Stay close to me.
“I have already promised three of your friends that I will keep you safe tonight, Mr. Vesper,” I whispered. “I suppose that means I have no choice but to knit myself to you, to ensure I don’t break my own word.”
That provoked a small smile from him. The scab on his cheek pulled, as if it wanted to break open again, and I wondered how long that mark would be there, reminding him of me every time he looked at it. He drank the rest of his cider, but he didn’t touch his food again. I noticed his face grew wan as the hour progressed, that a sheen of perspiration had formed on his brow. And when he rose and carried his plate into the kitchen, I stood and followed him.
We put away the food in the icebox and washed the dishes, which was sure to evoke Mrs. Stirling’s wrath the next day, as we had disregarded her command, but the action of doing something so simple seemed to calm Phelan.
We had another hour to burn.
Phelan built a fire in the drawing room hearth and I made a pot of tea, and we shared it before the crackling dance of the flames. Silent and pensive, waiting for the hands on the clock to tick their path to nine o’clock.
At a quarter till, Phelan rose and left the room.
I braided my hair out of my eyes and checked the buttons on my boots. I retethered the ribbon laces of my bodice, until I felt a pinch when I breathed deeply. I missed my weapon belt and my daggers; seeing Olivette’s had stirred up emotions I’d thought I had buried. When Phelan returned to me, he had our two rapiers in hand. I accepted mine and belted it at my waist, a tremor of anticipation coursing through me.
“Shall we?” he asked with an elegant flourish of his hand, as if he were asking me to dance with him.
I was calm until that moment, when my memories crept back over me. The firelight of a cozy cottage, the fragrance of cherry galettes warm from the oven, my father leading me out into a star-dusted night, to the market green of Hereswith. My longing was keen; I wavered for a moment, thinking I might fracture.
I missed those old days. I wanted to return to them until I finally acknowledged that such a thing would be impossible. My life had changed seasons; I could never go back to how things had been. And when I met Phelan’s dark gaze, my nostalgia melted away, leaving me standing in a world I had made.
We walked to the foyer with five minutes to spare. I followed Phelan out into the moonless night, as if I had done it a hundred times before.
21
Auberon Street felt cold and dead, like the crooked path of a graveyard. I walked beside Phelan, fog beginning to pool in low places, waiting for the clock to strike nine. I could feel the tension in him when our elbows accidentally brushed; his face looked ghostly pale in the lantern light.
I reached out to touch his arm, and he stopped, as if I had burned him.
“Mr. Vesper,” I said, “it’s going to be all right. This will be over and done with before we know it.”
He sighed and turned to regard me. We had two minutes remaining until the new moon unfolded. The wind was beginning to intensify.
“You must be wondering why I’m so anxious,” he stated. “It has to do with the truth that I don’t deserve to be here.”
I frowned up at him, thinking now was not a good time for such dramatic statements. “Why not?”
He reached into his jacket for his pocket watch. “Because I wasn’t born with illumination. I wasn’t born with the magical flame, like my twin brother was. Everything I’ve accomplished I’ve had to learn. It took me many grueling years of lessons.”
I almost laughed at his ridiculous statement, but thought better of it, as that was something Clem would do. Anna, on the other hand, would be impressed.
“Then that only solidifies your place and accomplishment, Mr. Vesper,” I said. “You’ve earned the right to be warden here.”
His watch chirped, and I knew the time had come. He slipped the golden orb back into his pocket and looked at me, whispering, “We can talk more about this afterward.”
I wondered if he had even heard my compliment. He turned away from me, so that our backs were aligned.
We watched the street, my gaze fixed on the southern end while his scanned the north.
It was the sort of quiet that makes you fearful to breathe too loudly. The fog continued to gather, and my feet were cold in my boots as I strained to see through the mist.
Was this the element of a nightmare? I racked my mind, trying to recall if I had read any entries in Phelan’s book that were made of fog.
“Look to your right, Miss Neven,” Phelan said, and while his voice was calm, I knew the nightmare had begun.
I looked to see the row of town houses, shuttered and bolted with only stray beams of firelight slipping through the cracks. And then I saw it, a heraldic banner unrolling from the roof, covering the house’s face with a proud bolt of blue. Silver moons were stitched upon it, and diamonds winked like stars in the fabric.
“That’s the mountain duchy’s banner,” I breathed, my memory surging.
“So it is,” Phelan agreed, and we watched as more banners and tapestries unrolled from the roofs of houses around us, flapping slightly in the breeze.
The cobbles beneath me hummed, and I glanced down to watch them become large, smooth flagstones in shades of copper and gray, freshly swept. The air smelled of fresh sun and sweet red wine.
I knew where this dream had taken us. Phelan and I were standing in the fortress in the clouds, in the hall of the mountain castle.
“A dream of the Seren Duchy,” I said.
“Did you ever read Knox Birch’s most recent nightmare in my book, Miss Neven?” Phelan asked.
“Yes,” I whispered, and I remembered it with a shudder. Mr. Birch had dreamt of the Seren throne and had unknowingly cut down his wife and two daughters in his hunger to claim it. “Do you see the duke’s chair?” I asked, unwilling to take my eyes from the southern end of the street.
“Yes,” he said. “It’s ahead of me.”
“Then Mr. Birch will be coming from my direction.”
“Do you want to trade places?”
“No,” I said, but I drew my rapier. “I’ll tell you when I see him approaching.”
I had yet to meet Knox Birch in the flesh—I had only read the account of his dreams—but I knew he lived one street over. I waited for him to appear, my palms slick with sweat.
At last, a man emerged from the darkness, striding through swaths of fog. He reminded me of my father, middle-aged and tall, with hair the color of a faded penny. His eyes gleamed gold, as if he was haunted, and yet his face was cold and merciless, like nothing could break him from his ambitions.
“He’s coming,” I said.
Phelan turned, and I felt a swell of cold air wash over me as he put some distance between us.
“He cuts down three shadows,” he reminded me. “I suspect you and I are two of them.”
I thought the same, but I had no time to agree with him as a woman with a pale, sorrowful face and long hair materialized from the shadows. Knox’s wife, I realized, and she boldly intercepted him, pleading, “Please, Knox . . . please don’t do this. Choose us, choose us.”
A rapier bloomed in his hand. He cut her down quickly, his blade piercing her core. She fell with a sickening thud, crumpled as a rag doll on the flagstones, her blood spreading beneath her like a crimson cloak. I knew he saw only a sinister shadow. He didn’t see her until the end, when he got what he thought he wanted: a place in the duke’s chair.