Page 61 of The Falconer

Someone taps at the bedroom door.

‘Come in.’

Dona enters, her head down. She dips in a silent curtsy, as if waiting to be acknowledged. Her demeanour is rigid, even shyer than usual. She hasn’t looked like this since the day she came to live here three weeks ago. I tilt my head to try and see her expression properly.

‘I beg your pardon, Lady Aileana,’ Dona blurts.

My maid isn’t particularly chatty, but she usually offers me a tentative smile when she visits. ‘Are you well, Dona?’

Dona flinches. ‘Indeed. My lady,’ she adds hastily. She sounds so formal that I wince.

‘Bloody hell,’ Derrick says and flutters over to Dona. ‘Do we have to break her arms to get her to state her purpose?Why. Are. You. Here? We. Are. Deconstructing. Weaponry!’

At least Dona’s sensitivity to the fae is inactive right now, or she’d hear him screeching in her ear and then we’d never get a word out of her.

‘Is there anything I can help you with, then?’ I ask.

Dona clears her throat. ‘Lord Douglas requests your presence in his study.’ She visibly swallows once and hesitates before adding, ‘Directly.’

I straighten in my chair, immediately alert despite feeling hellish. I’ve been dreading this moment all morning. ‘I don’t suppose you could tell me what kind of mood he’s in?’

Explosive anger, calm anger, deadly anger, or I’m-sending-you-to-a-nunnery anger? I wonder if I should escape through my hidden bedroom door and hide somewhere until he calms down.

Dona’s head snaps up and she blinks those wide blue eyes of hers at me. Then she takes a step towards the door and fidgets. ‘Um. Well.’ She sounds unsure. ‘My lady. He’s . . . I’m not certain I can describe it, exactly.’

Oh dear. I rise from my chair, ignoring the wave of dizziness that threatens to engulf me, and nod once. ‘All right. I suppose I’ll have to get this over with, then.’

‘What’s he going to do?’ Derrick asks, flying out of the room behind me. ‘Set fire to you?’

I walk slowly down the hall and cringe in anticipation of what Father will say. ‘I’m sure he’d find that a very tempting proposition.’ I keep my voice low, in case Dona is still close enough to hear.

‘Well, if you want, I can eat his ears. I like ears.’

At any other time, I would have laughed. Now, all I can do is say distractedly, ‘Not necessary.’

‘The offer stands.’

I wave him off and he flutters back upstairs. I continue towards the door of my father’s study. Father sits behind his thick oak desk, pen scrawling rapidly across his letter-paper. He doesn’t look up when I stop at the doorway.

His study has never been warm and welcoming, not even when my mother was alive. The heavy, dark furniture looks too big for the room. Even with the large window and the curtains open, light never seems to brighten the space. I study the shelves crammed with massive law books and journals and the travel journals he collects. Next to the window is a dark brown leather couch, and on a table in front of it is a whisky decanter with a single glass next to it.

I glance at my father in surprise. It’s not even noon and he’s already drinking. This cannot be good.

Tapping the doorframe, I say, ‘Father.’ Drat. What were the first words of the excuse I rehearsed again?

He nods to the chair across from his desk. ‘Sit.’

‘Father—’

He puts up a finger to silence me and continues to write. I shut the door behind me and wait for him to finish. I try to control the tension in my body, inhaling and exhaling deeply. As he writes, I only grow more anxious and my head is already pounding.

Finally, Father puts down his pen and laces his fingers together. He raises his eyes and . . . my word, they’re harsh and intense.

‘Do you know why you’re here?’

I nod slowly, fighting my first instinct to watch my toes instead of meeting his gaze. So much for my rehearsed speech. How is it that, in the matter of a few minutes, he can make me feel like a mere child?

‘Of course you do,’ he says, his voice hard. ‘It has occurred to me that I have been far too lenient with you since Sarah died.’

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