For some reason, that made me smile. I took his words as a challenge to a game I fully intended to win. He should already know how comfortable I was with cheating.
He didn't like seeing me smile, and certainly didn't return it, which only made me enjoy the moment more. I said to him, "Nor should you trust me. Now go attend to those horses." Then I called to Trina. "Draw a hot bath for me, and have some food waiting in my room. If you do a good job, you can have my scraps."
I felt rage rising in her, which gave me a particularly satisfied smile. I swerved on my heel to follow Gerald into Woodcourt, never looking back.
Why would I? They were only servants.
It was strange to be here again after three years. The house itself looked exactly as it always had, yet it wasn't the same at all. It wasn't the house, of course. I had changed. The first thirteen years of my life had been spent here, existing under my father's rules, where one did not speak until spoken to first, where an accidental cough at dinner was considered unpardonable, and where, aside from Lord Endrick alone, my father ruled his world. Even the cut flowers seemed to bow to him when he walked the halls. Since going to the Lava Fields, I'd eaten beside my servants because it was preferable to eating alone. Darrow had taught me to ride astride, and Cook showed me how to gut the fish Darrow and I used to catch from Unknown Lake. At best, rules were a suggestion, and no one cared when I broke them. Except my handmaidens, of course, but none of them lasted long enough to re-civilize me.
As Gerald led me into the east wing of Woodcourt, he said, "You've been away for a long time, my lady. Do you feel you are coming back a stranger?"
No, I was coming back a traitor, which was much worse. And I'd always felt like a stranger here.
That was true today, more than ever before. I was seeing my home like a forgotten memory, unknown and familiar at the same time. Most rooms bore dark wood-paneled walls, and tiled floors with thick rugs that I used to roll myself in as a child. On the plastered walls in the grand entry, artists had painted scenes of Dallisor family history, though I wondered how many of those were exaggerated in my family's favor to earn the artist extra gold for his work. Surely not all of us were as bold or as handsome as the paintings made us appear. I knew for a fact that before her death, my Grandmother Dallisor had more closely resembled a walrus than the painting in front of me depicted.
Since I hadn't answered Gerald's last question, he changed the topic. "Your father is waiting for you in the library. Did you know he's read every book the library holds? A brilliant man, your father."
"Hmmm." That was the most energy I could muster for this conversation.
When he was home, my father spent most of his time in the library, perhaps because its civilization stood in such stark contrast to Endrick's torture chambers, the other place my father frequented. The library was two stories tall, filled floor to ceiling with books. If a satin-covered diary was still here in Woodcourt, then it was probably somewhere in this room.
Gerald knocked to announce our presence, then opened the door. "Sir Henry, your daughter is here."
I was given permission to enter, and saw my father seated at his desk, reading from a thick marble slab known as a tablet. All Dallisor families had one, as would most loyalists and traders. It was one method by which Endrick sent his orders throughout the country, as messages or images would appear on the tablet at his pleasure. Whatever my father was reading now was obviously more interesting than the daughter he'd not seen for three years.
My father hadn't changed much in that time. He did appear older than he should have--he was near Darrow's age, yet had the face of an elder. He also looked harder than I remembered, any warmth in his expression deadened since our last meeting. The lines around his mouth were creased with sadness, making me sad too. Despite who I knew him to be, no daughter wishes to see so much regret in her father's eyes.
Was it too late for him? Or for us? I drew a deep breath and held it, unsure of whether I wanted those questions answered.
Finally, he glanced up, appraising me with all the generosity of a miser on his last coin. "You look well, though a little untidy."
If he wouldn't show any affection, then neither would I. "I've been traveling since early yesterday morning."
"Yes, but then you were never one to fuss with your appearance. That must change now, Kestra. You are not a child anymore."
"My travels here were an adventure, thank you for asking. But the past three years of my life went well, if you were wondering."
He frowned. "Of course they did. I'd have heard if anything was wrong."
Such as a small garrison of his men having been killed? No doubt Gerald would give him the report later today. I shifted my weight to the other foot, hoping it wouldn't be perceived as my growing impatience with this conversation, although that was exactly the problem. "Why did you bring me home again? All I got was a message demanding that I return by today."
He leaned back in his seat, touching a finger to his lips. "My reasons should have been obvious. You finally agreed to my terms."
"To a marriage of alliance? I'm not seventeen yet. Is this a joke?"
He grunted. "You did agree, Kestra. You sent a letter through your handmaiden, telling me you'd had enough of the Lava Fields and would agree to wed the person of my choice."
My hands curled into fists. "I sent no such letter! Does it sound like me to have made such a stupid concession?"
He stood, thrusting his chair back with enough force to leave a crack in the plaster of his library wall. "It sounded like you had finally grown up, that you were willing to accept your duty as a Dallisor!"
"Agreeing to marry someone I may not like--a person I don't even know--is not a sign I've grown up. The fact that I've grown up is evidenced in the fact that I don't have to subjugate my happiness to your desire for power. I will not do this."
My father marched around his desk and grabbed my arm, hard enough that I suspected it would leave a bruise. Then he all but threw me out of his library, where Gerald was waiting in the hall. No doubt he had heard every word of our fight.
"Tell her maid to dress her like a proper lady, and to have her at supper tonight, where she will meet Sir Basil of Reddengrad and charm him if she knows what's good for her. She will not eat until then. If she does not attend, she will never eat again."
Gerald bowed and then waved a hand to motion me ahead of him down the corridor. I didn't look back at either him or the library as I walked, and not from defiance or conceit. It's only that I didn't want anyone to see the tears so thick in my eyes they nearly blinded me. Simon and Trina could talk all they wanted about the privileges of being a Dallisor, of how I was so much better off than they were. They had no idea what they were talking about. A true privileged life had nothing to do with the softness of bedsheets or the spread of food on a table. It would have meant I still had a mother to welcome me home, and a father who cared more for my happiness than for his personal ambitions.