Chapter Seventeen
ELODIE
Ifollowed the same route that I’d taken in my dreams. I could tell from the way the frosty winter air whipped across my face that this time I wasn’t asleep.
I didn’t believe my nightmares to be anything but dreams, yet I hoped I could get rid of them if I found what they were trying to show me.
However foolish that sounded. The cryptic instructions of my mind were clear: I needed to find the mausoleum.
I wrapped my sweater tighter around my torso and quickened my steps on the earth-bound path.
The moon was absent, not as it had been in my dreams. I raised the torch I found in the stables, someone must have left it, and swept a few twigs out of my way.
The sleeping forest looked the same as it did in my dreams as I ventured deeper.
Which is odd, as I’ve never stepped foot in it before.
Branches broke under my boots like bones, painful roars in the silence of the woods as I kept going.
After living alone in the city and walking the streets at the hour of the dead, an empty forest couldn’t scare me.
Yet, I couldn’t ignore how heavy and still the air felt around me either.
As though the trees themselves were holding their breath.
An owl’s haunting cry echoed through the forest, and the hairs stood on the nape of my neck. I stilled, eyeing one tree after the other, their dark trunks twisting and tangling.
A low melody drifted to my ears, and I moved in that direction.
I walked around bushes and trees broken in half, until, resting between two tall trunks, I saw it.
The river was wider than it sounded and foamy from the strength it moved with.
I remembered it from my dreams, though I hadn’t encountered it then.
I edged closer, careful to keep a safe distance from its depths.
If the river was here, I was on the right path.
The mausoleum had to be here somewhere as well.
A branch broke, and this time it wasn’t under my boots.
The shattering sound came from somewhere behind me.
I spun around, observing the darkness behind the cool light of the torch.
Without realizing, my other hand slipped around the knife in my pocket.
I was about to shift behind the dense embrace of a bush when the ground suddenly gave way beneath me.
I plunged into the river.
I tried to gasp for air, but it was already too late. The freezing water closed above me, sealing, like the lid of a coffin. The cold slammed into me like glass shattering against my chest. Bitter water rushed into my ears, into my nose, my mouth, and then the surface was gone.
I thrashed, trying to claw my way back up, but the current was stronger.
I tried reaching, again and again, but all I felt was cold.
The slow realisation of death sank into my mind as the river dragged me under.
Invisible limbs—slippery and cold, like hands of ghosts—wrapped around my ankles, my wrists, tugging me deeper.
I thrashed harder, my lungs burning, my eyes wide open in the murk. My panic ignited. I clawed, but my limbs flailed, uselessly. My coat tangled around me, my boots pulling me down like stones.
Then, something warm and solid brushed against my arm.
I coughed, choking on water as my face broke the surface. I didn’t feel my limbs. I didn’t know how I reached the shore, but I did. I lay on my stomach, holding myself up with my arms as much as I could, and resting my forehead against the hard ground, shivering violently.
Then I retched.
River water, vile and sour, spilled out of my mouth, my teeth chattering from the skin-piercing cold. I tried to steady myself and failed.
“I might have a suggestion for you,” a familiar, insufferably deep voice drawled behind me. “Don’t jump into the river if you can’t swim. It’s a bit too Shakespearean if you ask me.”
I wiped my mouth, then lifted my eyes to Preston Davenport. He was sitting on a broken trunk beside a shivering bush, his clothes just as soaked as mine, though he didn’t seem cold at all. It was like he was almost at ease, if not for the purple of his lips. Which now smirked wickedly.
“And, if you wanted to cuddle that bad, you should’ve just asked.”
The remaining blood left my face. “As if,” I said, my voice hoarse as I tried to stop my fingers from trembling. “And I didn’t need you to jump in. I had the situation under control.” I lied, desperately trying to salvage my self-respect as the cold wind kept trying to push me over.
The blonde boy lifted both of his eyebrows. “Right, and the scream was to warn the fishes.”
My nostrils flared. I balanced myself upright, my waterlogged boots squeaking under my feet. The wind slapped me again as I swept the wet hair out of my face.
“What’s that?” Preston asked, pushing himself to his feet, his cheeks flushed crimson from the cold, making him even more good-looking, if that was possible. I grimaced, annoyed at how much I noticed.
“What?” I glanced around, only to realise his focus remained on me.
“Your skin.” His eyes narrowed like he was looking at an enigma he couldn’t quite understand.
