Free Wings of the Storm by Susan Sizemore

until Nikki and Vince decided this was the signal for them to start chewing on her toes.
    The conversation from the tables below the salt was far quieter than usual. The members of the household were eating their meal with most of their attention focused on the strained movements of their betters. The tension in the air could be sliced with a dagger. Jane especially didn't like the disdainful looks the household women were aiming at Sibelle more and more openly as the evening went on.
    It wouldn't hurt Stephan to say something to the kid, she fumed as he accepted another cup of wine from Bertram. Okay, she decided finally. If he wouldn't do it, she would.
    She cleared her throat, opening her mouth to speak. Her mind went blank. "Uh ..." She hadn't talked to a fifteen-year-old in a long time. She had never talked to a fifteen-year-old ex-nun heiress to a barony who'd already labeled her as an enemy. She supposed they didn't really have conversational ground in common, since it wouldn't be politic to dis-cuss Stephan's acting like jerk. Still, something had to be done.
    She opened her mouth and tried again. "I'll show you around Passfair tomorrow, my lady," she offered politely.
    Sibelle didn't answer. Sibelle didn't look at her. Sibelle did stiffen with disapproval and lift her chins haughtily. Stephan did not rush in to fill the conversa-tional gap. Wherever had the charming boy who'd brought her home gotten to?
    Jane resigned herself to silence and studied the profile Lady Sibelle turned to her. The girl would never succeed in looking down her nose, Jane decid-ed, since she hardly had one at all. It was kind of a cute little button, actually. Not like her own long beak. Sibelle's skin was really not too bad, just blotched from crying. Or maybe the pink cheeks were from a bit of windburn. There seemed to be a cleft down

    there somewhere on her original chin. Weren't nuns supposed to be ascetic and sacrific-ing? Where was it Stephan said Sibelle had been? Davington Priory? Maybe she should apply there herself after the interdict was lifted. It couldn't be too hard of a life if the graduates turned out like Her Ladyship here.
    Jane went back to slowly finishing her bread and broth while the dinner dragged to its conclusion. She was grateful to rise from her deep wooden chair when the last of the dishes were finally cleared away.
    She wanted nothing more than to escape to her cubbyhole behind the storeroom. Only she couldn't just run up the stairs and hide. As chatelaine she had duties yet to perform.
    As the servants settled down by the fire, Stephan grabbed his cloak and waded in among them, taking the choicest spot for himself, in the fresh straw laid down near the hearth. He didn't even bother with wishing his betrothed the most cursory of good-nights.
    Jane decided to put his churlish behavior down to the influence of too much wine. Much to her sur-prise, Melisande and the pups stayed at her side rather than settle down with Stephan. She fervently wished him an enormous hangover and steeled her-self to deal with the girl. She turned to find the two dragons had come up from the servants' table to flank their mistress once more.
    Their presence made communicating with the now crying Sibelle a bit easier. "The bower's this way," she said, and pointed the servants toward the tower stairs. The first floor of the tower held the storage room.
    The second held two connected rooms: the bower, where the household women were meant to spend their days with weaving and needlework, and the castle's only bedchamber.
    She led the dragons up the stairs, and they led the wailing Sibelle. It wasn't long before they reached the upper pair of rooms set aside for the lord and his lady. Since the lord was snoring peacefully on the floor downstairs, Sibelle was installed alone in the large, curtained bed. She was sitting in the center of it, snuffling disconsolately, when Jane made her hur-ried exit back down to her own quarters.
    Poor kid, she