Page 78 of Embers in the Snow

“U-understood.” Solisar is now a meek man who knows when to hold his tongue. I know when and how to wield my power, and men like Lucar Solisar, who crave riches and fame, need to be reminded of where they stand.

Otherwise, they go and do stupid things.

“Good. At our next meeting, I will deal with the administration of your estate and lands.”

“W-what are you talking about?”

“As your future son-in-law, it’s only natural that I take an interest in the financial affairs of House Solisar. But that is for discussion later.” I walk towards the door, leaving him in the center of the room, covered in sweat and breathing heavily, clutching his broken fingers. His eyes are as wide as plates. “One more thing… did she put really a curse on you, Lucar?”

His shoulders slump. “She said that misfortune would follow me in life for what I’ve done to her. And that if I were ever to do anything terrible to Finley, then the same fate would befall my eldest son.”

“What’s her name, Lucar?”

He hesitates. “Aralya,” he says at last.

Aralya.

This is the woman that Lucar stole from a distant land. Finley’s mother.Adryad.

Who was given into my father’s possession, to be studied.

Powerless. Kept captive against her will.Forcedagainst her will. I can’t even fathom such a fate.

Is she even still alive? I need to find out.

A bitter feeling roils around in my chest. For although her suffering can’t even compare to Aralya’s, mother was like that too, especially toward the end.

I push the heavy wooden door and let myself out into the corridor, locking it behind me. Baron Solisar lets out an almighty sob of frustration.

I leave him there, to stew in his regret and impotence.

My mind is already elsewhere. I’m thinking ofher; of her bright-eyed defiance, of how everything about her is sweet and pure.

I want to go to her; to see her again.

Maybe, like me, she isn’t entirely human.

And for the first time in a very long time, I feel a sliver of hope.

24

FINLEY

Filled with disbelief, I stare at the growing mounds of luxurious things on my bed.

The fabrics are finer than anything I’ve worn in my life. Silk that glides beneath the fingertips. Wool so soft and warm it’s like melted butter. The boots and shoes are made from smooth, supple leather that’s been expertly crafted, the stitching immaculate.

I might be a baron’s daughter, but I’ve never seen clothing like this before.

There are two piles. One is returns. The other is for keeps.

Mykeeppile is filled with smart, practical clothing. Plain colors. Unfussy cuts. Mostly trousers, vests, jackets, button-down shirts, and a few skirts. Things I would actually want to wear. The styles might be simple, but they’re impeccably made.

Thereturnspile consists of things that didn’t fit me or things I don’t ever plan on wearing, like that big, flouncy lilac dress.

It isn’t my color atall.

But surprisingly,returnsis the smaller of the two piles. Most of the clothing fits me rather well. Whoever chose it must have a knack for guessing measurements.

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