Chapter 236: Acquired taste 2

BONNIE

The Omegas were waiting at the foot of the lawn when we climbed out of the lake.

There were four of them, gathered in a loose huddle, their aprons twisted between their fingers and their attention fixed on the water. They must have come out at the sound of it. Even in a household accustomed to keeping its head down and its business to itself, the sight of thirty feet of lake water rising into the air and crashing back down was hardly something one could ignore.

The aftermath was still visible along the bank. The reeds lay crushed against the mud, and a long, ugly streak of brown silt discolored the shallows. The lake had settled, but its surface continued to tremble with restless ripples, as though the water had yet to recover from what had been done to it.

Lysander took my hand as we waded through the mud toward the waiting servants. There was a faint, thoroughly irritating satisfaction about him, although he had the decency not to look too pleased with himself.

"Towels, Your Majesty," the young man said, stepping forward with a stack. His eyes remained firmly fixed on the grass. "For you, My lady."

"Thank you."

My voice was still hoarse. I wrapped a towel around my shoulders, grateful for its warmth, and tried not to stagger when my knees threatened to give way beneath me. Beside me, Lysander wound his towel around his waist with an admirable degree of composure. I, unfortunately, was having rather more difficulty pretending that nothing unusual had happened. I kept my chin tucked down, hoping the approaching dusk would conceal the heat in my cheeks.

The freckled girl stepped forward next. She held her hands together, cupped carefully as though she were protecting something fragile.

"My lady," she said, a little shyly. "I found them all. Every single one. I restrung them while you were out."

She opened her hands.

My necklace lay coiled across her palms, its pearls threaded onto a fresh gold chain. The clasp had been mended, and every little bead had been polished until it caught the fading light. I remembered the sharp snap of the original thread, the panic that had followed, and the careless way I had flung the broken necklace into the grass without a second thought. This girl had gone searching for every last pearl, then taken the time to put them back together.

"You didn’t have to do all that."

"It was no trouble, My lady."

"It must have taken you ages." I accepted the necklace, surprised by how something so small could suddenly feel so precious. "Thank you. Truly."

She ducked her head, color spreading from her cheeks to the tips of her ears. Yet when I looked at her, I realized her attention had already wandered. Her gaze had slipped past my shoulder, settling on the lake and the great swathe of destruction along its bank. Her lips parted slightly.

"So this," she whispered, almost to herself, "is the power of a true healer."

A nervous laugh escaped me. "It’s mostly mud, honestly. I also did not mean to do it."

She started, apparently realizing she had spoken aloud, and dropped into a curtsey so hurried and awkward that she nearly lost her balance. The other three had fallen silent. They looked at me with an expression I found far more uncomfortable than outright admiration. It was the sort of reverence one might reserve for something powerful and unpredictable, something that could be merciful one moment and devastating the next.

A god.

Lysander gave my hand a gentle squeeze.

"Come," he murmured. "Before they decide to build you a shrine."

We made our way up the lawn together, our towels gathered around us, leaving a trail of wet footprints across the stone steps. The Omegas began whispering behind us. I resisted the temptation to look back.

The front hall was warm, carrying the familiar scents of woodsmoke and beeswax. Someone had lit the lamps in our absence, their amber glow settling over the oak paneling and the familiar collection of things that belonged to the house. Gerald the stag stood in his usual place, and the child’s drawing of the horse remained beside him, its uneven lines softened by the lamplight.

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. The warmth seeped into my skin, and for the first time since the lake, I felt some of the tension leave my shoulders.

"Your Majesty."

A sentinel stood at the foot of the stairs. He was young, with a pale, apprehensive face and a phone held in both hands. There was something almost apologetic about his posture, as though he had spent the last several minutes trying to convince himself that interrupting us was a good idea.

"Forgive me for disturbing you." He bowed stiffly. "I wouldn’t have, but it’s..."

"Is something the matter?"

Lysander had gone still beside me. The easy amusement that had accompanied him from the lake disappeared, his attention sharpening as he looked at the young sentinel.

"No, Your Majesty. Not that I’m aware of." The boy extended the phone. "The High Beta wishes to speak with you. He says it’s important."

Lysander accepted it. His eyes moved briefly over the screen, and I watched his expression change. It was subtle, no more than a tightening along his jaw, but enough to make the uneasiness in my stomach return.

Then he looked at me.

It was only a moment, but I understood the message in his eyes. An apology, a promise that he wouldn’t be long, and an unspoken instruction not to worry.

I found myself worrying anyway. Nobody called twice in quick succession without a reason.

"Go," I said. "I’ll be upstairs."

"I won’t be long."

"Lysander. Go."

He held my gaze for another moment before raising the phone to his ear. Then he turned and walked back through the red door, out into the gathering dusk. His voice, low and clipped, followed him briefly before fading into the distance.

I remained in the hall, listening to the quiet drip of water from the edge of my towel onto the wooden floorboards. Eventually, I gathered the fabric more securely around myself and made for the stairs.

I had taken only three steps along the corridor when something on the wall caught my attention.

Between two doors hung a photograph in a plain wooden frame, its edges dulled with age. It was the sort of thing one could easily overlook in a house filled with old furniture and forgotten keepsakes, another family photograph among many. I might have walked straight past it if the light from the nearby lamp hadn’t fallen across the glass at just the right angle, drawing my eye to the faces beneath it.

I stopped.