Chapter 27
My eyes fluttered open, then snapped shut again as pain thundered behind them. A dull pounding filled my skull.
The air was thick with dust. Each breath scraped my throat raw. I coughed, wincing as the motion sent pain rippling through my ribs. My cheek pressed against cold stone slick with dampness, the chill sinking deep into my bones. Beneath the musty air lingered another scent. Iron and rot.
I forced my eyes open again. The room swam before my vision—a small, round chamber, scarcely furnished with a single bed, a small wood table and chair—walls curving upward into darkness. Narrow windows slanted high along the walls, letting in frail ribbons of silver light.
A tower.
The east wing, I realized dimly. The only part of the manor with such a structure.
I tried to sit up, but a wave of dizziness seized me, and I slumped back against the floor. My heart stumbled in my chest, and for one terrible instance, I thought I might faint again.
“Oh,” a voice cooed softly. Slippers scraped against stone. “You’re finally awake.”
The voice was light, lilting, almost cheerful. It came from behind me.
I forced my head to turn. A figure stepped into view, golden hair tumbling freely over her shoulders. No cap. No wig.
My throat burned as I rasped her name. “Nelly…”
She knelt gracefully beside me, smiling as she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “Best not to move, dear,” she said sweetly, combing her fingers through my hair as if soothing a child. “You’ll only make it worse.”
My body trembled. “W–why are you doing this to me?”
Her laugh was soft and airy, the sound of someone utterly untroubled. “Oh, I’m not doing anything to you, my lady. This was all Julien’s idea from the very beginning.”
Julien.
The name alone sent a spike of nausea through me so violent that I thought I might vomit.
“I don’t… I don’t understand,” I whispered.
Nelly sighed as though I’d disappointed her.
“I suppose you deserve to know the truth,” she sighed, standing and crossing to the rickety chair by the table.
She sat, folding her hands in her lap with an air of self-importance.
“Julien and your husband are identical twins. Julien was born first, which made him the rightful heir. But…” she paused, feigning pity. “Julien isn’t what you’d call… sane.”
Her smile returned, small and cruel. “Their father sent him away when he was twelve to an asylum.”
My stomach twisted.
She leaned forward, her eyes glinting with delight. “Can you guess which one?”
Briarwood.
Before I could speak, she waved a hand. “Yes, that dreadful place. As fate would have it, that’s where Julien met your dear mother. They became… friends.”
The words slithered through me like poison.
Nelly continued, almost giddy. “When Julien escaped, he went to London. He spent weeks pretending to be his brother. He inquired about you, learned your habits, your favorite books, even the color of your gowns. It truly was all too easy to convince you that he was Lord Blackthorn at that Masquerade. You were utterly defenseless.”
I stared at her, my vision swimming. “No…”
“Oh yes.” She smiled, her lips stretching wide.
“And when the real Lord Blackthorn learned what had happened, he married you to protect you. To salvage your name. And to lure Julien out of hiding.” She laughed.
“He’s been searching for Julien ever since, poor man.
Never realizing his dear twin has been right here, living under his roof the entire time. ”
She stood, moving toward the stone wall where a pair of gleaming iron shackles hung limp. She lifted one as if weighing it in her hand. An incredulous laugh escaped her.
“How ironic that your dear, ignorant husband thought he could outsmart a madman and cage him in the very tower where he already dwelled.”
My chest constricted.
Sylum’s disappearances…
His long nights away…
His frantic secrecy…
The conversation he’d had with Mrs. Ashby about preparing the tower…
He was never deceiving me. He was never trying to drive me mad or lock me away…
He was hunting his own brother. He was trying to protect me. Trying to keep the past from consuming the present.
My voice shook. “And you’ve been helping him. You’ve been drugging me.”
She crossed back to me, crouching before tapping my forehead with one finger. “Now you’re starting to understand.”
“Why?” I asked, my voice cracking.
“It’s simple.” She shrugged. “We meant to drive you mad—or make you think you were. It was a perfect plan. We just had to make you believe that your darling husband was behind it all. You’d go raving, everyone would gossip, and his precious wife would kill him, believing he was poisoning her.
Or at least that’s how we planned to make it look.
Lord Blackthorn would be dead and you would be locked away in the asylum for his murder. Two birds, one very pretty stone.”
She pressed a hand to her chest, sighing theatrically. “Oh, the misfortune. The Duchess gone mad, the poor Duke murdered by his lunatic wife. So tragically romantic, don’t you think?”
