A Wilderness of Glass - Grace Draven Page 0,11
leaving their bodies and faces ashen. Piling on wet seaweed might camouflage them from passersby, but they’d overheat even more without the cooling breeze from the Gray drifting over them.
Brida crouched before the merman and whistled his name. His eyelids twitched but didn’t lift. She touched his cheek, unsurprised at how hot it felt beneath her finger. “I’ll be back when night falls. Hold on a little longer. Both of you.”
It was hard to walk away from them, even harder to pretend with her brother that nothing unusual had happened while she harvested. She glanced up at the dreary sky, silently counting the hours until nightfall when she could return to the shore unobserved.
Laylam side-eyed her curiously as he drove his wagon back to the village, its box piled high with dripping seaweed. “You’re far away in your head, Brida. Quieter than usual. You feeling peaky?”
She patted his arm, offering a tired smile and a yawn that was far more sincere than affected. “Sorry. I’m just sleepy. I might even nod off on your shoulder before you drop me home.” She resisted the temptation to look back to the beach slowly disappearing behind the feathery barricade of salt grass.
“Janen kept you and the others at the castle too long last night. He knew we had harvesting to tend to today.” Laylam flicked the reins, coaxing the horse into a faster clip. “Don’t worry about feeding me supper. Norinn said she’ll have a plate ready for me when I get home. One for you too if you want.”
“I just want to sleep. Tell Norinn thank you and that I’ll see her tomorrow to help you both with laying out the seaweed to dry.” She didn’t lie. If she didn’t have two merfolk to try and save, she’d fall into her solitary bed without undressing and sleep until one of her nieces or nephews pounded on her front door the next morning. But slumber was a luxury that would have to wait.
The obscured sun bloodied the western horizon by the time Laylam delivered her to her door. She waved to him from the doorstep until the wagon turned a corner and disappeared behind a row of houses along Ancilar’s market road.
Hinges squeaked softly as she pushed open the door and paused. A scent of exotic spices mixed with perfume teased her nose. She’d smelled that scent before, though the memory only skated the edges of her mind before flickering away.
The house she once shared with her husband Talmai was small and sparsely furnished, the line of sight from the door stretching into parlor, kitchen, larder, and bedroom. Silence rested within the empty rooms as if waiting to greet her the moment she crossed the threshold. Dust motes danced in the air, illuminated by the last bits of fading light that speared the front window. The pair of buckets she’d set out to catch the rain from her leaking roof stood undisturbed, nor had the book she’d left in her chair by the fire been moved. Still, she hesitated at the doorway, sensing a difference in the feel of the house from when she’d left it hours earlier.
She crept across the parlor on quiet feet before easing the poker from its stand by the hearth. Only her heartbeat sounded in her ears, and she gripped the makeshift weapon with both hands, ready to bash or stab anything that leapt out at her. Fear sent a trickle of sweat down her spine despite the house’s chill, but anger at the thought of someone robbing her pushed her deeper into the rooms. She refused to abide a thief. If she caught one, they’d regret ever crossing her doorstep.
No one. There was no one. Neither in the bedroom nor the larder. Not lurking under the kitchen table or hiding behind the two thorny bushes in her garden. Still she couldn’t shake the sensation that someone had been here, creeping about, touching things. The thought made her skin crawl.
She closed her door and threw the bolt home. Ancilar was a small village where most everyone knew each other. People didn’t steal from their neighbor, not if they wanted help for some calamity later. That someone might have done so here didn’t bode well for her or anyone in the village.
Sick dread roiled in her belly. She returned the poker to its spot by the hearth and strode to the bedroom. The floorboard under her bed hadn’t been moved, and she exhaled a hard breath when her hand