Page 32 of The Nightmare Bride

A nother week passed, during which I cranked tighter. I swore the manor was shrinking around me, a vise closing me inexorably in its grip.

I was determined to free Zephyrine. And annul my marriage. Yet the search for the Lady Marche’s diary proved fruitless, and my obsession with Kyven only grew.

I prayed. I asked for Zephyrine to help me find the journal, or for Kyven to decide he’d had enough of this and go already. For a fucking housefire to burn the house to ash so I wouldn’t have to face the thing brewing in my depths.

I whispered to the goddess in every moment of weakness, like when I ducked into the defunct music room to escape the blue searchlight of Kyven’s gaze, and again two days later, when I caught him staring at me from across the library and the air between us lit like a flashfire.

Gods among us, that look . Being struck by lightning would have affected me less. And by the way he held my eyes for half an eternity before a smile snuck across his mouth, he knew it, too.

I grabbed for my dagger and rushed from the room. Zephyrine, help me. Under no circumstances can I sleep with this pompous ass. Or...sorry, incredibly arrogant man, that’s what I meant to say. Because if I do, Amryssa can’t marry him, and that would be a disaster. For so many, many reasons.

The dagger zinged against my palm, giving me the distinct impression that Zephyrine was laughing at me before she faded away.

Well, then. On my own again.

Wasn’t that just great.

Somehow, I survived another week. By now, I’d wasted three quarters of a month looking for a stupid diary, and now the final days of my marriage stared me in the face.

Which should have come as a comfort—the annulment certificate would arrive within the week.

But I dreaded a nightmare arriving first.

Amryssa had faded nearly to nothingness. Today, I found her sitting cross-legged in the library, staring out the window.

“Hey.” I was barely able to get the word past the hundred-pound weight in my throat.

She glanced up, sadness etched in her smile. Her hair hung in drab curtains, and even her eyes had lost their hint of green. “Hi.”

“Are you all right?”

Her fragile shoulders rose and fell. “It’s calling to me. Again.”

“What is?”

“The marsh.”

I sucked in a breath. In the past, I’d always brushed off her yearnings, but now they filled me with foreboding. What if there a reason she longed for the swamp? What if freeing Zephyrine took her away from me, somehow? What if...

Seven hells, I probably didn’t even understand all the what-ifs.

I cleared my throat, telling myself not to panic until I had something to panic about . If only I could find that damn diary. Then I’d have some idea of what all this meant. “Can I ask you something?”

Amryssa nodded. “Of course.”

“What do you remember about your mother?”

She blinked. “My mother? Hmm. Warmth, I suppose. Laughter. Brown skin. Shiny black hair. Fingers stained with charcoal—she was always drawing. And a smell like...bergamot tea, maybe? Oh, and hugs. Lots of them.”

My heart squeezed. “She loved you a lot?”

“Oh, fiercely. Me and Father both. Sometimes I think...”

Her throat worked. I waited.

“I think she’d be sorry to know what’s happened to us. Where we’ve ended up.”

That rammed an arrow through my chest, but I forced myself to continue. “But what about the dagger? It was hers, right? Do you remember much about that?”

Amryssa’s attention fell to my belt. “Oh, yes. She used to wear it, just like you. I always thought it was because...well, I don’t know. I suppose I never asked. It’s an heirloom, perhaps.”

Her gaze strayed to the window again. The sheer longing in her eyes made me wilt inside. Goddess, I had to help her. I had to fix this.

So I devoted the rest of the afternoon to sifting through the last brown books in the library. Hours later, I was sweating, cursing myself into a foul mood, when I slid the final volume from its shelf. I cracked the cover to find a primer on...ornithology.

Birds. Freaking birds.

Something snapped inside me. I hurled the book and sank to my knees, my face buried in my hands. I’d failed. I’d pinned my hopes for Amryssa to this, and had nothing at all to show for it.

A pent-up sob cooked the inside of my chest. A moment later, a warm hand landed on my shoulder. I looked up to find Kyven smiling down at me. The collar of his shirt hung open, exposing the smooth column of his neck.

I shouldn’t have stared, but I did. I liked that he so often left that button undone, that I could see the ripple of muscle when he ate, the bob of his throat when he laughed.

Moreover, the sight of him—that thing that blazed inside me whenever he came close—chased away the shadows clogging my veins.

Right now, it was probably the only thing that could.

“The diary might not be in the library,” he said, “but that doesn’t mean it isn’t in this house.”

I scrubbed at my cheeks. “We don’t know that it actually exists, though. What if that steward was wrong? What if the Lady was writing letters? Or...I don’t know. Shopping lists?”

