Chapter 25
I moved soundlessly into the dining room, my palms damp despite the coolness of the hall. The long table was dressed in silver and crystal. Candles burned low in their sconces, their flames bowing to some invisible draft. The scent of roasted duck and spiced wine lingered heavily in the air.
Sylum stood the moment he saw me.
His surprise was fleeting, visible only in the hitch of his breath, before his expression softened, smoothing into a warm, composed smile.
“Lucy…” he murmured, his chair scraping softly against the polished floor as he stood. “I didn’t expect you would join me.”
I hadn’t expected it either. But doubts, left unwatched, tended to ferment into something poisonous.
“I’m feeling much better,” I lied, unsure whether the falsehood was meant for him or myself.
He pulled out the chair to his left, his fingers brushing the carved wood. Once I was seated, Sylum resumed his once more, watching me with that searching tenderness that made my skin prickle.
For several minutes, only the quiet scrape of cutlery filled the room as we ate our meal.
Every now and then, I felt his gaze on me as though afraid too sudden a movement might cause me to vanish… or shatter.
At last, when the weight of unsaid words grew impossible to bear, I cleared my throat.
“That night…” I began in barely more than a whisper. “Before I was dra—” I swallowed, correcting myself. “Before I found my way to the south wing… I went into Lydia’s room.”
Sylum’s wine glass paused mid-lift. The dark red wine trembled, catching the candlelight like a drop of blood before he finally took a deliberate sip.
“I found a locket,” I continued, keeping my tone casual, almost conversational. “At least I think I did. It was dark… and my mind was not entirely steady.”
I forced a faint smile. “But I remember a lock of hair inside. Black. Curled slightly at the ends. Did you know of such a piece?”
His eyes snapped to mine, sharp and searching.
“No,” he said at last, after a long, measured moment. “But… it is possible she would have one in her possession. When Lydia came to Blackthorn, I gave her a box of my mother’s jewelry. She might have found a lock of hair there.” He paused, his voice softening. “My mother was quite sentimental.”
“I see,” I murmured.
I watched him. Closely.
He watched me back.
“It’s strange, though,” I added lightly, as though thinking aloud rather than interrogating him. “The hair looked… darker than yours. Not by much but… just enough to notice.”
I tilted my head. “Almost as if it belonged to someone else entirely.”
Sylum went still.
Not for long, only a heartbeat, but long enough for me to take notice.
“My hair was much darker when I was young,” he answered finally. “Nearly black, in fact. It has lightened over the years.”
A single thread of discomfort tugged at the base of his throat, tightening the muscle ever so slightly.
I smiled as though I believed him. “Oh. Well that does make sense then.”
His posture eased as he leaned forward, forearms braced upon the table. His gaze softened again, earnest and intent. “Lucy… what is this about? If something troubles you… if there is anything you need clarification on, I want you to know you can ask me anything.”
I hesitated.
The memory of Sylum taking the locket from my hands pulsed at the base of my skull, half-formed and refusing to settle into truth or dream.
“I believe I took the locket,” I said. But when I saw… when I thought I saw you, you took it from me. Was that real?”
A brief moment of something unreadable crossed his face.
But before he could answer, movement at the edge of my vision stole my attention. I turned sharply toward the tall windows, heart leaping into my throat.
And there, pressed against the glass just beyond the candle glow, a face stared back at me.
Sylum’s face.
I was certain of it, though something felt off about it.
The features were wrong, pallid as if drained of blood, the eyes too dark, swallowing the whites entirely. And the smile, a terrible, stretching thing, was almost sinister.
A strangled gasp tore from my throat.
My chair scraped violently as I shot to my feet, bumping the table so hard that dishes toppled. Wine spilled in a crimson arc across the linen, darkening like fresh blood.
“Oh!” My shaking hands scrambled to set the glass upright.
“Lucy?” Sylum was beside me instantly, his voice taut with concern as he reached to steady me. “Lucy, what is it? What happened?”
“I… there!” I pointed wildly at the window, breath stuttering against my ribs. “There was… someone. Someone outside.”
Sylum turned at once, crossing the room. His stride was swift, certain. He seized the handle of the French doors, flung them open, and stepped out onto the terrace. Cold night air surged into the room, smelling of damp stone and frozen earth.
He scanned the grounds.
Nothing but moonlight and rolling fog.
After a moment, he turned back to me, brow furrowed with confusion and worry.
“There’s no one here, Lucy,” he assured gently. “It must have been a shadow cast from the moonlight. Or perhaps a reflection.”
But I stood frozen, staring at the place where the face had been.
Because I knew what I’d seen.
Even if no one, including myself, believed it.
Sylum returned to me slowly, closing the french doors behind him. His expression was composed, gentle even, but I saw the briefest look of unease there before he smoothed it away.
“Come,” he murmured, offering his arm. “I’ll escort you up to your room.”
I swallowed, forcing a steady breath as I placed my trembling hand against his sleeve. “I’m fine, really. It was… a trick of the light, as you said.”
His brows creased, just for a moment, before he gave me a reassuring smile. “Of course. Moonlight can play all manner of tricks on the mind.”
He guided me out of the dining room, his hand warm and steady at the small of my back, but my heart refused to slow.
My pulse skittered like a frightened bird trapped in my ribs as we climbed the grand staircase side by side. Each shadow we passed seemed to lean toward me. Each portrait glared with too-wide eyes.
I glanced behind us, half certain I would see another face—his face, but not—lingering just beyond the candlelight.
Sylum mistook the anxious glances for lingering fright. He slowed his pace, bending slightly to catch my gaze. “If something is troubling you,” he murmured, “you know you can tell me.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat, forcing another small smile. “Truly, Sylum, it was nothing.”
He didn’t look convinced, but he said nothing more as we reached the landing. He walked me to my chamber door, releasing my hand only when I reached for the latch.
He hesitated.
“Lucy…” he said softly, the word suspended between us. “If you want company tonight, I can stay. Or, if you’d prefer, I can send Nelly up to you.”
I waved a dismissive hand, though the movement was too quick, too defensive. “Sylum, please. I’m fine.”
Fine. Perfectly fine.
A lie I clung to by the thinnest thread.
His gaze lingered on my face before his hand lifted slowly, brushing his knuckles along the scar on my cheek in a feather-light caress.
“If you’re certain,” he said, frowning.
“I am.”
His hand fell back to his side. “Sleep well, Lucy.”
And then he stepped away, slowly, as if waiting to see whether I would call him back.
I didn’t.
He turned and disappeared down the hall, his footsteps fading into the thick hush of the manor.
I slipped inside my room and closed the door. Leaning back against it, I pressed a trembling hand to my sternum. My heart was still racing violently, as though it recognized something my mind simply refused to accept.
And somewhere in the manor, faint and distant, a whisper of laughter drifted through the walls.
Not quite Sylum’s.
Not entirely unfamiliar.
“Two shadows,” Poe croaked from the canopy above my bed. “One bone.”
I squeezed her eyes shut.
“Not tonight,” I begged. “Please… not tonight.”
But it was happening again whether I begged or not.
That sharp pain in my skull that I was becoming all too familiar with, beat painfully behind my eyes. I swallowed, forcing back the sudden nausea that threatened to overtake me.
Stumbling forward, I sat on the edge of my mattress, inhaling and exhaling slowly.
“You’re fine,” I whispered, assuring myself even though I knew it was a lie.
Poe’s wings flapped sharply, sending my pulse skittering, as he circled around the room before landing next to me.
“Sorrow,” he murmured, quietly, nuzzling my arm with his head. “Sorrow for my lost Lenore… nameless here forevermore.”