Asha stands and presses her hands together as she studies me. “Our mother is weak. Our father has abandoned us.” She steps closer, her voice hardening into threads of steel. “You and I, Annora, we are the needles that must stitch our people together again. We cannot let our house unravel and fade away.”
Asha holds up a hand before I can respond. “No. You must stand with us. You must be strong, as I have been strong. In two days’ time, you will marry Lord Kendrick, sealing an alliance that will ensure our people’s survival.”
I open my mouth, but I find no words. None that agree with her demands or refuse her wishes.
Even if I did find the words, what would I say? That I do not wish for this marriage to a man I’ve scarcely met? That my ambitions are not the same as hers?
Asha has always been decisive. While I remain the gentle stream, flowing where the ground takes me. But she is right about one thing. Our house and the silver threads that bind us frays a little more each day. If this marriage can mend it, make it whole again, is that not my duty?
Asha’s expression softens as she reaches out and squeezes my shoulder. “You care deeply for our people. I know you will not fail them.”
She doesn’t wait for my response. Instead, she leaves me, closing the door behind her with a definitive click.
I exhale and bury my face against my hands. I don’t want Lord Kendrick. How could I when my heart longs for Jasce?
But Asha has sacrificed so much for our house and for me.
I cannot disappoint her.
I glance up at the closed door, the dark wood like a wall separating me from the future I wish I could have. A future where Jasce isn’t chieftain of the House of Crimson. Where our houses aren’t locked in generations of hatred and bloodshed. A future where I can follow my heart instead of stifling its whispers for the good of others.
Unfortunately, my wishes don’t change my reality. I must do my duty, even if means giving up my hopes of happiness.
ChapterThirteen
ANNORA
Long after she left,Asha’s voice lingers like a ghost, her argument sensible, logical. Marry for strength, for unity.
I close my eyes and press the heels of my palms into them until I see stars. The idea of marriage to Kendrick is like a well-tailored gown, exquisite to look at but suffocating when worn.
A sigh escapes my lips as duty and desire clash within me like two storm fronts destined to collide. My heart wants one thing. My mind drags me in a completely different direction.
I abandon the window and pace the room as the door opens, and Emerin steps inside, a smile already on her lips.
“Do you fancy a trip into the city to shop for fabric? I want some new cotehardies,” she says.
“I’d love that,” I say, knowing I could use a reprieve from my thoughts.
I put my veil back on, grab my leather satchel, then follow Emerin out of my bedchamber. Together, we stride through the corridors, our footsteps echoing off the stone walls. Emerin’s voice fills the space between us as she talks about sewing the gowns herself. I offer to help her, and she grins and thanks me.
We emerge from the shadowed hallways into the harsh light of day. The sun sits high in the sky, and the air holds the heat of a thousand ovens.
Emerin shields her eyes from the sun. “It’s a fine day for browsing the markets,” she says, her voice carrying a hint of enthusiasm that I can’t quite match.
If one considers sweating profusely and being slowly roasted alive a fine day, then I guess she’s right. But I keep my thoughts to myself, not wanting to dampen her excitement for our little excursion.
As we draw nearer to the gate leading to the city, the rhythmic ring of hammer on anvil echoes over the walls. The scents grow stronger too—the warm, earthy aroma of cardamom and the sharp, citrusy tang of coriander, alongside less pleasant odors I try not to focus on.
We pass through the fortress gate, where guards stand sweating in the heat. Inside the city, lies a labyrinth of narrow streets and alleyways, all packed tightly with stalls and bodies.
Silks in vibrant jewel tones hang from awnings, rippling gently in the faint breeze like the undulating scales of some exotic serpent. Baskets brim with fruits and vegetables, some I do not even recognize—strange, spiny orbs and gnarled roots that look like they were plucked from another world.
Emerin gasps and rushes over to a table laden with swaths of embroidered fabrics. I follow behind at a slower pace. A peddler waylays me, offering me a silver necklace with an oval locket. I shake my head politely and continue until my eyes catch on a stall filled with seashells.
Knots tighten in my chest as I remember the necklace Jasce gave me, and guilt hits me for even considering marrying Kendrick.
“Annora, look at this brocade.” Emerin holds up a shimmering length of emerald silk. “Don’t you think it would make the most divine gown?”
