Page 56 of A House of Cloaks & Daggers

I couldn’t face either of them after that. Even if it meant that I would die from starvation as my stomach twisted again.

As if the House was privy to my thoughts, a breakfast tray appeared in front of me a moment later, filled with plates of pancakes and fried eggs and chopped fruits. It was only the rich, greasy smell that stopped me from accidentally knocking it over in surprise. My hands were reaching for a slice of buttered toast before the rest of my body could react.

“Thank you,” I told the House, hoping it could understand me through a mouthful of pancakes drenched in syrup.

A pot of black coffee, pitcher of milk, and dish of sugar cubes appeared in reply.

I devoured everything on the tray, though there was enough food to feed three adults, and put all the milk and sugar cubes into the coffee pot, stirring it with one hand as I used my other to finish the last of the raspberry crumpets.

After drinking as much of the sweet caffeine as I could stomach, I pushed the tray to the end of the bed and curled up on my side.

Belly filled, fingers and toes warming beneath the blankets, I closed my eyes against the blinding white snowstorm whipping against my window and fell back to sleep to the melancholy lullaby of the howling wind.

I had no idea how much time had passed when I woke again, yanked from my sleep by an ear-splitting crack of thunder.

The snowstorm was over.

It was like it had never happened at all. The sky had turned a dark and malicious seaweed green colour as black clouds rolled across the horizon at double their natural speed. Ultraviolet streaks of jagged lightning split the clouds in two, and rain began to fall, pounding against the House with so much force that I began to worry that hail would smash through the window.

In wild weather back home, I would have curled up with Brynn in my mother’s bed and waited for the storm to pass. But I was alone, and a little elemental temper tantrum would not spook me.

The House had cleared away my breakfast dishes, so I threw back the coverlet and hurried into the bathroom, where it had drawn me another hot bubble bath. I saw to all of my other needs before climbing into the tub and sinking below the surface of the water to drown out the sounds of the storm.

It was still raging when I resurfaced a moment later, and a fluffy white robe appeared folded up on the edge of the marble tub. I closed my eyes and leaned back, soaking up the heat.

Something brushed against my arm.

Opening one eye, I found the robe had been moved closer to me.

The House was bossing me around. Mothering me.

I was inclined to ignore it, but the storm was intensifying outside. It had grown so dark that I could no longer tell if it was night or day, and each stroke of lightning illuminated the room in a harsh, violet light.

After quickly washing and drying myself, I found that a new set of clothes in black velvet had been plucked from thewardrobe and placed on the edge of the tub. It wasn’t until I dressed and strode back into the bedroom that I understood why the House had been in such a hurry to get me out of the bath and presentable.

Wren was standing by the bed, studying the titles of books on the shelves in the corner.

Orbs of faelight danced around him, the same molten gold colour of his eyes. He turned towards me, and they flared bright enough to light up the whole room in a soft, warm glow.

Strikingly handsome in a neatly pressed black shirt and pants, Wren was without his weapon belt and his usual revolting smirk. His blond hair was combed up, fringe hanging over his forehead in thick strands as if it had been gelled, and he was unshaven, the stubble along his chiselled jawline glittering beneath the faelight.

“I’m sorry about the storm,” he said quietly, as the glowing orbs settled up against the ceiling like light globes. “The High King is in a bad mood. It’ll pass soon.”

I frowned. “What does that—oh.” Lucais had inferred that the High King’s original Court stood to gain the most from his reign, and that the crown fed into the land. Perhaps his Court also stood to lose the most, then. “He meant that literally.”

Wren nodded once in confirmation. His eyes were weighed down by something that almost looked like apprehension. He was quieter than normal, too, and standing back instead of getting right in my face.

“It’s that…intense?” I queried, risking a step forward. “Having a High King in Faerie? He—his moods?”

I could not imagine the death and destruction that would occur if human leaders had such an intricate and primal connection to their lands, but then again, we had shunned the High Mother long ago, while the High Fae still lived in worship.

“Not always,” Wren murmured, tugging at the collar of his shirt like it was scratching him. “The bond between the High King and the land is tenuous, both linked as equals to the High Mother. You can judge his strength based on the prosperity brought to the land during his reign, and occasionally acquire an inkling as to his overall mood or health. He can’t control it, and most of the time, it’s a very mild flow-on effect. But, sometimes, like right now,” he continued, making a sheepish gesture towards the storm-lashed window, “it’s just downright embarrassing.”

Glancing at the lightning whipping the sky outside, I swallowed a fat ball of acid guilt.

The blizzard-slashed winter morning. The electrical summer storm. Both occurred on the same day.

The day after I had said those words to him.

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