Chapter 28
“Lenore… Lenore… Lenore…”
The voice chased me through the darkness, luring me from the depths and echoing against the inside of my skull. Pain flared white-hot behind my eyes, sharp and tearing.
Another voice—the next one real, warm, heartbreakingly human—broke through the fog.
“Lenore? Love? Can you hear me?”
My eyes fluttered open, assaulted by a wash of golden light. There were murmured voices, the rustle of fabric, and the soft snap of curtains being drawn shut until only a muted glow remained.
I blinked against the haze, faces blurring above me. Panic climbed my throat.
“W-what… where am I?”
The memories surged back like a cold tide. Julien’s chilling smile, Nelly’s golden hair peeking from a wig, the syringe plunging into my arm, the cliffs, the shot—oh God, the shot…
I lurched upright with a hoarse cry.
“Sylum! Where’s Sylum? His brother—they’re twins—he tricked me—I didn’t mean to—I shot him—I shot—”
Tears streamed down my cheeks, choking my words.
Strong arms came around me suddenly. The scent that enveloped me was warm cedar, crushed roses, and the familiar breath of the man I loved.
“Shhh,” he murmured into my hair, his voice trembling with the effort to stay calm. “You’re alright.”
Through the blur, I looked up into Sylum’s face. His hand stroked my back gently.
No… no… not Sylum… Julien.
I shoved against him in blind terror, stumbling away as my feet hit the floor. “No! You’re not Sylum! He’s dead! I saw… I killed…”
The room steadied in a ring of faces. Mrs. Ashby hovered with her hands clasped to her chest, eyes glossy with worry. Nelly alive and whole, stepped forward timidly, pale as linen.
“Your Grace? Are you alright?”
I shook my head violently, pointing a shaking finger at Nelly. “No… no, this isn’t possible. You died,” I whispered hoarsely. “I saw you die!”
Nelly froze, her brows knitting in bewilderment. Mrs. Ashby placed a steadying hand on her shoulder.
“Lenore,” Sylum said behind me, his voice patient and soothing. “No one has died. You had a terrible accident.”
“My name is Lucy!” I snapped, turning on him. “And you are Julien! You’re lying! Y-you are not my husband!”
I turned to Mrs. Ashby, pleading. “Please… You must believe me! You know they’re twins. You’ve been with the family since they were boys! Julien escaped the asylum and pretended to be Sylum!”
I pointed to the man pretending to be my husband. “That’s not Sylum! That’s Julien, and he killed him… I killed him…”
I broke into a sob, stumbling back, desperate to get away from the imposter.
Mrs. Ashby caught my hand, her eyes soft but firm. “Lord Blackthorn doesn’t have a brother, Your Grace,” she assured. “He only has a sister. Miss Lydia. Don’t you remember?”
I shook my head frantically. “No! Lydia died and…” I stared at Nelly then, my voice nearly hysterical. “And she’s working with Julien! They killed her!”
Mrs. Ashby’s expression gentled with deep concern. “Miss Lydia is very much alive, Your Grace. Nelly hasn’t killed anyone. She’s been your maid for two years.”
No. This couldn’t be real.
I shook my head slowly, staring at the faces surrounding me.
“Lenore?” Sylum rose, reaching for me slowly. “You’ve woken up a bit confused, that’s all. You fell from your horse. We found you on the moors and you’ve been unconscious since. You hit your head, sweetheart.”
“No…” I exhaled sharply, backing away. Slowly, almost fearfully, I reached for the back of my skull. Beneath my tangled hair lay a thick, padded bandage. The touch sent dizziness spiraling through me. My knees buckled. Sylum caught me before I hit the floor and pulled me against his chest.
“Careful,” he breathed, holding me as though my bones were glass. “I’ve got you.”
Our eyes met and I fell into the pools of amber as something inside me cracked open.
Memories crashed into me—beautiful and utterly undeniable. Our wedding beneath an archway of roses. Lydia fastening my veil with trembling fingers. The sun warming my cheeks as Sylum vowed devotion. Our moonlit dances. Our whispered laughter. Riding through the fields. His hand steady at my waist.
Two years of love.
Two years of peace.
Two years untouched by madness.
Our life together came back in a whirlwind of memories so clearly that my breath caught.
