The only obvious solution after that was for each Lord to retrieve the chosen women in person, with precautions and checkpoints along every step of the journey. Andrus still had not forgiven himself for the senseless loss of the girl’s life. He never would.

The interior of the inn was filled with warm light, the nose-burning scent of lye soap and wood polish still hanging in the air. The innkeeper smiled at Cirrien, sketching a sort of curtsy for her. “My Lady, it is an honor to provide you shelter for the night.”

Cirrien smiled back, touching her hand over her heart with a nod to the innkeeper. She made a few quick signs with her hands, and the innkeeper’s eyes widened a fraction.

“I…oh. Well.” The woman hesitated, then led Cirrien down a short hall to a solid oak door, three inches thick according to Wyn’s specifications. The bloodwitch had already drawn a blood sigil on the wood, burning with a faint crimson light. “This is the room for you and the Lord to share. Please, let me know if you need anything.”

Cirrien’s smile had grown a touch stiff at the woman’s reaction to her lack of speech, but she touched the innkeeper’s hand, then pressed a hand to her heart again before pushing the door open.

I followed her inside, gently shooing the innkeeper away—not that the woman wanted to linger with me here.

Inside the room, there was one large bed, covered with tidy white linens, a reading chair and a small desk, and a wardrobe.

“The bloodwards will prevent intrusion.” I pushed aside the thick drapes to check the window, but I shouldn’t have doubted Wyn. A sigil had been drawn on each pane of glass. “They’re not a perfect shield, but they’ll provide warning if anyone tries to break through.”

Cirrien immediately sat in the chair, spreading her skirts in a froth around her, and began rifling through the drawers of the desk. When she failed to find what she was looking for, she exhaled a hissing breath, the first and only sound I’d heard her make, her eyes pinched shut with frustration.

“I will bring you paper.”

A beat passed. Her eyes opened; she gazed at me over her shoulder, those green eyes lighting up, then extended a single finger to the bare wood of the desk and began to slowly shape large letters, using the common Veladari alphabet and pausing between words. She glanced up at me after each word had been formed.

P-A-P-E-R. I-S. E-X-P-E-N-S-I-V-E.

I couldn’t stop the upward twitch of my lips, though my smile was as frightful as my scowls. “You are soon to be the Lady of the Rift. Paper is not too expensive for you.”

S-L-A-T-E. W-I-L-L. D-O.

“You will be my wife tomorrow, and you will have paper. I’ll have Wyn stay here with you while I’m gone.”

At that, Cirrien shook her head, her crimson hair loosening from its braid and spilling down her back in waves. The motion sent her fragrance spilling through the air, the sweet roses and musk of skin beneath it.

My mouth watered. I swallowed hard, forcing my nostrils shut. I wanted to reach out and touch that hair, feel the silk on my own undeserving fingers.

Instead, I clenched my hands, knowing she would not appreciate my touch.

Cirrien did not see; she had already turned back to forming letters.

I. W-O-U-L-D. L-I-K-E. T-O. B-E. A-L-O-N-E.

“My lady… you are to be kept under guard until we reach Ravenscry. The risk is too great, even with walls and guardians.”

P-L-E-A-S-E.

She looked up at me again, her gaze trailing over my face like an almost physical caress… and the tightness of her jaw, the line of white around her lips from keeping them still, made it clear to me what she was truly requesting.

Not merely privacy, but time to grieve.

Leaving her alone would be terribly unwise. She could sob alone in the safety of Ravenscry if she wished.

But now that I saw the signs of strain, I could not stop myself from wanting to give her something, whatever tiny gift would make up for having her life torn away.

Why had I agreed to the Accords? What was it but a century of thin tolerance and carefully-disguised horror ahead of us?

The folly of youth… never had I imagined, when I was young and handsome, that a woman would cry tears of mourning on our wedding night.

“Very well. Keep the windows shut. Do not open the door for anyone but myself or Olwyn. I’ll be back.”

My voice came out in a thick snarl, and my bride flinched. That was the last I saw of her as I swept into the hall, pulling the door shut and locking it behind me with a small key.

Wyn was descending the stairs as I strode towards the front door. “She’s locked in her room and she wishes to be alone. Keep an ear on her, but don’t intrude.”

I didn’t wait for my advisor’s reply before I stepped into the cool night air. Crickets sang, the breeze whispered, and I stood still in the street, calming myself.

Soon we would be home.

Home for me, but not for her.

She would have an entire tower of the castle to herself, and after tomorrow, she could choose to never lay eyes on me outside of the required duties as the Lady.

Wyn’s consolations echoed in my ears, that there were other options.

But I did not want those options. I had come to Argent expecting to find one of those women who shrieked and fell all over themselves to get away from me; I hadn’t expected cool determination, nor even the frustration of not being able to speak to me at all.

Or the kindness of throwing the silver and rowan outside the carriage.

I realized I wanted Cirrien to look at me with something other than disgust. It would never be love, nor even simple lust, but perhaps—companionship.

Paper. I would bring her paper, and it would please her. It was strange for a woman with a lai in her name to be concerned about the cost, but perhaps her family had been high nobility in name only. Many coffers had been drained to fund the defense against the Forians.

Most of the shops in Thornvale were closed for the night, doors locked and lanterns dim. I walked past open taverns, my ears swiveling to pick up hushed laughter and filthy jokes, until I found a bookshop with the lanterns still lit.

A brass bell jingled as I pushed the door open. An old man was stacking books behind the counter, grumbling to himself.

He turned, freezing in place when he saw me, but as he took in my face he relaxed. “Lord Bane. What can this humble scholar do for you?”

I thanked the ancestors that the people of the Rift had welcomed my kind with almost entirely open arms in their desperation to be free of the wolves’ predation. They might not be entirely comfortable with me, but Wyn and my legions had gone a long way in ensuring that the humans would not panic in my presence.

At the very least, they knew they trusted me with their lives—and I had done well enough at preserving them that the Rift-kin were respectful.

I thought for a moment, looking over the neatly-alphabetized stacks and tidy spines. “Paper. I need plain paper, and a pen. And ink. And maybe something to read that a young woman would enjoy.”

The bookseller’s brows rose, but he did not mention the Lady. The news of Andrus’s first bride and her ultimate fate had traveled across the country like lightning. The superstitious Rift-kin would not speak her name until she was safely ensconced in Ravenscry.

“I have paper,” he said, digging under the counter for loose-leaf sheets, and several bound journals. “Look over these while I find a book.”

He puttered off to the shelves while I sorted through the selection. Loose-leaf would be unwieldy. Of the journals, two were too thin. The last one was thick, two inches’ worth of pages, and large enough to serve as a ledger. It was bound with crimson leather, a good omen.

I opened it and looked over the creamy white pages, wondering what Cirrien’s writing would look like when it covered that empty expanse. What thoughts filled her head that she couldn’t send into the world with a breath?