Entwined by Heather Dixon Read Free Book Online Page B

brown, melting to droplets in the silence.
    â€œThey’ll miss us,” said Azalea, after a while. “And we’ll eat with the King. He has to, if there are guests. That’s the rule.”
    The girls kept silent, clutching their cloaks and shawls tightly around their shoulders, shivering.
    â€œMiss Azalea.”
    Azalea turned to see Fairweller, looking graver than usual. He motioned to a small path through the gravestones and trees, hat in hand.
    â€œIf you will walk with me?”
    Azalea walked through the frozen twigs and frosted leaves with him, feeling the girls’ curious eyes follow her. She winced a little, thinking of all the endless teasing this would produce. Fairweller, handsome, young, disagreeable as hornets. He smelled like peppermints.
    â€œThe Delchastrian prime minister was here,” saidFairweller at length. The snow crunched beneath his feet. “At the funeral. Did you see him?”
    Azalea recalled the bearded man with a monocle, and nodded.
    â€œYou know that Delchastire has, for some time, been pushing us to fulfill our alliance in their current skirmish, and that your father—and I, and the regiments—will be leaving for war soon?”
    Azalea stopped abruptly. Her skirts upset the snow at the side of the path.
    â€œHe’s not leaving now?” she said.
    Fairweller nodded, grave. “They gave him leave enough for your mother, but now he must tend to duty. The regiments may leave as soon as tomorrow, before the next storm sets in. I thought you should know before the papers do.”
    Azalea was speechless. Mother had always been the one to tell her such things before, and smooth everything over. Hearing it from Fairweller added iciness to the wind. Azalea pulled her shawl closer.
    â€œThat’s so soon,” she said. “Surely he doesn’t have to leave yet? What about mourning?’
    Fairweller gave a slight shake of his head. “Politics is notoriously unfeeling,” he said.
    â€œBut he’s the king! He doesn’t even have to go! The Delchastrian king won’t, surely!”
    Fairweller reached above him and snapped an icy twig from its branch. He considered it in his gloved hands before speaking.
    â€œThere is an old magic,” he said slowly. “A deep one, made of promises. It hearkens back to the High King D’Eathe, and the first Captain General. Your father swore such an oath to Delchastire when we made this alliance. We all did. It cannot be taken lightly.”
    â€œHe swore an oath,” said Azalea, in an empty, hollow voice.
    â€œAs such, we must go. If it is any comfort, my lady, I do not believe it will be a long war. Less than a year, surely.”
    Azalea leaned against the trunk of a frozen tree, trying for the umpteenth time not to cry. Fairweller’s gray eyes, colorless like the rest of him, considered her, and after a long moment, he bowed. He left through the iron gate a length away.
    The bushes behind her rustled, not from the wind. Azalea stared at the snow-packed ground, and sighed.
    â€œYou can come out now,” she said.
    Sisters emerged with hardly a sound from behind the tombstones and naked trees where they’d been hiding. They looked at Azalea with wide and frightened eyes. Clover clutched Lily to her chest. They remained quiet, all except eleven-year-old Eve, who scooped up snow,fashioned it into a snowball, and pelted Mother’s weeping angel statue. Piff.
    â€œI hate that statue!” she said. “It doesn’t look like an angel at all!” Piff. “She looks like she’s choking on a spoon!” Piff.
    â€œEve,” said Azalea. Eve hiccupped, took off her spectacles, and rubbed her eyes with a red hand.
    They all stood, miserable and still, their hair whipping about in the wind, now gusting. Azalea took a breath.
    â€œFlora,” she said. “Goldenrod, can you do a mazurka step? Do it right here.”
    Flora sniffed and shook