Chapter Forty-Seven
My head spun.
I was back in the carriage, the Diplomat far behind me.
To my left, my window displayed a dreary view of the Isle d’Eylau’s cliffs—the narrow, chalky road running like a seam along their edge.
The path was like a trail of gunpowder, disappearing beneath the wheels.
When we reached the end of it, I was confident something would burst.
Slumping against my seat, I massaged my temples. Was it my refusal of Eliot which had unraveled me so, or my denial of Noé? Either way, it felt like my throat had been filled with hot ash; each time I went to breathe, there was only grayness and smoke.
Abruptly, I called out. “Stop the carriage.”
Obediently, Philippe flicked the reins, and the vehicle trundled to a halt.
I popped open the coach door, then hopped as neatly as I could to the ground. “I’ll walk from here.”
Phillipe craned his neck toward me from his perch atop the driver’s box. “Miss, a storm is coming in,” he shouted above the wind. It was particularly strong today, screeching in my ears, carrying the sounds of the waves up from below. “You’ll be washed away.”
The sky, a sickly, sulfurous yellow, further illustrated his point. By the three. Did it ever stop raining on this Sisters-damned island? “I said leave me,” I snapped, and before he could offer another protest, I began to walk.
A minute later, I was rewarded when the carriage rolled past me.
I avoided the reluctant, hopeful look Phillipe cast in my direction as he drove, tipping my chin higher until the vehicle was out of sight.
The air was damp, laden both with salt and the humid promise of rain; ignoring its prickle, I clutched my skirts more firmly to my bodice and quickened my pace.
Ahead of me, the road plunged onward. Philippe had taken us about halfway to the island’s peak before I’d forced him to abandon me, but that left halfway still to go, the cliffs rising up like a ridge of razored teeth to my side.
I dared not peer over them, afraid of what I’d see if I glanced toward the gnashing sea far beneath—the waves, kicked up by the weather, like a pack of dogs rushing forth at the scent of food.
Slowly, deliberately, I picked my way higher.
The path beneath me was slippery, the gravel formed mostly of crushed bits of shell and limestone, but even so, I did not regret leaving the carriage behind.
I needed this. Since my betrothal—no, since the start of the Vainglory—I’d scarcely had any solitude, any breath of time which was not infected by some mission or trial.
And with the encounter with Eliot just behind me…
his words ringing in my ears, making me question—well, everything, really…
I needed to be alone.
Damn. I swore as, not even fifteen minutes into my walk, I felt a plink of moisture along the collar of my dress, then a second on my sleeve.
Above me, there was a drowsy crackle of thunder, the grumbling snort of an old man just waking up; I glanced up just as the yellow clouds split and water poured down.
Rain unleashed in a steady patter. Wiping at my eyes to clear the moisture, I kept going, unleashing another flurry of curses as the narrow heels of my boots struggled to find purchase on the slick earth.
One meter. Two meters. My progress was tedious, any sign of my destination obscured by the downpour. Eventually, I relented, squinting ahead for a landmark to orient myself.
I paused, my breath catching. Was that…?
“Tamerlane!” Two beams of pale light cut through the dimness.
My stomach dropped as, from behind the curtain of rain, a vehicle emerged—ungainly and monstrous, its metal hide glistening with moisture.
The automobile roared around the twisting bends of the road, racing closer until with a growl it slowed and idled alongside me.
Within it sat my fiancé. Noé was protected from the rain by a sort of webbed hood which arched up from the back of the vehicle’s booth, his features lost to shadow beneath it.
Breathing hard, he glanced down at me. “Get in the auto.”
I stared at him. So he’d made it back from his trip, then—and, judging by the fact that he was here, he’d been immediately alerted to my whereabouts by Philippe. Traitor.
I vocalized the sentiment. “I told Philippe I wished to walk.”
“Unfortunate, then, that it is not you Philippe reports to.” Noé appeared unmoved, safe and dry under the auto’s webbed arch.
I did not want to imagine how I looked in comparison: my dress clinging to my skin like wet paper, my caul barely retaining its grip on my scalp.
Nodding to the seat beside him, Noé said, “Come on, Tamerlane. This storm is dreadful. Up.”
In reply, I turned and kept walking. Behind me, the auto’s magesilk engine gave a menacing purr; a second later, I cursed as the vehicle pulled even with me again.
“Sisters three, darling, if you want to call off the wedding, just tell me so,” Noé shouted from inside it. “No need to kill yourself to avoid it.”
