Three days married and she was already relegated to embroidering quietly in the stoic sitting room while her husband argued their fate just on the other side of the door.

Brenna's eyes flickered to the unmoving wood every few seconds, her breath coming in hitches and her heart thundering against her ribs. Morna and two of Brenna's 'friends' were sitting nearby, calmly chatting about whatever silly topics were the rage in the house at the moment. Brenna was surprised they hadn't noticed her agitation yet, but perhaps they were merely trying to be polite and ignoring it all together. They'd seemed to have grown cautious around her, as if being a wife now meant she was made of something that might crumble at the slightest pressure. Little did they know that their timidness was more irritating to her than any blatant questions could ever be.

The clock on the mantel chimed quietly, and with it Brenna felt her timorous focus slip from her handiwork. She sighed heavily and wadded up the fabric , hiding the sloppy leaves and birds from view, and stuffed it down the side of her chair. One of the ladies, Mergo, looked up from her idle gossip and ventured a toe into the waters of Brenna's mood.

"Is there something the matter, Brenna?" she asked. Brenna'd forgotten how much her voice could grate. It was meant for singing the impossibly high notes of opera, not for talking.

"Do you think it's been longer than it should?" Brenna asked, her foot tapping unconsciously on the floor as the trapped energy of anxiety sparked through her limbs.

Morna answered without looking away from the careful stitching of a border on the cuff of her glove. "They're discussing the fate of multiple countries, and you know how cautious the Ittal barons can be. Remember, Baron Tyron was skeptical about even breeding his dog with Sir Plion's new hound. They'll be full of questions that the Glenfarrows will need to answer."

Brenna frowned and stared at the door as if she might be able to see through it. Her mind buzzed, not wanting to settle on anything but the terrifying thought that Robbin was inside pitching the idea that might finally get her a place in society that no one could deny. The opposite outcome, that it might fail, that the barons might be too old and cautious to risk it, was too terrible for her to contemplate for long.

"My maid's sister sent word that there was a new shipment of silks in Latterstill." This came from Hannara, a girl with the perfectly soft figure that everyone strove for. She was a favorite amongst the men, flirting outrageously. It chafed Brenna to have her around.

"What do we care about silks? Honestly!" Brenna snapped, throwing her hands up as she stood from her chair abruptly.

Hannara rose her eyebrows and twisted her mouth into a small knot. "I only thought to lighten the mood. A funeral could feel less oppressing."

"It's only that Brenna is now a part of the Glenfarrow family, and she is always concerned for their good fortune and success in the war," Morna piped up in a soothing voice. "Maybe we could have a tune, Mergo? Something chipper?"

Mergo dumped her needlework and practically dashed to the piano sitting in the corner of the room. She never missed a chance to show off her voice and lithe fingers on the keys. Brenna secretly suspected that Mergo wished one day to capture the attention of Afton with her high and wavering voice. She was, after all, a daughter of a duke, and not so bad of a catch. But Robert had his eye on princesses and queens.

A run of notes filled the room and then Mergo added her clear voice to the mix. It was as if a bird were suddenly speaking words. Brenna wrinkled her nose, but the others looked enchanted. If such shrieking caught their fancy, Brenna pitied their taste. She preferred the deeper tones of the hearty women that only sang the parts of warrior queens. A wavering rendition of some ridiculous song about spring buds was beyond enduring. She stalked as far away from the piano as she could, which meant she pressed up against the window and looked out on the cloistered garden that filled the back of the house's lawn.

A gardener clipped away at one of the hedges, but he was fighting a losing battle. There was simply no money in the budget for something as extraneous as a garden, and thus it was only tended by an old man from the village once every other week. In fact, most of the house was only seen to when it was practically falling apart. Brenna had thought Grand House was running on a skeletal frame of servants, but Glenfarrow House ran on even less. She didn't even have a maid to help her into her dresses in the mornings, and had to have Robbin tie her. He did a sloppy job and she constantly squirmed throughout the day, trying to get the straps of her corset in place.

Only a cook, a housekeeper, and a boy-of-all-work were employed by the Glenfarrows. It was an empty house, large and magnificent, but slowly falling prey to the same disease that ate Grand House. Debts.

Mergo reached the part in the song where she did a series of scales and runs that were probably impossible for mere mortals to issue, and Brenna slowly turned from the window, ready to unenthusiastically clap.

When the music died and Mergo's long note finally ended, Morna and Hannara praised her and applauded cheerfully. Brenna slunk back to her chair, sitting with a flop and eyeing the door once again.

"Wonderful, Mergo. Now we're all diverted from more important things in our lives," she muttered.

"Brenna," Morna scolded, but Brenna ignored her.

Mergo gave a haughty curtsey. "That song was the Prince Consort of Grella's favorite, so I thought it might find favor. But obviously your tastes would be... different from his."

The unspoken implication that Ittalan's wouldn't enjoy the cultured sophistications that the fashionable Grellan court favored burned in the air between the two girls. Brenna reached down the side of the chair to try and find her handiwork needle where she'd stashed it, but Mergo was saved from scratched out eyes by Morna swooshing between them and changing the subject.

"Hannara, your father is set to return home soon, is he not?"

Hannara paused for a moment, trying to gauge the tension level between Brenna and Mergo, and only nodded when Brenna pretended to be bored and slumped in her chair.

"Yes, thank you for remembering, Morna," Hannara said. "He comes back from his trading trip with Cameria sometime this week. I had a letter that he did quite well in the markets there."

Brenna perked up. Hannara's father was one of Robert's top supporters and a rich man. If he had a successful trip, then he'd be able to invest more money in the Glenfarrow's cause. Maybe they'd finally be able to afford a modest carriage and she wouldn't be forced to ride everywhere.

"That's good news," Morna said.

The conversation proceeded no farther, for they'd just shifted to safer waters when the all-important door slammed open with a loud bang.