Bitterburn (Gothic Fairytales #1) - Ann Aguirre Page 0,74

Doe in the gallery, which is hilarious. But even that prospect doesn’t lift my mood. The weight remains as I head to the library. This won’t help my research, but I indulge myself with another entry in Njål’s journal. I’ve been skimming them here and there as a reward for completing my chores, but I’m nearing the end of what’s written, and in some small corner of my heart, I fear what I’ll find within these pages.

I turn the page, only four more to go, until the final, unfinished entry. The whispered translation begins, even as the unfamiliar words swim on the page.

I’m betrothed.

The baron and baroness chose her for me. They tell me that my family is dead and this is my home now. I’m supposed to marry Gilda. The baron asked me if I think she’s pretty.

I suppose she is. We walked in the garden together today, and she kissed me.

It was my first kiss, but I couldn’t tell her that because she’s clearly good at it. That means she’s been kissing someone else, and she knows more than me. Her mouth tasted of tea and toast, but I don’t think I ought to have been considering what she’s been eating. I’ll marry Gilda, won’t I? I wonder if I’ll ever be happy.

We’re both too young, but my foster parents, no, I don’t care what they say, I will never call them that. The baron and baroness want the issue of inheritance settled. There’s nobody I can tell—Eloise is probably a ghost—but the word ‘inheritance’ frightens me. I don’t want to inherit Bitterburn. Bad things happen here.

At night, I hear muffled screaming, but it’s almost worse when it stops.

I wish someone would save me, but no one’s coming. No one ever will.

That’s all. This entry breaks my heart. I wish that I could do more for him, but my dream-walking can’t change the past. For some reason I’m only able to interact with Njål. The rest of the world treats me like I’m invisible. Why is that, anyway?

Putting that question—and the journal—aside for the moment, I pull all the books I can find on magic. Most of them are fanciful, meant for entertainment, not instruction. I lose myself paging through them anyway, hoping for some spark of inspiration. In the end, I’ve wasted my time, and I need to check the cheese.

It’s firmed up nicely in the cold, a rich white round in the ramekin I used as a mold. Shivering, I hurry back to the fire, ready to sample the delicacy that carried such a high price. I smear some on a batch of fry bread that I whip up, and it’s delicious. Not worth our Lady Doe’s suffering, but if I don’t eat it, that seems worse somehow.

Njål joins me on his own soon after. “Success?”

“It’s good, have some.” I hand him a simple tartine—fry bread topped with goat cheese and lentils.

He takes a cautious bite, and then he beams at me, eyes crinkling in delight. “Is there anything you can’t do?”

Save you.

Though I don’t speak the words, I fear they’re true. We eat quietly, devouring most of the cheese in one sitting. I tidy up with a huge shadow on my heart. For all my promises, he’s still trapped, and I don’t seem to be making any progress. Before, I was happy staying here with him, but I can’t go gray and die knowing that Njål will be left alone again. I restrain the urge to thump my fist on the worktable in frustration.

“Where are the cloven ones?” I ask, mostly as a distraction.

“Settled in the stable. Bart is heroically trying to console Agatha.”

I nod, poking up the fire. Njål comes up behind me and settles at my back, drawing me into a full-body embrace. It’s so easy to lean on him. He kisses along my neck and finds the sensitive spot behind my ear. If I let him keep going, we’ll end up in bed. For the first time, I wonder if it’s possible for Njål to get me pregnant. If that happens, will our baby die like what happened with Agatha?

Shuddering, I step away. I would rather stay like this all night, but that won’t accomplish anything.

“I want to search the sewing room. Will you come with me?”

I’ve lost track of whether I’ve actually been there or only in my dreams. Njål went around collecting clothes that had been left, but I was unconscious at the time. I think I saw the room