Chapter 7
792 Words
Chapter 7
She looked down at her palm. The wound was gone, skin smooth and unbroken, like it had never happened at all. Only a faint warmth lingered in her fingertips, the last trace of the gift settling back into wherever it lived inside her.
She flexed her hand slowly, testing it, making sure there was no lingering glow, no proof left behind.
Nothing. Just skin.
She let out a slow breath and stood, legs still a little weak from how much she had given the healing tonight. She would need to be more careful. Much more careful. One curious maid tonight could easily become a dozen curious eyes tomorrow if she was not.
She smoothed down the front of her tattered dress, the same one she had worn since walking out of the camp gates that morning, and made her way out of the storage room and down the narrow servant's hallway.
The house looked different from this angle, dimmer, quieter, the kind of quiet that came from people avoiding each other rather than the peace of rest. She passed a few closed doors, muffled voices behind some of them, and made her way toward the main part of the house where the family gathered.
Her mind raced the whole walk there. Why would they call for her now? It was late. The party for Rowena had ended hours ago, most of the guests already gone home or retired to their rooms for the night. There was no reason for the family to want her, not unless something had happened, not unless someone had said something.
Had the maid told someone already, despite brushing it off in front of Callie? Had Rowena spun something new out of the earlier fight to use against her?
Her stomach turned over with each step, old fear creeping back in, the kind that made her want to disappear into the walls rather than walk toward whatever waited for her.
She reached the sitting room door and paused outside it; a small breath and a straightened spine before she reached for the handle.
She would give them nothing. No matter what waited on the other side, no matter what accusation was thrown at her, she would give them nothing to use.
She pushed the door open.
Inside, the family sat scattered around the room, expressions unreadable in the low lamplight. Her mother sat stiff on the settee, hands folded tightly in her lap. Her father stood near the window, arms crossed, staring out at nothing. Peter leaned against the wall near the fireplace, jaw tight, refusing to meet her eyes when she entered. Rowena sat curled in a large chair, looking small and delicate, though Callie now knew better than to trust anything about that image.
No one spoke for a moment.
Callie stood just inside the doorway, waiting, her hands clasped tightly in front of her to keep them from shaking.
Finally, her mother looked up, face unreadable. "Sit down, Callie."
Callie did not move right away. "Why was I called here?"
Her father turned from the window, his expression hard. "Because we have decided something, and you need to hear it directly from us."
Callie's heart pounded harder, bracing herself for whatever came next; another punishment, another cruelty dressed up as concern.
"There is a dignitary staying in this house," her mother said slowly, choosing her words with care. "A general from the Northern Isles. He is here for important talks tied to the upcoming ceremony between Liam and your sister."
Callie's stomach dropped, thinking instantly of the man from the party, the pale, pained face she had seen across the crowded room.
"What about him?" she asked carefully.
Her father's eyes narrowed slightly. "He has requested a personal servant to attend to him during his stay. Someone quiet, someone discreet."
The room went very still.
"And we have decided," her mother continued, voice tight with something that sounded almost like distaste, "that it will be you."
Callie blinked, caught completely off guard. "Me?"
"You," her father said flatly. "You will attend to his needs personally for as long as he remains under this roof. You will make yourself useful for once, and you will not embarrass this family in front of an important guest."
Rowena's mouth curled into the faintest smile from her chair, clearly delighted by whatever advantage she thought this arrangement gave her.
Peter said nothing at all, still refusing to look at Callie directly.
Callie stood frozen in the doorway, mind racing. Of all the things she had braced herself to hear walking into this room, this was not one of them.
Her mother's voice cut through her thoughts, sharp and final. "You start tomorrow morning. Do not disappoint us."
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