Ossia Morrow rose, pale and trembling. She didn’t look at her younger daughter when she spoke.
“Agnes, we must see to your father.” Ember’s mother made a much more dignified exit from the hall.
Ember watched her mother disappear into the hall and her heart pinched with grief. Despite their disapproval, she’d still hoped to part from her family on good terms. Now it seemed only bitterness would mark their farewell.
A soft touch turned Ember’s gaze. Agnes’s slender fingers grasped hers shakily.
“I shall miss you,” Agnes whispered.
For the first time that day, Ember’s resolve cracked. She grabbed Agnes, pulling her into a fierce embrace. “I wish you every happiness, Agnes.”
Agnes flinched at Ember’s words. She kissed Ember’s cheek and hurried after their mother, leaving Ember to sit alone. The scene having ended, conversation returned to its low din. Servants appeared to clean up the rubble of food and broken dishes Ember’s father had left in his wake. She twisted her hands together, unsure of what to say or do now that her family had abandoned her. Without the storm of her father’s rage commanding her attention, her mind began to reel. He’d obviously been drunk, but his furious cries had unsettled her. Of course he would be angry about losing her match to Mackenzie’s son, but he’d voiced fears about trickery and curses. How much did her father know about the secrets of Conatus? His shrieks echoed in her mind, making her shiver.
“It’s over now.” A chair scraped over the stone floor as Alistair pulled up a seat next to her. “They’ll be gone in the morning.”
He smiled at her, but she couldn’t return the mirthful gleam in his eye. A heavy weight pressed into her chest. The jubilation of being freed from her father’s will felt hollow now in the wake of his outburst. Her family, despite how she’d thought them burdensome, had always cared for her. Now they were gone and she faced a world filled with dangers she couldn’t imagine.
“No daughter of mine will become a witch.”
Father Michael seemed a good man, but if the work of Conatus was kept secret from the Church, did that mean it was somehow wicked?
Weariness settled over her like a winter cloak. Barrow, whose hand still rested on her shoulder, must have felt her sigh.
“You should rest,” he said. The pressure of his touch stirred something deep inside her. She wanted to take his hand in hers and feel its warmth.
Alistair stood up. “I can show you to your room.”
“No,” Barrow said. Grasping her arms lightly, he helped Ember rise. “I am her mentor and as such my task begins now. I will introduce her to life as one of the Guard.”
Alistair opened his mouth to protest but was interrupted when Kael appeared. The blond warrior slung his arm around Alistair’s shoulders. “Come, good squire. Help me settle a wager. Did I not slay four foes single-handedly two nights ago?”
Before Alistair could answer, Kael pulled him around, dragging him back to the Guard’s table.
Barrow strode from the hall. Ember stared after him for a moment until she realized he meant for her to follow. She nearly crashed into him as she hurried into the corridor, where he stood waiting for her with the barest hint of a smile. It was one of his most frequent expressions, and it both intrigued and puzzled her.
He didn’t give her the chance to speak, but simply turned and led her through the torch-lit manor until they reached its outer doors. Given Barrow’s height, Ember had to match each of his long strides with two of her own. His silence pressed down on her. She wondered if he regretted offering to train her and perhaps now saw her only as a burden. After her father’s behavior at the feast, she wouldn’t have been surprised if he expected her to be nothing more than a spoiled noble’s daughter.
Soon they were crossing the dark courtyard to the barracks. In the darkness its squat, stone shape was lonely and foreboding. He turned sharply right instead, leading her up a narrow staircase that she hadn’t noticed on her prior visit. The second level of the barracks featured a long hall lined with wooden doors.
“Our cells,” Barrow said.
Ember glanced at him, wondering at the use of the word cell for their quarters. Perhaps this life would differ little from that of a nun.
“You’re likely to find them simple,” he continued. “But they serve our purpose well.”
“It’s fine,” she said.
He led her to the very end of the hallway, stopping at the final door on the right. She spotted another staircase descending from this side of the corridor.
Barrow followed her gaze. “These stairs lead through the armory and are the closest to the rear exit that opens onto the practice field.”
He gestured for her to open the door they’d stopped in front of. “This will be your room.”
Ember turned the iron handle and the door swung inward, revealing an austere, rectangular space. Her cell contained a narrow pallet. The lip of a brass chamber pot peeked out from beneath the wooden frame. A simple writing table and chair sat under the room’s only window. Three objects sat on the table: a candlestick, a clay pitcher, and a basin. A tall wardrobe was half hidden by the open door.
“You’ll find the clothing you need there.” Barrow waved in the direction of the wardrobe. Then he coughed, looking away from her. “The belongings you brought with you from your father’s house are being stored in the manor. You’ll have no need of them here . . . nor does your cell offer space to keep them.”
Ember thought of the trunk filled with dresses that her mother had insisted she bring. The more Ember considered their journey, and the conversations leading up to it, up to the very morning she’d been called to the Guard, the more Ember saw how deeply each of her father’s words and deeds had been full of contradiction . . . and how all of it had been tinged with fear.
“In the event that you must dress as befits your former station,” Barrow was saying, “you will have a room in the manor where you can make ready. I should give you fair warning that even the dress you wear now will be gone when you return to your cell tomorrow night.”
“What do you mean?” Ember asked.
Barrow frowned. “I think it best if I leave it to Sorcha to explain this to you. I have no experience to share.”
Ember wanted to ask further, but Barrow’s stern manner didn’t seem to welcome questions.