Nobody's Lady (30 page)

BOOK: Nobody's Lady

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As if I could forget that I’d lost both Father and Ailill. As if I could forget the lord’s smile as he vanished from my arms, leaving me before I could say what it was I truly wanted to say.

But this time, at least, he hadn’t vanished from existence. The clothes. The carriage. Even the castle might still be standing. This time, I wouldn’t be the only one who knew him.

I lurched forward, leaning against the open carriage doorframe to keep from collapsing. I looked at the emptiness inside for what felt like forever, taking in the blackness of everything, the memories both painful and longing. There was one thing that wasn’t black. A book with open pages.

I dragged myself inside the carriage, crawling on hands and knees. I held on to the jerkin even as I picked up the book, dragging it over my lap.

I saw myself, sitting on a carriage seat, looking down at a book on my lap. My fist still clutched the jerkin to my chest.

The ink smeared as tears dripped onto the page. But the water quickly dried and the ink was smooth, only to be drowned again and again.

The book grew hot in my lap, and the back glowed bright with violet light.

With wavering fingers, I turned the pages to the source of the light. My other hand clutched the leather so hard my wound reopened and my finger bled. But I kept clutching. I kept willing myself to breathe.

A half-formed page wound out of nothingness, fibers in the paper as clear as thread stitching, only without the needles. When at last the page was complete, the light faded, and I was left staring at a blank, yellowing page, one that seemed as old as the rest of them, even if I’d just witnessed its creation.

It was the castle throne room, complete with that hole in the wall where the throne should have been. The throne was already pushed aside.

Out stepped man after man after man. Their hands clutched behind their backs, their faces so similar, their ages varied, although most were older, far older-looking than one would think could walk so upright. They filed out of the hole and off the page. I counted. A hundred and four … a hundred and five.

And that last specter’s face was young, perhaps in his twenties. He paused, and I saw Ailill,
my
Ailill staring out at me.

My fingers traced over his form. His jerkin wasn’t colored in black ink. It had to be white. My Ailill was a specter.

He stepped aside, and behind him came another specter. No. His face was dark, shaded lightly with ink that only gave an impression of color against the yellow of the page. His clothing was even darker, the blackness of night, like the jerkin I held tight in my hand. And he looked younger. Not as young as the Ailill I’d known many years in the past. But a man newly grown. Seventeen, perhaps, just a little more life to his eyes, just a little more roundness to his cheeks.

And on his arm, he wore a bangle.

Acknowledgements

You’d think after the length of the acknowledgements in the first book, I’d have thanked everyone I know by now. The second verse is much like the first, but it’s worth saying again.

Thank you to the staff and contractors at Month9Books. Georgia McBride for believing in my story and acquiring it for her imprint, and for working hard to make that imprint go places, which means my books are out there in front of more readers. Thank you, Jaime Arnold, for always answering my questions promptly and for marketing the heck out of our books along with the rest of the publicity staff. Thank you, Bethany Robison, for your great suggestions and amazing work on my manuscript—and for keeping all those details straight from book one to book two. Annie Cosby, thank you for your keen editing eye and your sharp insight. Thank you, Jennifer Million, for keeping everything organized.

A big shout-out to my fellow Month9Books and Swoon Romance YA authors, with whom I’ve grown closer online over the past year as we share tips and support. It was wonderful to meet a few of you in person at BookCon 2015. Thank you, too, to the #WO2016 group of authors, whom I can rely on for encouragement, advice and some pretty awesome Twitter chats, and the #WIPMarathon members who’ve cheered me on for three years now. Writing and marketing is a lot more fun with all of you!

Thanks as always to Melissa Giorgio, my beta reader, best friend, and fellow YA author. You’re always the first to read my work, and I appreciate everything you do to support me, from reading to tagging along to my signing to passing out promotional materials to your friends.

Thank you, Cameron, my partner of over a decade, for always believing in me and being so proud of my work. I’m so happy you support me at every turn!

Thank you, Mom, Sara, and Anthony, for continuing to be cheerleaders for my work. I feel so lucky to have had so many fans right from the start.

And last but not least—thank you so much to my readers! I’ve appreciated every comment or email I’ve received from you, and I feel humbled you’ve come back to read more of Noll’s story. I can only write because of your support!

Amy McNulty

Amy McNulty
is a freelance writer and editor from Wisconsin with an honors degree in English. She was first published in a national scholarly journal (The Concord Review) while in high school and currently writes professionally about everything from business marketing to anime. In her down time, you can find her crafting stories with dastardly villains and antiheroes set in fantastical medieval settings.

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