I could only stare at her.
“You truly were difficult, though,” she added with a pout. “Refusing your tea, wandering where you shouldn’t. You spoiled my cleverest trick—the asylum records I placed in your husband’s desk. I thought surely that would push you right over the edge.”
Her tone darkened. “Nonetheless, I’m glad your little exploration expedited the plan. I was growing tired of babysitting you.”
It was all starting to make sense now, the pieces falling into place. But there was one thing still bothering me.
“What about Lydia? Did you kill her?
“Oh yes,” she answered, clapping her hands. “I planned to use her more to make you think she was your husband’s mistress, but unfortunately she had to go. She was becoming suspicious. She caught me mixing hemlock into your tea water.”
She hesitated, smiling cruelly at me. “Don’t worry, you didn’t kill her. It was me you elbowed that night. I simply took the opportunity to make you think you did. Julien killed her.”
I stared at her in silence, licking my dry lips. “She was their sister.”
Nelly snorted. “Half-sister and an annoyance.”
“So it was you I saw in the garden with Sy—Julien?”
She laughed. “Yes, of course. I played many roles in your demise.“ She lifted her hand, tapping each finger as she listed them off. “Lydia. The ghost of Elizabeth. The wailing in the walls. Your precious maid. Your poisoner…”
I swallowed hard against the burn rising in my throat, but the tears still gathered, hot and traitorous. My voice slipped out, thin and frayed.
“Why didn’t he tell me?”
The words cracked mid-breath, as though splintering under their own weight. “Why didn’t Sylum tell me he had a twin?”
Nelly tilted her head, lips curling in a small, pitying smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
“Why would he?” she replied with a shrug, almost singsong, as though discussing the weather. “Julien was the rot in the Blackthorn tree. He was the shameful secret no one dared prune. A brother bound to him by blood… and by madness.”
She leaned closer, smiling.
“Quite the delicious paradox, isn’t it?” Her smile sharpened. “He couldn’t bear the thought of you knowing that lunacy runs in his veins. And yet…” Her gaze drifted over me with a sneer of disgust. “What right would you, of all people, have to judge him?”
The words struck like a slap, cruel and precise.
She rose then, crossing to a small leather bag in the corner. Glass clinked faintly as she rummaged through it. When she turned back, a gleam of metal flashed in her hand.
A pistol.
My heart lurched.
“What happens now?” I asked, my voice trembling.
“Since you’ve ruined our original ending, we’ve had to improvise,” she explained, tucking the pistol into a garter beneath her skirts. “Julien is waiting at the cliffs. I sent word to your husband that you’d gone wandering again. He's probably halfway there already.”
Her eyes glittered. “When we arrive, Julien will take care of your husband. You, my dear, will be found with the pistol that kills him. They’ll cart you off to be with your mother and Julien will take his rightful place as heir… and I will become his Duchess.”
“You’ll be caught,” I choked out.
She smiled. “I don’t think so. All the servants think you’re mad enough to do it. They’ll tell the constable about your episodes.”
From her pocket, she withdrew a syringe and amber vial.
My pulse spiked.
I tried to move as she filled it, but my limbs were sluggish, uncooperative. She knelt, seized my arm, and before I could scream, plunged the needle into my skin. A searing heat spread through my veins.
“What is that?” I croaked watching the syringe empty into my vein.
“A little mixture I’ve been saving for just this moment,” she mused calmly, gripping my arm so fiercely that her nails dug into my skin.
“Laudanum and Nightshade…” she paused, tilting her head at my horrified reaction.
“Don’t worry, it won’t kill you. I’ve been perfecting just the right amount for weeks. ”
She barely finished the sentence before the effects wracked my body. Everything began to sway and spin. Her face slid into a haze of melting colors and when she laughed, the sound came too slow, too foreign.
My body became a tomb and I couldn’t even think clearly enough to tell my brain to move my limbs.
“Come on,” she urged, scooping her arm beneath my head, forcing me to stand on legs that I couldn’t even feel. “Let’s go before it really drags you under.”
We stumbled through the tower, my weight sagging against her shoulder. Each step sent fire through my skull. The corridors swam, melting in and out of focus.
Darkness crept in and when I came to again, we were in the garden, the cool night air stinging my cheeks. The manor loomed behind us, its windows dark as hollow eyes.
“Almost there,” Nelly murmured, dragging me forward with unnatural strength for a woman her size.