Read Online Shade of Destiny (The Foreseeing) by Shannon M Yarnold - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Shannon M Yarnold
Tags: Fantasy
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often carried between the maids in the town. Things supernatural and unexplainable were rife in adventurer’s tales and Wynn believed them wholeheartedly. And who was she against such creatures? Woodstone was the centre of her world and she knew the tales of unknown lands were meant to discourage those who dreamt of freedom, but however much they inspired fear, Wynn could not help being curious.
A book toppled suddenly from the shelf she had been dusting and Wynn jumped backwards, hitting into another shelf in her surprise. The book that had fallen landed cover up, the pages bent with its weight. Wynn bent and picked the book up, dusting it and straightening the pages. She touched the cover, the leather smooth against her fingertips. The title, written in gold leaf, was undecipherable to her untaught eye. Wynn put it back and continued to dust, but a nagging feeling pulled at her stomach and she eventually went back to where she had put the book. She had the overwhelming sense that the book was special and she was drawn to it more than she had been drawn to anything in her life. She could take it, hide it away. It had been covered with dust, so surely they would not miss it? But why did she need it? Wynn considered the question for a long moment before finding no conceivable answer, and shoving it into her apron anyway. It was an unanswerable question but as soon as the book was safe in her apron her heart thumped with excitement. She felt instantly better that the book was in her possession; stealing from the Master would earn her lashes, but he would never find out, how could he? And every time he hurt her she would stare back into his eyes and know the book lay in her room.
Wynn finished dusting the remaining shelves, and walked silently out of the room. She cast a quick glance at the sun as she made her way through the hall and noticed it was nearing the horizon. The ninth hour loomed. She heaved a sigh and ran down to her room, stowing the book under a pile of clothes. With a quick wash at the bucket she made her way slowly to the Master’s room, her heart heavy. The Master called for her to enter when she knocked on the door. Night was approaching and the room was bathed in twilight.
“Wynn,” the Master said, sitting on his bed, “I have decided you are to sing at tonight’s festivities.”
Wynn’s eyes widened at the Master’s order, was this a trick? If she agreed would he whip her for disobeying his rule that no man or woman may sing, whistle or hum? Her voice quavered as she replied, “I cannot sing Master.”
The Master violently rose from the bed and walked briskly to Wynn, his voice was dangerous, “I have heard your voice, when you think no one is listening. Be thankful I shall not whip you for it. You are to sing tonight to my men for they require entertainment. It is not a request.”
Wynn’s head hung in submission.
“I also require you to wear this,” the Master said mockingly. Wynn raised her eyes to see the garment the Master was holding out to her. It was a shocking red, made of thin cotton, shapeless in his fist. Wynn took it despondently and curtseyed coldly before leaving the room. As she descended down the stairs her stomach turned to ice.
The Great Hall was alive with activity when Wynn reached the doors. Over two hundred men sat around the table, flask of ale in one hand, the body part of a cooked animal in the other. Around two hundred and fifty of the men wore the uniform of Woodstone’s army, brown trousers, white shirt and brown leather armour, the rest were Lords from other towns and other well respected contributors to the Master. Every month they flocked to the Manor to revel in the Master’s wealth and power. Wynn had never visited the men whilst they were eating, her part had come after, when the food was finished and the wine was flowing and the Master had wished to present her as his lover. Today was
A book toppled suddenly from the shelf she had been dusting and Wynn jumped backwards, hitting into another shelf in her surprise. The book that had fallen landed cover up, the pages bent with its weight. Wynn bent and picked the book up, dusting it and straightening the pages. She touched the cover, the leather smooth against her fingertips. The title, written in gold leaf, was undecipherable to her untaught eye. Wynn put it back and continued to dust, but a nagging feeling pulled at her stomach and she eventually went back to where she had put the book. She had the overwhelming sense that the book was special and she was drawn to it more than she had been drawn to anything in her life. She could take it, hide it away. It had been covered with dust, so surely they would not miss it? But why did she need it? Wynn considered the question for a long moment before finding no conceivable answer, and shoving it into her apron anyway. It was an unanswerable question but as soon as the book was safe in her apron her heart thumped with excitement. She felt instantly better that the book was in her possession; stealing from the Master would earn her lashes, but he would never find out, how could he? And every time he hurt her she would stare back into his eyes and know the book lay in her room.
Wynn finished dusting the remaining shelves, and walked silently out of the room. She cast a quick glance at the sun as she made her way through the hall and noticed it was nearing the horizon. The ninth hour loomed. She heaved a sigh and ran down to her room, stowing the book under a pile of clothes. With a quick wash at the bucket she made her way slowly to the Master’s room, her heart heavy. The Master called for her to enter when she knocked on the door. Night was approaching and the room was bathed in twilight.
“Wynn,” the Master said, sitting on his bed, “I have decided you are to sing at tonight’s festivities.”
Wynn’s eyes widened at the Master’s order, was this a trick? If she agreed would he whip her for disobeying his rule that no man or woman may sing, whistle or hum? Her voice quavered as she replied, “I cannot sing Master.”
The Master violently rose from the bed and walked briskly to Wynn, his voice was dangerous, “I have heard your voice, when you think no one is listening. Be thankful I shall not whip you for it. You are to sing tonight to my men for they require entertainment. It is not a request.”
Wynn’s head hung in submission.
“I also require you to wear this,” the Master said mockingly. Wynn raised her eyes to see the garment the Master was holding out to her. It was a shocking red, made of thin cotton, shapeless in his fist. Wynn took it despondently and curtseyed coldly before leaving the room. As she descended down the stairs her stomach turned to ice.
The Great Hall was alive with activity when Wynn reached the doors. Over two hundred men sat around the table, flask of ale in one hand, the body part of a cooked animal in the other. Around two hundred and fifty of the men wore the uniform of Woodstone’s army, brown trousers, white shirt and brown leather armour, the rest were Lords from other towns and other well respected contributors to the Master. Every month they flocked to the Manor to revel in the Master’s wealth and power. Wynn had never visited the men whilst they were eating, her part had come after, when the food was finished and the wine was flowing and the Master had wished to present her as his lover. Today was
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