Page 9 of House of the Beast

I didn’t ask why; I already knew. Kaim or Euphina or Darantha or any of the members of House Avera who disliked my presence had insisted upon my isolation.

Master Vuong had been kind to me, and I hadn’t realized how much I needed that kindness.

Of course it wouldn’t last. He seemed disappointed, and that made me sadder than anything.

For a moment he looked as though he would say something else, but there came the meaningful clearing of someone’s throat from behind him.

Through the doorway, I caught a glimpse of Kaim and Fion sitting together in that sunlit classroom.

My cousin’s eyes were as unyielding as stone, full of triumph as he met my gaze.

To him this was a victory, a return to rights.

He belonged in there, and I belonged out here.

Master Vuong gave me one last regretful bow before turning back. The door closed and I was once again left alone.

WAS IT ANY WONDER THAT I TRIED TO RUN AWAY?

I hadn’t forgotten the deal with my father, but I couldn’t think beyond the urge to get away from this grand estate and its hateful inhabitants.

My heart longed for the safety of my drab little home in Merey.

I kept that paper Master Vuong had handed back to me and wrote a note on the back informing my father of my whereabouts so he would know I hadn’t forgotten my promise.

But Darantha had been right. He had made a mistake in bringing me here.

Maybe I’d do him a favor and leave before he figured that out.

I set off at the first opportunity I got, after the skies grew dark and the attendant in charge of bringing me dinner had left for the night.

I grabbed some sweet buns from the tray and felt very clever as I wrapped them in a napkin and hid them in my pocket.

I smuggled a fancy silver knife in there as well, hoping to sell it somewhere to fetch enough for a ticket back to Metia.

Unfortunately, almost as soon as I set off, I realized that the estate looked very different after sunset.

I already had trouble remembering all the things my father had shown me during his tour, but at night, all the buildings with their tall, angular eaves looked the same, and mountains and woods loomed in the distance every way I turned.

Wrought-iron lamps dotting the pathways provided pockets of light among the darkness, but attendants bustled along them, and the guards seemed to patrol the perimeter of every building, so I had no choice but to stick to the shadows.

Soon enough, I became hopelessly lost.

It did not take long for the cold to seep in. The estate was, after all, cloistered halfway up the mountainside. With my limbs numb and the darkness playing tricks on me, I became careless.

Unfortunately for me, the guards of the Dread Beast were too well trained to miss a figure skulking alone in the night.

“Who’s there?” someone yelled, almost startling me into a bush.

Already halfway panicking, I bolted.

It wasn’t like I had much choice. If I’d stayed, I would’ve been dragged back to my rooms all the same.

But because I ran, the guard who had spotted me came after me and halted my progress with a painful grip upon my arm.

He was a big man, and in the dark, in all his armor, he looked very frightening.

“Don’t you try and run, you little thief!”

My heart was racing so fast it almost hurt, and I felt like I couldn’t breathe.

Thoughts darted half formed through my head.

I had been caught. My efforts had amounted to nothing, and when I returned to face my father, it would be in shame.

I thrashed and writhed in the guard’s hold, and when he gripped harder and shouted for others to come, I began slapping at his face.

There was fear in my struggle but also a sudden, overwhelming rage.

How dare he keep me here? Why would he keep me here, only for me to be locked away like something unwanted?

He had no idea what I had gone through—how desperately I just wished to go home.

I wanted to get him off me. I think I wanted to hurt him.

The next thing I knew, he had stopped shouting. Instead, he made a sick, gurgling noise and went still. That halted me in my tracks, and I turned to see what had happened.

The lower half of his face was gone. His jaw had been torn clean off and was lying on the ground some distance away. Blood splashed from the gaping maw of his mouth onto the pristine grass be neath our feet. Some of it had gotten on my arm and was soaking into my skin.

I looked down at my hand. It was shaking. My fingers were curled like claws, and bits of skin had lodged under my nails.

I realized that the one who had mauled him was me.

The guard let go of me and stumbled back. He brought his hands up to his face as desperate, wretched noises bubbled from his throat. I could see his top row of teeth, stained red and glistening faintly in the darkness.

There were other people around us now, drawn by the commotion, but I barely noticed them.

Two of them held me on either side, speaking in calm tones as if not to startle me, but I could not take my eyes off the guard.

He was crying miserably, still clutching at his mangled face as his colleagues carried him away.

His eyes, when they met mine, were wide with terror.

And then my father was there too, marching angrily across the grounds. He took one look at me in my battered travel coat and reached into my pocket, pulling out the sweet buns and the stolen silverware.

And slapped me.

The force of it snapped my head to the side. It felt like my brains had been plastered against the walls of my skull. Everything spun. I wanted to cry but couldn’t get enough air into my lungs to do so. The guard’s blood was still warm against my skin.

“Bring her to her rooms,” my father snarled. “Get her cleaned up. This will not happen again.”