Page 23 of Spark of Madness

I force a smile to touch my cheeks, but humor and happiness evade me. The memory of Arlo Rainn floods my veins with contradictions—heat and pleasure through my belly at the recollection of the way he touched me, fear and fury for the threatening promise he made for punishment.

“I want nothing from a sinner like you, Mercy Madness.”

I swallow a lump in my throat at the recollection of his words and the unearned shame I somehow feel about them.

I know I’m a sinner in his eyes—in everyone’s eyes, soon enough.

But I don’t feel like I am.

I only feel like a woman trying to survive madness.

My heartbeat quickens, and I suddenly feel overwhelmed. I quickly climb to my feet. “Don’t feel insulted.” I pat Cambria’s hand. “I promise, there’s nothing interesting to tell you.” I look at Ellary. “I think I’ll go get some fresh air. Promise you’ll look after her?”

“I always do,” Ellary promises.

I grin, blowing them both a kiss before I turn away. When I do, the smile quickly drops as I let my face fall to accurately reflect my melancholy. I don’t expect anyone to see, but I glance sideways and catch Delle’s gaze fixed on me from where she sits on the side of her bed. She sees my expression, the emotional ache of my soul radiating through my frown. Instinct tells me to cover it with a smile, but before my lips twist, I see it—the same soul ache within her.

She’s a mirror, reflecting me exactly as I was at her age four years ago, when disdain dripped from my pores.

But I know better now.

I know I have to hide it.

I let it slip and she saw it, and I don’t want her learning bad habits from me that might get her into trouble.

I have toget away from here.

I smile at her before marching toward the two wooden doors that lead out to the village square. Grabbing hold of the long metal handle, I pull the heavy door open, letting the morning sun shine in and cast its rays across the dark wood floors.

I grip the layers of my black mid-length skirt. Though servants must always wear black, we’re allowed to make more modest clothing choices outside of nights of service. I’ve put on a long-sleeve, form-fitting black top that covers my shoulders and has a sweetheart neckline. My high-waisted skirt is made of layers of lace that float around me in asymmetric tiers, and I always wear the same lace-up ankle boots. Lifting my skirt up to my knees, I prepare to run.

I plod down the stone steps and sprint over the gravel, sprinting across the open village square. My eyes are set on the tree line of the forest ahead, the small stones crunching beneath my feet.

I spare a single glance at the Homestead as I run parallel to the massive structure, sneering at its pretension before turning my focus ahead to the trees.

Are they in there right now deciding mypunishment?

Has it already been decided?

I push harder, running faster, sprinting to the trees as my lungs burn.

But I don’t stop.

I don’t stop as gravel turns to dirt. I don’t stop as open space becomes cluttered with tall trees that surround me as I cross into the forest. I don’t stop for fallen branches, leaping over them as my feet crunch over twigs and leaves on the forest floor. I don’t stop until I reach it—the tree where I keep it hidden.

I slow to a walk as I approach the tree and circle around to the other side. Stopping, I step in close, raising onto the balls of my feet and reaching my arm high. Slipping my hand into the open knot of the trunk, I feel around as I stretch, my cheek pressed against the bark. My fingers touch leather and I grapple for a grip on it. When I have a firm hold, I pull out the leather-bound journal and lower to my flat feet.

Looking down at it, I brush the dirt away—my mother Mira’s journal. I’d found it three months ago while cleaning out my father’s home in the village after he died. It was in the table beside his bed, which was odd because I’d never seen it there before. It was almost as if I were meant to find it—almost as if it were meant to findme.

I tuck it beneath my arm, and head deeper into the forest, heading for the one place where peace always finds me.

chapter nine

Mercy

AS I COMEthrough the trees, my mother’s journal held in my grip, I’m overcome by the radiant sunshine that dares to exist after such a dark night of service. Tufts of white clouds dot the brilliant blue sky, and the sun is warm where it touches my skin. I can’t help but let it bring a smile to my face.

Ahead of me is the open meadow. It’s laid out beneath the rolling hills, which lead out toward the mountains—my own personal sanctuary.

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