbler. Biting down on my lip, I continued to wiggle the pin until I felt the mechanism give a little. I kept my hand steady as I turned counterclockwise. The handle turned in my palm.

A brief smile of satisfaction tugged at my lips as I shoved the pin back into the braid and rose, pushing open the door.

The private quarters of the Baron were all wealth and luxury. I remembered the first time I’d been in these chambers. I hadn’t been able to stop touching everything.

It had been at least two years since I’d entered Claude’s chambers. Maybe even longer, and it was strange being in here now. I ran a hand over the plush back of a couch. Fruits and meats were left out, half eaten, on a polished table. Ceiling fans stirred silk curtains finer than any clothing most lowborn would ever own.

“Claude?” I called out.

There was no answer.

I snatched what appeared to be an untouched slice of orange and popped it into my mouth. The sweet and tart taste coursed down my throat as I walked past a chair outfitted with thick velvet cushions. I stopped, letting the memories of sitting in that chair and being held by Claude as he read mail from a neighboring baron engulf me. That had been a habit of ours for a little while. We’d wake and have breakfast in bed, something I’d only heard of people doing before. (The first time we’d done it, I’d been so afraid of getting crumbs on the sheets, but Claude made a far larger mess than I could ever hope to and he laughed while doing so.) Then he’d lead me out to this chair, where we’d spend hours doing nothing much. I remembered feeling . . . safe. Warm. Wanted.

But I never felt like I belonged. Like I was supposed to be there.

Not much had changed since then, but everything felt different.

A knot lodged in my chest as my hand slipped off the chair. Claude had always known that— known how I felt, even if I hadn’t realized it. He knew as he laughed and smiled, as he kissed my lips and my skin. He knew.

And he tried to change that.

It just wasn’t in his heart, and it hadn’t been in mine. But if it had? If Claude had loved me and I’d felt the same? Would I have ended up like Maven, a mistress raising the children that another woman, one deemed suitable by the aristo, claimed as hers? Or would Claude have continued to buck tradition and married me?

I didn’t even know why I was thinking about any of that as I walked past a brightly colored tunic left on the floor. In a way, it felt like I was . . . I was mourning what could never be.

Walking through the rounded archway, I glanced around the bed-chamber. A breeze carried the floral and woodsy scent of the gardenias filling the tall vases positioned along the walls of the circular chamber.

Gardenias were a favorite of Claude’s.

Allyson had been smelling a lot like gardenias.

I focused on the bed seated on a slightly raised platform beneath open windows, a tremor hitting my hands. I sucked my lower lip between my teeth. My steps were light as I stepped onto the platform. Through the rippling fabric, I could make out only lumps.

My heart began to pound as I reached forward, parting the curtains.

The bed was empty.

Letting the curtains fall into place, I stepped off the platform and went to the bathing chamber. That too was empty, and didn’t appear to have been used that morning. If so, there would’ve been towels scattered about and puddles of water. Claude was messier than me.

I turned back to the bed, that dread increasing. A cool finger pressed against the nape of my neck. A tingling pressure settled between my shoulder blades.

Something isn’t right.

I took a step and it happened. Without warning, my skin prickled all over. Pressure settled between my shoulder blades as the skin behind my left ear tingled. Claude’s chamber fell away and I saw blood.

Pools of blood. Rivers of it streaming between still limbs, seeping into gold veining. Bare arms with deep gouges. So many of them, their mouths gaping open in frozen, silent horror. Brocade and jewel-encrusted masks torn, strewn across the floor. Silver and sapphire drenched in blood.

Sucking in a sharp breath, I stumbled back, bumping into the wall. I’d . . . I’d seen death.





CHAPTER 32


The vision warned of death, and the masks? The glittery jewels and gowns? The Feasts. Something terrible— something horrible was going to happen during the Feasts. I jerked forward, then halted.

Silver and sapphire.

I’d seen a sapphire necklace dripping with blood.

Naomi.

I spun, racing from Claude’s chambers. Adrenaline coursed through my veins as I hurried along the opposite wing of the manor. The hall was quiet and the air stagnant. A fine sheen of sweat dotted my upper lip as I reached Naomi’s quarters. I rapped my knuckles on the door, hoping she was there. I waited, shifting my weight from one foot to the other. She had to be. It was still early.

“Naomi?” I called out, knocking louder. “It’s me.”

After a few moments, I heard the sound of footsteps. Relief swept through me as the door cracked and a sleepy Naomi appeared.

“Good morning.” Smothering a yawn, she stepped aside, the deep blue of her silky slip somehow unwrinkled. Only Naomi could look so stunning upon waking. “Or is it good afternoon?”

“Afternoon. Sorry to wake you.” I stepped inside, closing the door behind me. “But I needed to speak with you.”

“It’s okay. I was already half awake.” Naomi tucked her hair back from her face as she stepped over a pair of heeled slippers and thick, vibrant-colored plush cushions as she went over to a chaise and sat. “But you didn’t bring coffee with you, which is rude.”

“I didn’t even think about that.” Stomach twisting itself into knots, I glanced at the fuchsia curtains hung in the doorway to her bedchambers. “Are you alone?”

“I hope so.” She curled her legs, leaving room for me.

“Good.” I sat beside her, needing a moment to collect my thoughts. I’d come to her without really even thinking it through. I swallowed. “There’s . . . there’s something I need to talk to you about.”

“Without coffee? Or even tea?” Leaning into the arm of the chaise, she yawned again. “I’m not sure how much you’re expecting me to retain . . .” She trailed off, eyes narrowing on me. “Wait. Did the Prince come for you that night? I haven’t seen you since, so I’m guessing that is a yes.”

“Yes. But— ”

Naomi straightened, all the sleep vanishing from her gaze in an instant. “And what happened? I want all the details.”

“Nothing really happened— okay, things happened,” I added when her eyes narrowed. “I threw a glass at him. We sort of argued. Then he actually carried me to his chambers— ”

“I’m sorry. Back up. You threw a glass at him?”

“Yes.”

She rubbed at her eyes. “Are you a ghost?”

“What?” I shook my head. “No. He wasn’t angry if that’s what you’re getting at. He actually laughed, then carried me to his chambers, where we continued to argue . . . then talked it out.”