Page 16 of The Surrender

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend-”

I jump when she puts her half-bird beak in my face and tilts her head to say, “Shh....ladyyy does not offenddd. My ladyyy,” she empathizes, and my cheek breaks out in goosebumps when she curves her fingertips to the skin there. “Friends,” she dictates pointedly.

“Where?” My shoulders lift.

“Across the bridge. Down, down, downnn the mountainside where the skyyy dresses the trees.”

Expectant at the idea of exploring more of my surroundings, I smother any nagging little voices in the back of my head reminding me of how Kyan stipulated the castle or the grounds in his note. “How far?”

“Three miles down, my lady,” announces the familiar, crackly voice from the now-open door. I turn and smile at the old steward who narrows his beady eyes upon me. “Shall I call for a coach or a horse?”

Chewing on my inner cheek, I glance out the windows but don’t see any clouds knitting the sky. Just that ever-present gray haze that is the Waste. “No, I think I would like to walk.”

Eyn-Amaru and Oliver trade blinking stares before Steward Shift steps forward, tugging the sides of his waistcoat. “My lady, are you certain? Of course, the village would certainly adore the sight of a new lady of the Court of Storms, and the way down may be relatively simple to cross, but should a storm come, you would find yourself exposed to the elements with no shelter until you arrive within the village. Were you to catch a cold, Lord Kyanatu would have my head.”

“Lord Kyanatu?” I question while pushing down any urges to giggle.

Oliver Shift fluffs his beard down until it blossoms like a puff, and I feel my cheeks redden, knowing he’s aggravated by my simper. “It is the Lord of the Court of Storms' true name, not his fallen one, my lady. Some of us still remember the old ways and choose to respect them.”

I nod in understanding. “It wasn’t my intent to offend, I’m sorry.”

His chest grows from a deep breath, and he inclines his gaze back to Eyn-Amaru. She ruffles her feathers in response and the twisted grimace of her smile crooks more. While his expression is one of confusion, hers is far more one of pride and ease—as if her eyes twinkle to say, “I told you so”.

“I suppose we must take steps to ensure I do not catch a cold during the three-mile trek down,” I say with a smile and ask Eyn-Amaru, “Will you fetch me a cloak, please? And Steward Shift, do you have a small pack you may offer me for some warm food and a canteen for some hot water? Please?” I add.

Shift parts his lips, so I may see the little dark slit beyond his beard fluff as if he’s surprised by my courteousness. Naturally, my father drilled the Brothers’ principles into my head for how a young lady of breeding must conduct herself. My back still retains the scars beneath my ink. But it was one of our old house ghosts, Mistress Oakley of our manor, who helped me enjoy such propriety. Not that I ever mastered them aside from the basics.

It doesn’t take them long. After Eyn-Amaru fetches me a cloak—one of warm downy feathers stitched into the long mantle of wool that I learn is waterproof should a storm arise—I step into the hall where Oliver Shift greets me. Instead of a mere canteen, he offers me a vacuum flask. My palms warm immediately upon cupping it.

“You should eat the dream fruit first, my lady. It will refresh you and sweeten your walk,” he explains upon handing me the sack of food. “Also, the tribulation seeds may be bitter, but should you find yourself in a dark place, please, Lady Quintessa, do not hesitate to eat them.”

“A dark place?”

He bristles. “Provided you keep to the causeway as directed, progress straight to the village, and do not cross into the pass, you will be fine. Save the hallow bread for your return. It is consecrated and will not spoil. Everything else will be familiar to you from the Borderlands.”

“Thank you, Steward Shift. This is all...it’s angel fare, right?” I wonder.

He blinks, and I notice his chest tightens as he postures. “Yes. The land of angels holds the world’s richest and most miraculous of fares, my lady. I trust you will not find yourself in such a dark place, but if you do, the tribulation seeds will prove our kind are more than fluffy sweet cakes and shiny wings.”

Our kind? I part my lips to ask, but the Steward clears his throat, bows, and excuses himself. Eyn-Amaru guides me to the nearest exit out of the Court of Storms and directs me to the main causeway, warning me not to deviate from the path.

“Lorddd Kyan’s mountain is safe and guardeddd, my lady,” she informs me while escorting me to the main bridge spanning a sheer drop-off to a low but narrow valley. “But I coulddd accompanyyy you ifff you wishhh.”

I lean in to peck her cheek and shake my head. “I’ll be fine. I imagine tending an entire castle after the Lord has been absent for quite some time requires much work.”

“How diddd you-” I grin, then cover my giggle when she warbles and ruffles her feathers with the corners of her lips curving low. “Cleverrr ladyyy. Yesss, he hasss been absenttt. And I am Headdd Stewardddess of the Court of Storms.”

I raise my brows, a surprised breath catching in my throat. Regret twinges inside me that I’d considered Eyn-Amaru as no more than a maidservant.

“Ladddyyy, my ladyyy,” she reassures me, reading my expression. “Lorddd Kyan has his chamberlain. You have yours, too.”

Bidding me farewell, Eyn-Amaru departs, leaving a warm shock to flood my chest. It lingers as I make my way across the bridge, loving the way the gown sheathes sway with my every move. The appliques upon my upper chest and throat are snug enough to prevent the chilled wind from raking my skin, but they don’t confine me. To think that Eyn-Amaru, who serves as Head Stewardess—a role equal to Oliver Shift’s—accepted the position of a lowlier chamberlain to tend to me. Here and at Drago’s Court.

Too lost in my thoughts, I hardly realize I’ve strayed right into a puddle until the water douses my ankle boots. I spring out of the puddle, grateful for the thick, reinforced leather. No ice spreads into my soles despite the mud caking the heels and sides.

Once my belly rumbles, I lean against the rockface on my left-hand side to fish into the sack. The high walls of the rockface progress down the mountain for about a mile. From this distance, I see where they shrink and open to the lowlands Oliver Shift referenced. Finding the tribulation seeds tucked into the pocket of the sack, I inspect them curiously. They remind me of star anise pods back home, but I remember to save them for a dark place—whatever that means.

Instead, I trudge along the pebbled path and polish off the dream fruit far too quickly. It can’t be helped when it tastes like candy-coated clouds! Next, I nibble the rich and savory hard-boiled eggs, still tender and warm in my sack. Once I make it to the honey-almond granola with fresh oats, I’ve arrived at the edge of the lowlands. And smile.

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