“She wasn’t. He called it a diary. He sounded sure.”

“Maybe. But if she kept a journal, it should be here.”

A mischievous spark flared in his eyes. “Well. There is one more place we could look. A rather obvious one, actually.”

I rocked back on my heels, suddenly wary. Oh, gods. “Why do I have the feeling I know exactly what you mean?”

“Because you do. Of course you do. Great minds, and all that.”

I swallowed. Or tried to, but my throat had gone drier than sand. “We can’t,” I whispered, even though no one was here to overhear. Lunk had taken Amryssa to dinner, bless his soul. “If Olivian finds us in his wife’s room, he’ll kill us. Actually kill us.”

“Then he won’t find us. We’ll make sure of it.”

I fisted my skirts. There were few things I feared, at least physically, but the rage the seneschal had unleashed on that steward was one of them. “We have no way to get inside, though. Olivian keeps the only key in his pocket.”

Kyven’s lips twitched. “You’re forgetting my many talents.”

I frowned, but... Right. He could pick locks.

Like any normal person.

“I’d be happy to do a little breaking and entering,” he said. “It beats reading, at any rate.”

I rubbed at my temples, but really, what was there to consider?

Asking Amryssa about the dagger had gotten me nowhere, and my questions to the blade itself had gone unanswered.

I almost suspected that whatever bit of Zephyrine lived inside had forgotten its divinity.

Or else never understood it in the first place.

And now I was running out of both time and options.

I sighed. “Okay, fine. But if we end up dead, I’m going to be incredibly annoyed with you.”

“You’re already incredibly annoyed with me.”

I huffed. “Yes, but only because—” When I snapped my teeth together, he arched a brow. His smile turned knowing, as if I’d spoken out loud.

I dropped my eyes. “I hate you,” I finished, with no vitriol whatsoever.

“Noted,” he purred.

I cleared my throat. “So when are we embarking on this suicide mission?” This, at least, made for a safer conversational topic than whatever the hell that last thing had been.

“How about tonight? After everyone’s asleep?”

“Tonight,” I said. “Great. Who needs to see another sunrise, anyway?”

I had no idea how long lock-picking was supposed to take, but I was fairly sure it wasn’t ten seconds flat. Which was why I stared at Kyven in horrified wonder when he pushed on the Lady Marche’s door and it actually opened .

He’d made it look so easy.

He offered the hairpin I’d handed over, now broken into halves. “Impressed?”

“Yes.” I pocketed the makeshift lockpicks. “Entirely against my will, but yes.”

He grinned, and I glanced around. The sconces in this wing stayed unlit at night, and moonlight threw odd geometries onto the carpet, courtesy of the hallway’s grimy windows.

“We ought to shut ourselves in,” Kyven said. “In case someone passes by.”

I nodded. The chances of a visitor here were slim, but we would take every precaution. I grabbed his hand and tugged him into the Lady’s room.

And abruptly flung his fingers away when they curled around mine.

Kyven’s disembodied chuckle floated from the darkness, followed by the creak of the door and the scrape of a match. Brightness flared as he lit a candle he’d brought in his pocket.

I spun a slow circle. The wavering light revealed a room that had once been the height of luxury—a four-poster bed stood against one wall, the mattress so high I would’ve needed a stepstool to climb atop.

In the corner, a paneled screen served as a rack for a once-lavish dress.

A mirrored vanity occupied another wall, cosmetics pots and brushes laid out on top.

I squinted. Dust caked the vanity, but streaks marred its surface, as if someone had fondled the Lady’s things. Recently.

“Someone’s been in here,” I said, my breath hitching.

Suddenly, a sick possibility occurred to me, and I did another sweep of the room. But...no Althea. Not even anything of discernible value, like Vick had speculated. Just half-rotted, moth-eaten luxuries, the remnants of a life cut short.

Kyven went to the vanity and ran a finger through the dust. “The seneschal must visit sometimes.”

My gut squeezed. That little tidbit only fueled my impatience to get in and get out. If Olivian found us in here...

Seven hells. I’d rather be caught outside in a nightmare.

“Then let’s make this quick.” I hurried to the standing screen and peeked behind, then patted down the hanging dress for hidden pockets. Kyven went to work, too, rifling through the vanity’s drawers.

The minutes stretched like hours. My stomach cramped with urgency, yet as I flipped up an area rug and hunted through the dusty nether regions of a chaise longue, a dark hole opened inside my chest.

Useless. This was all useless. The next nightmare would come and I’d be no closer to freeing Zephyrine, and?—

“Lioness.”