I followed his gaze, and my eyes rounded. The sleeves of my sweaters had rolled up from the current, and pink lines marked my arms like curling vines.
I stared at them, not sure if they were real or not.
But I could still feel the tendrils, slick and spectral, dragging me down.
It was like the river had left a signature on my skin.
The panic came in a distant echo, as if it belonged to someone else.
I didn’t have room for it. Not while he was watching.
“Were you following me?” I asked, changing the subject and wringing my hair out, ignoring the pulsing in my arms. “Again.”
Preston stayed still, surveying me like he thought I hid more than I shared. He thought right, but his suspicion didn’t bother me any less. I took a deep breath, my lips trembling from the cold.
“Does it hurt?” I asked, my tone edged. “That it wasn’t you?” The anger came out of nowhere. From the pits of my mind.
His light brows furrowed, as if he didn’t understand what I was asking. Then his expression changed, the meaning of my words finally sinking in.
“I’m devastated.” He tipped his head, lifting a hand to where his heart supposedly was. “However, I’d never hurt a woman. Not even you, poison.” I stiffened. “And there are way simpler methods to hurt someone.”
The shadows of the forest grew thicker around us, but I could still see the faint curl of a grin tugging at his lips. My jaw clenched, my fingers firm around my penknife. Only then, I realized, had the river stolen my newly found torch.
“A simple thank you would do it,” he added, shaking out his wet hair. “You know, for saving your life.” He fixed his sweater and I scoffed.
“I was fine on my own.”
“Sure, you were on a fine way of dying, Ophelia.”
My lips parted then closed. “I was handling it.” My bottom lip trembled from the cold again, and I turned away so Preston wouldn’t see it. I didn’t need him to pity me. To think I was vulnerable.
“You are—” Whatever words he wanted to say, he bit in half as I moved toward the manor. “Are you walking away from me? I jumped into the river to save your life!” he called. “Shouldn’t I be getting a teary-praise like heroes get in books?”
I answered without glancing back. “There is very little worth shedding tears for. This? Wasn’t one.” My fingers loosened on the knife as my mum’s words left my lips, then I halted, my jaw clenching. “Thank you,” I muttered, before moving on.
Although I would never admit it out loud, he was right. He saved my life tonight. But if he was really expecting something in return, he was about to be sorely disappointed. I’d rather choke on the water and lie in the riverbed than let someone use me as a pawn in their own selfish games.
I was passing the maze, its shadows hovering over me, when a sudden realisation struck me, bright as lightning. I turned down a narrow path and slid between the maze’s winding walls.
My feet skid to a halt under the dark stone in the centre. I kneeled, running my eyes over the small letters etched into the silver plate.
Orion Thornbury.
And underneath, the Latin phrase.
Tenebrae vorant tenebrae rapiunt et ex iis regnamus.
I knew it was familiar when Lilian said it. My eyes glanced at the small crest with a swan in the centre, sitting below the Latin sentence.
“Darkness consumes, darkness takes, and from it, we rule,” Preston read from behind me. “Nice family motto, I must say.”
I tried to ignore him, but his words clawed past the walls of my mind. Family motto. It was a strange one, but it wasn’t half rubbish. Darkness consumes, darkness takes. It fit the folktales written of this place. So it must fit the family living here as well.
I pushed myself to my feet, and to my annoyance, Preston did the same.
“A good fit, if you ask me,” he said.
I turned to face him. “I didn’t.”
He towered over me and I narrowed my eyes, my fingers squeezing the penknife.
“Don’t you like to ruin things, poison?” He spat the name, like saying it was enough to poison. “Aren’t you drawn to darkness?” he whispered, and I stiffened, unsure what he was getting at.
I forced my lips into a sharp smile. “Depends,” I tipped my head with the same cockiness he used, “would I be ruining you, Davenport? Because if so, then yes, consider me a fan.”
A muscle ticked along his jaw, unreadable emotions flickering behind his fathomless green gaze. I stepped back, letting my eyes linger on the sculpture a moment longer.
Never trust the darkness, bug.
My mum’s words whispered once more, and my gaze shifted toward manor.
“Do you know anyone named Alex?” I asked suddenly. “In Lilian’s circle, I mean.”
I knew who Hudson was, and I knew who Vitalie was. So knowing nothing of Alex had bugged me.
“You ask an awful lot of questions without giving anything in exchange,” he replied.