That, at least, got me to pause. Glaring up at him, I attempted to compose myself—a somewhat difficult task considering my newly sodden state. “Leave me alone, Noé. I’ll be fine.”
As if in defiance of my statement, a rumble of thunder interrupted us. Noé arched a meaningful brow just as the rain began to pour down harder. I gritted my teeth against the onslaught, shaking my head and pivoting away.
Again, I attempted to outpace him; again, the auto caught up with me easily. I did not acknowledge the contraption as it slid beside me, keeping my face turned forward and my attention on the road.
“It’s generally unwise to contest nature. I’m not sure the storm will be swayed by your usual arsenal of clever responses.”
I whirled around at his snide remark. “I am not getting in that thing with you.” The force of my own determination took me by surprise. Flushing, I calmed myself and said more steadily, “It isn’t much farther to Fortblanche. Turn back—I’ll meet you at the estate.”
Hoisting my skirts higher, I left him behind. The rain was beating loud enough now that its chattering chorus was all I could hear; still, I waited, shoulders tensed, for the inevitable lurch of the automobile to my left, leaping out like a beast from the murk.
It never came. Suspicious, I twisted over my shoulder just in time to see Noé trudging up to my side. Without the protection of the auto’s hood, he’d quickly become drenched, his white shirtwaist soaked through. His suspenders dug into his skin, the dark blue material bitten black by damp.
He pulled them down, one after the other, as I gaped at him. “What are you doing?”
Noé’s pace never faltered. I let out an involuntary yelp as he tossed his jacket at me, motioning for me to wrap it around my own thin frock. “If you insist on walking to your death,” he panted, “then I will walk with you.”
I was dumbfounded. Hastening to avoid being passed by him, I slung the jacket over my shoulders, annoyed to find the sturdy material granted me a reprieve from, if not the rain, at least the howling wind. “What about the automobile?”
“What about it?” He glanced at me sidelong.
“You said it was one of three in the nation!” I drew to a halt. “The rain will ruin it.”
“Let it be ruined, then!” Noé burst back.
Both our tempers seemed more volatile than usual, like we were dry kindling, flaring at the slightest spark.
I knew the reason for my anger; what was his?
“Or let some lucky farmer happen across it and sell it for a fortune. Really, Tamerlane, you think I give a shit what happens to the damned auto?” Breaking off, he collected himself, pushing a lock of sopping hair away from his brow. “What has happened to you?”
The sincerity with which he uttered the question nearly broke me. “Nothing has happened to me!” I spat in response. “I just wanted a breath of seaside air.” I gestured weakly at the downpour consuming us, aware of him watching on disbelievingly to my side.
“How funny,” he said flatly. “I’ve been craving the exact same.”
A flash of lightning on the horizon, stark and ominous, prevented me from responding.
Briefly, I considered doubling back and climbing into the auto after all, but all pride aside, it was the thought of being crowded in such close confines together which frightened me most. I did not want to imagine what could happen beneath that hood.
Giving in, I looked over at him. “Fine,” I snapped. “Keep up.”
Together, we resumed our climb. The rain had all but erased the line where the cliffs dropped away—where previously, the border between land and ocean had been distinct, now there was only darkness and a deeper, shifting sort of darkness seeping out from it.
I clung as close as I could to the far side of the road, afraid that any step would send me tumbling off the edge and desperate to avoid Noé glimpsing my reluctance.
After several minutes of hiking in silence—during which the heel of my boot twice nearly twisted out from under me—Noé spoke. “Philippe said you went into town?”
The storm caught up his words and threw them away, most of his speech lost to the howling gale. I flushed when I made out his question. “Yes.”
That single word, shouted over the storm, was all I gave him.
I made the mistake of turning my head as I responded: His face was right there, his skin rain-beaded and stark against the gloom.
He resembled a portrait of some naval captain, hard-featured and dangerously beautiful, plunging his ship beyond the breach.
“Shopping?” he called back.
I looked away. “Naturally.”
Quiet descended again. A minute later, he shifted back toward me and said, “What did he want?”
My arms prickled.
Holding my stare, Noé clarified. “Lear.”
Thunder rumbled beneath his statement. So he knows, then—or, at the very least, he’d guessed. Honestly, the realization came as somewhat of a relief. Perhaps, safe and dry before a hearth in Fortblanche, I could have pretended to him; out here amongst the elements, though…