INICIAR SESIÓNRomy pov The air inside the main house sat thick and stale, tasting of old wood and damp cloth.Pamela stood by the heavy oak sideboard in the dining hall, counting through a stack of yellow delivery slips. “The automated network is dropping packets again, Romy,” she said, her fingers sliding one slip to the bottom of the pile. “Go down to the transit terminal and verify the dry goods by hand. Take the lower road.”I nodded once and kept my face flat. If her errand got me out of the villa for an hour, I’d let her think I was listening.I pulled my heavy coat off the iron peg by the pantry before she finished speaking. My boots hit the gravel path outside, the soles sliding sideways on the grey patches of thin ice on the asphalt.The weight behind my collarbone pulled harder with every ten yards I put between myself and the residential block. It pulled like a cold wire hooked under my collarbone. I tucked my chin into my wool collar and kept walking.The freezing sleet came down in gr
Romy povThe air inside the main house was thick and stale and smelled like old wood and damp cloth.Pamela was standing by the heavy oak sideboard in the dining hall, counting through a stack of yellow delivery slips. “The automated network is dropping packets again, Romy,” she said, her fingers sliding one slip to the bottom of the pile. “Go down to the transit terminal and verify the dry-goods manifests by hand. Take the lower road.”I nodded, keeping my face flat. If her errand got me out of the villa for an hour, I’d let her think I was listening.I pulled my heavy coat off the iron peg by the pantry before she finished speaking, my boots already hitting the gravel path outside.The weight behind my collarbone pulled harder with every ten yards I put between myself and the residential block. It pulled like a cold wire hooked under my collarbone. But I tucked my chin into my wool collar and kept walking as the free
Romy povThe gauze on my palm kept splitting at the stitching every time I pressed the stylus down to log the barrel numbers. The kitchen was quiet except for the ice maker in the corner, dropping cubes into the bin with a dull thud every few minutes.The heavy oak door behind the counter clicked open and Rowanwalked in, his broad shoulders filling the frame before he even stepped through. The smell of freezing rain and wet wool hit the small space instantly, coming off the dark collar of his coat in a faint, cold mist.He didn’t drop his keys on the hook by the door or even look toward the pantry logs. He just moved straight to the desk, leaned over my shoulder from behind, his chest briefly pressing against my back as he reached past me.The cold brass buttons of his jacket brushed my upper shoulder through the thin cotton of my shirt. He didn’t take the stylus, neither did hetouch the tablet.His left hand came down on my hip,
Romy PovThe brass garden tap behind the garage didn’t have a rubber washer left in it. Freezing well water kept dribbling over the brass thread, running straight down my forearm into the sleeve of my thermal shirt. The skin on my knuckles was grey and thick with dried lime wash from the cellar. They split across my middle finger and opened again every time I tried to scrub the crusted white paste out of my nails.A delivery pickup came down the lane and braked hard near the loading bay. The engine cut and Liam Mercer dropped from the cab.He didn’t bother checking the delivery log on the sun visor, he unfastened the tailgate with his left hand, his work gloves tucked under his arm while he dragged a fifty-pound sack of road salt toward the edge of the truck bed.His dark hair was flat on one side from the rain, stuck to his temples in thin streaks that ran to his jawline. When he lifted the second crate of winter fluid, his shoulder hit the steel corner of the truck bed. He caught
Romy povThe hamper handles dug into my palms. The rough fiber caught in the small cuts I’d got at the cistern that morning, pulling them back open with every shift of my grip.Pamela did not look me in the face when she gestured to the bottom steps. Her chin was buried in her wool collar, and her fingers moved through a set of brass keys that didn’t belong to the pantry lines.She told me to go down and sort the winter wools in the lowest cellar because the damp from the stone floor would damage the fibers if left any longer. Her shoulder was angled just enough to block the main hall behind her.My boots wouldn’t move from the floor. A house like this did not leave three crates of northern valley wool in a lime-wash cellar where the river mud came through the mortar every time the frost broke. Pamela knew a great deal about rot. So did I.I cleared my throat, my thumb still moving over the rough twine on the hamper’s handle. “Esther usually handles the winter linens, Pamela.”Pamela’
Rowan povThe morning delivery hadn’t come. When I walked into the granary, two wagons were backed into the mud by the outer wall, their drivers hunched on the tailgates with their coats pulled up over their ears and the iron scales were empty.Aaron was sorting through the leather tags on the wall pegs, his thumb dragging across the ink markings– so engrossed that he didn't even turn around when my boots hit the gravel by the entrance.“Pamela had the salt pork moved to the lower cellar an hour ago,” Aaron said, his jaw staying rigid as he dropped a wooden marker into a basket. “She told the carters the northern storehouse was leaking through the shingles. I checked the roof yesterday. The oak slats are dry.”I didn’t answer him. I walked past the grain bins toward the long hall that connected the main house to the kitchen hall. The air in the passage was cold, smelling of the wax candles the servants left in the iron wall brackets overnight.My mother was standing by the high arched
Romy POVThe phone belonged to one of the kitchen girls.Not Petra–Petra I liked, and I wasn't going to burn her. It was the one who left her jacket on the south terrace twice a week and spent her break leaning against the service wall scrolling through something that wasn't estate business. I'd b
Rowan POVThe fire had burned low by the time I came back to the study. I poured whiskey into a glass and sat behind the desk with the intention of reviewing council reports before bed.I had barely gone through four pages when Valerie knocked. I could smell her awful perfume even with the door cl
Romy pov"Nira," the mother said, moving toward her."It's all right," I said. I crouched down to the girl's level–before she could pull the girl away.She looked at my face and then at the raven tattoo on my neck and then back at the curl she was holding between her fingers, and she said, with com
Romy povThe closer we got, the louder the estate became.Voices drifted through the corridor ahead. Crystal glasses clinked softly. Somewhere deeper inside the west wing, a piano played low enough to feel more atmospheric than intentional.Then the receiving room doors







