Chapter 59 Trinkets

Chapter 59 Trinkets

ANA

My boots crunched on a shard of glass before I even reached the center of the room.
Vessa did not look down.
Her fingers were dug into the hem of my grey wool gown, the one with the slight tear near the pocket that Sena had promised to mend after the midday meal. She gave it a hard yank. The fabric tore with a dry, screeching sound that went right through my ears. She threw the pieces down on top of the pile of shifts and stockings already carpeting the stone.
"Vessa, let go of that," Rhydian said.
His voice didn't rise, but he took two long strides into the room, his hand reaching for her forearm. He missed her wrist as she twisted away, catching the edge of her loose sleeve instead. The silk strained.
Vessa jerked herself backward, her heel catching on the overturned leg of the writing desk. She stumbled, her hip hitting the wall before she straightened herself. Her breath came out in short, rattling puffs, her hair falling out of its pins and sticking to the sweat on her cheeks.
"Don't touch me, Rhydian. Don't you dare touch me while she's standing there. Look at this place. Look at what she keeps under your roof."
I couldn't look at the floor.
My eyes stayed on the writing desk where the inkwell had spilled. The dark liquid was soaking into the grain of the wood, dripping slowly from the edge onto a pair of my linen stays. A small silver comb lay in the puddle, its teeth blackened by the ink. It had a specific crest small enough to hide under a thumb, three small ridges worn smooth at the edges from years of use.
"She's a thief," Vessa said, pointing a finger at me. Her hand shook so much her fingernail clicked against the wooden frame of the wardrobe. "A common little mouse taking things from the western vaults. I went to find the blue velvet kirtle—the one with the seed pearls from the former Queen's dowry—and it wasn't in the cedar chest. I came here. I found the silver comb. I found the small lacquer box with the ivory inlay. She's been creeping through the corridors while everyone sleeps. She hoards them."
My tongue felt thick, sticking to the roof of my mouth.
"I didn't take anything from the vaults, Vessa," I said.
The words came out low, almost muffled by the weight in my throat.
I took a step toward the comb, then stopped because my knee shook.
"The comb was already in the trunk they gave me when I was moved to the eastern wing."
"The trunk they gave you?" Vessa let out a short, harsh sound that wasn't a laugh. She looked at Rhydian, her eyes wide and red-rimmed. "Listen to her. She's already making excuses. These are royal articles, Rhydian. They belong to the council now. They belong to the state. Taking them out of the chambers is a high offense. It's five years in the lower cells. I'll have the guards lock this room. I'll take her before Alpha Bram myself in the morning."
Rhydian moved between us then, his back blocking her from my sight.
His shoulders looked very broad in the small room, the linen of his shirt still wrinkled from the bed.
"Go back to your wing, Vessa. Sena, take her."
"No!" Vessa screamed from behind him.
A heavy ceramic basin hit the floor near his boots, shattering into three large pieces that skittered across the stone.
"I want her out. She's a kleptomaniac. She's sick, Rhydian. She takes things because she wants to be more than a servant. Look at her jaw. She's turning grey just because I found her out."
My fingers went numb, curling into the palms of my hands until the skin hurt.
The room felt too small, the smell of spilled ink and Vessa's heavy rose perfume clogging my nose.
Five years.
The lower cells had no light, only the water that leaked from the river through the mortar.
Alpha Bram wouldn't look at the comb.
He would look at the law, the one he wrote himself when the previous rulers were taken out to the courtyard. He would see a concubine with royal property in her room.
I turned around.
My skirts caught on a piece of the broken basin, tearing slightly at the hem, but I didn't stop to fix it. I ran out into the corridor, my shoes slipping on the smooth floor before I found my footing.
Sena called my name from behind the door, her voice getting smaller as I reached the turn by the old armory.
I didn't go toward the eastern wing or the gardens.
The air in the main building was too thick, full of the sound of people moving trunks and setting tables for the evening meal.
I went down the narrow stairs where the servants carried the laundry, down to the small stone alcove beneath the old buttress where the wood was piled for the winter.
It was cold down here, the wind coming through the arrow slits in the foundation.
I pulled my knees up to my chin, sitting on a dry log that smelled of pine sap.
My throat burned from running so fast, and every time I tried to swallow, it felt like there was a lump of salt stuck in my neck.
A shadow fell across the grey light from the slit.
Rhydian's boots appeared on the bottom step.
He didn't come down quickly. He took each step with his head down, watching where his feet landed on the damp stone. His shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, and he had a smudge of dark ink across the side of his thumb.
He didn't speak when he reached the bottom.
He walked over to the woodpile, sat down on a crate three feet away from me, and leaned his elbows on his knees.
He looked at his hands for a long time, turning his palms up and then down again.
"Sena is cleaning the ink," he said after a while.
I didn't move my head from my knees.
"Did she take the comb?"
"No."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out the small silver piece.
The ink had dried into a dull crust between the teeth, but the three ridges on the back were still there.
"I put it in my pocket."
He laid it on the log between us, his fingers lingering on the metal for a second before he drew them back.
"Vessa is in her rooms. Alpha Bram won't hear about this."
"She'll tell him anyway," I said, my voice cracking on the last word.
I wiped my nose with the back of my sleeve, the rough wool scraping my skin.
"She hates me enough to go to the council hall before breakfast. She wants me in the cells, Rhydian. She wants everyone to think I'm some dirty thing that takes what doesn't belong to her."
Rhydian looked at the arrow slit, where the sky was turning the color of old tin.
"She won't go to Alpha Bram because I told her if she speaks of the vaults to anyone, I'll have the records of her father's grain allocations brought before the steward. There are four thousand bushels missing from the winter count. She knows what that means."
He leaned forward, his hand reaching out toward my foot.
He didn't grab my ankle. He just let his fingers rest against the leather of my boot, his thumb moving slightly against the stitching.
"You don't have to run down here, Ana. The house is mine as much as it is Bram's."
"It's not mine," I whispered.
My forehead felt hot against my knees.
"Nothing about this is mine. I never touched the vaults. The comb was already in the trunk when they brought me to the eastern wing. I didn't even think about where it came from until Vessa started tearing the room apart."
Rhydian didn't look surprised.
He didn't look away either.
He just shifted his weight on the crate, the old wood groaning under him.
"I'll have the rest of them brought down."
I lifted my head then, my neck stiff from sitting curled up.
"The rest of what?"
"The boxes from the western gallery," he said. His eyes looked almost black in the grey light of the alcove. "The trinkets with the three ridges. The blue kirtle with the pearls. All of it."
I stared at him.
"You can't do that."
"I can."
"The council checks the inventory every third month," I said. "Alpha Bram has a ledger with every ring and cup written down in his own hand."
"Then let him check it."
Rhydian leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees.
"I'll have the steward record that the items were moved to my private quarters for review. If they're in my keeping, Vessa won't be able to claim you're hiding anything. She won't be able to use them against you again."
I looked down at the comb lying on the log between us.
"Rhydian—"
"No."
His voice was quiet but firm.
"You're not going to spend the next month waiting for someone to drag you before Alpha Bram over a comb you never stole."
He reached over and took my hand, his fingers cool against my skin.
He didn't pull me toward him. He just held my palm flat against his own, his thumb tracing the small scar near my knuckle.
"The things will stay in my rooms," he said. "If anyone has questions, they can bring them to me."
Then he stood, pulling me gently to my feet.
My legs were stiff, and I stumbled against his chest before I found my balance.
He didn't let go of my hand.
He held it against his side as we walked toward the stairs, the silver comb tucked safely back into his pocket.