Page 8 of Wilds of Wonder
Oh, I’d definitely lost my mind, but some part of me still knew that I couldn’t go back there. With my husband dead, my mother gone, I’d have nowhere to turn. Women could receive titles, deeds, inheritance from their spouses, but only if it was granted, and my husband had always made it clear he’d only be leaving those things to an heir. One I’d never given him. His cruel words echoed in my head. He was right about my future. I had no formal training, no skills, no money. I didn’t know how to be anything but a wife.
Despair swallowed me up. A frigid gale swept past me, fluffsof snow sticking to my skin and hair. I knelt down and opened up the chest, pulling out a scarf that I wrapped around my throat to cover the mottled bruises my husband had inflicted. I shouldn’t be wearing this scarf. It was precious and rare, a relic that many say Spirit Sky gifted to a mortal woman he’d fallen in love with. But I also couldn’t have these bruises on display and had no other clothes on me since I’d left the house in such a hurry.
I needed to find shelter, or at the very least, I needed to get out of the middle of the road, before any curious eyes might have enough time to wonder what Lord Growley’s wife was doing traipsing through a snowstorm in the middle of the night.
The sun peeked over the horizon. Not the middle of the night anymore. Early morning. Even more reason why I needed to come up with a plan.
My heart thumped so hard my chest ached, and I was having trouble getting air through my passageways. What had I been thinking? Why had I run like that? The servants would be waking now, might have already found him. If I came back, it would look suspicious. If I didn’t go back, it would look even more suspicious.
I turned halfway, staring at our three-story wood cabin in the distance, frozen with indecision.
I should return. I stared at the familiar wooden front door. The little steps that led up to the porch with the swing I’d sit on during snowstorms. From here I could see through the window of the first floor into the parlor with all my favorite books and couch where I’d sit and read in front of a warm fire. Another window showed the great hall where we’d host parties for all my husband’s friends.
I had no choice. I had to go back. There was nothing else for me, no one I could go to.
Driscoll’s and Leoni’s faces popped into my mind, and I straightened, their visit suddenly rushing back with stark clarity.
The lightning bolt. The bone collector. Their mission. And they wanted my help. They saw me as more than just someone’s wife.
My mind began spinning with possibilities. With hope. That lightning bolt was valuable, a relic among the likes of which we’d never seen. The Academy of Scholars & Historians would want to collect it so theycould study it, so they could get clues about where the other spirits’ weapons might be located.
If I brought that bolt to them, they might take me seriously as a candidate, might even allow me to join the academy. I could finally live my life on my own terms and not someone else’s.
If I went after it, I’d also have a chance to see the bone collector again. My heart thumped for a different reason I didn’t particularly want to explore.
My feet started moving again. I trudged through the snow toward the town that sat nestled at the top of the road, all the wooden buildings topped with heavy snowfall.
Leoni and Driscoll had told me to meet them there. I would go now. I’d wait for them at the inn all day if that’s what it took. My neck pulsed with pain, and I winced, hoping this scarf covered all the bruises.
Despite all the horrible things that had happened, for the first time in a long time, a curious emotion stirred inside of me. An emotion that felt suspiciously like hope.
Chapter Five
EMORY
By the time I made my way into the Haverford Inn, my feet and hands had gone numb, and ice crystals lined my eyelashes. My frost magic made me less susceptible to the cold but not immune. Long exposure and inappropriate clothing for the winter weather still affected frost elementals, just less than it would others. Someone without frost magic might have frostbite and be on their way to losing multiple toes and fingers by now. Neither would happen to me, but I was eager to get out of the cold. Warmth immediately spread through me as I entered the cozy space, full of high-top tables and plush leather chairs and couches. A huge crackling fire burned in the stone hearth. The large square hearth sat in the middle of the room, and I immediately wove toward it.
Two sky elementals sat at a table, wings spread out behind them as they bent their heads together. Other than them and the barkeep, the place was empty. I caught random bits of the elementals’ conversation. About the conclave. The frost queen. How she wanted to control the narrative about this shadow king, wanted to investigate more herselfbefore believing the other rulers about his existence. A problem, but not mine to deal with, thankfully.
My gaze wandered to the staircase that led up to the second level, where the rooms were. They were somewhere up there right now, probably still sleeping. I warmed my hands over the fire, melting away the cold still lurking in my bones. I could only stand the heat for a few minutes before it became overbearing and I had to move away. Unsurprisingly, frost elementals weren’t big fans of fire.
Color had returned to my hands, and I wiggled my toes in my boots.
“Miss?” a voice said.
I turned to see a man standing there, skin and hair pale, as was common with those from Fyriad. His eyes trailed down my body, and I flushed as I realized what he was seeing: me in my thin, silver nightgown, with only my fur cloak covering me while I held the chest in my arms. I cleared my throat and set the chest down, then tugged the cloak tight over my shoulders.
“Good morning. I’m meeting someone here. Guests, actually. Maybe you could point me in the direction of their room?” He stared at me like he wasn’t sure what to do, so I kept talking. I raised my hand over my head. “Tall, skinny man with light brown skin and a penchant for talking nonstop.” I lowered my hand down to my shoulders. “Short woman, pale, freckles, wears her hair in a bun and is generally very serious.”
He continued to stare. “You’re Lord Growley’s wife, aren’t you? Lady Emory?” He scratched his head.
I inwardly cursed. Of course I’d be recognized. This had been a bad idea. I should’ve been more covert, at least used the hood of my cloak to cover my head. I might as well have attached a bell to myself that could ring out my presence everywhere I went.
I cleared my throat and raised my chin, adopting the calm, self-assured Lady Emory. “Yes, I am. I’m actually here on my husband’s behalf, meeting Driscoll Bayliss, the ambassador of the earth court. My husband wanted me to greet him myself and make his acquaintance.”
The man’s gaze flicked to my cloak like he could still see the nightgown underneath. My brain scrambled for some explanation about whyI would come here on my husband’s behalf wearing nothing but a nightgown.
Unsurprisingly it couldn’t because there was absolutely no reason I’d do such a thing unless I was raving mad. Which I was starting to think might be the case.