“Sylum,” I breathed, the name breaking on my lips. “Oh god… Sylum.”
I was Lenore Deveroux, Duchess of Blackthorn, wife to the love of my life.
I clung to him as sobs wracked my body. He sank with me to the edge of the mattress, his arms fierce around me.
“That’s it,” he coaxed gently, pressing a kiss to my temple. “Come back to me.”
I remembered everything now. Riding through the moors… the storm… the frightened mare… the accident.
“I had the most awful dream,” I choked, trembling. “You were gone and there was another you… and Nelly was poisoning me and I killed you…”
Sylum chuckled against my hair. “I’ve told you not to read those morbid tales to Poe. They’ve clearly warped your mind.”
I looked up, wide-eyed. “Where is Poe? He must be beside himself without me to read to him.”
“He’s fine,” Mrs. Ashby replied quickly. “I’ve been downstairs reading The Tell-Tale Heart to him.” She wrinkled her nose. “Such a morbid creature. I never understood why the late Duke took him.”
Sylum guided me gently back into bed, tucking the blankets around me.
“You must stay put,” he said. “The doctor insists on rest for a few days.”
“How long was I asleep?” I asked, still dizzy.
“Three days, Your Grace, though you did wake up enough to fight me every time I had to give you the Laudanum the doctor ordered.” Nelly answered brightly. “You’ve hardly missed a thing.”
Sylum took my hand and brushed it with his lips. “But I missed you,” he whispered. “I feared I’d lost you.”
Warmth bloomed in my chest. Even after all this time together, he could still undo me with a single touch.
“Alright,” he announced at last. “Everyone out. I want Lenore to rest.”
The others filed out as he pressed his lips to my forehead, but when he started to turn, I caught his hand. “Please don’t leave me.”
His dark eyes softened as he settled beside me in bed. I curled against him, my cheek resting over his heart.
After a long quiet moment, he murmured, “Do you want to tell me more about this dream?”
I drew a breath. “It was awful. My mother was in an asylum where she met your twin brother—also completely insane—and you’d nearly married someone else.”
He chuckled, staring at the wall as if picturing my words. “I can certainly imagine that was a terrifying nightmare.”
“Horrifying,” I agreed, nodding against his chest.
“Go on,” he teased.
“Well,” I sighed, “I did marry you, but your twin tricked me at a masquerade. He meant to drive me mad and kill you to take your title.”
“That does sound dreadful,” he said with mock gravity.
“Quite. And Nelly was working with your twin, drugging me with Laudanum and Nightshade. I thought you were trying to drive me insane because they made me think you were evil… but really it was your twin…”
I hesitated, the memory of the end of the nightmare choking me with dread. “I killed you…”
A tear slipped down my cheek as I saw him fall from the cliff in my mind.
Sylum was silent for a long moment before his hand caressed my cheek. “It wasn’t you. It was all in your mind. Just a dream.”
I took a deep breath, managing a small laugh. “Poe was the only one trying to warn me.”
“Of course he was,” Sylum muttered, rolling his eyes. “Even in your dreams, you think more highly of that bird than me.”
“That’s not true!” I protested. “I love you more than anything in this world.”
“Not more than Poe, I’m certain.”
I laughed softly. “Don’t be silly.”
He hummed, entwining our fingers. “A twin, huh? An evil one at that?”
He glanced toward the bedside table stacked with my beloved books—Poe’s collected works, The Tale of William Wilson on top.
“I can’t imagine where you could have possibly come by an idea like that,” he murmured dryly, tracing the faint scar along my cheek—the scar not caused by a mentally unstable mother, but rather a tumble down the stairs as a young child.
Just then, a flutter of blue-black wings startled the air. Poe burst from the hidden wall panel—a winding network of passages I’d had built through the manor for him alone.
I laughed as he landed squarely on Sylum’s chest, glaring at him with those familiar beady eyes before nuzzling against my cheek.
“Oh, my Lenore,” he crooned.
Sylum groaned.
“Poe, my sweet angel,” I whispered, kissing his soft head. “Did you miss me?”
The bird burrowed against me with a happy trill.
“I think that’s my cue,” Sylum said dryly, sliding out from beneath Poe’s wings. He leaned down to kiss me, but Poe blocked his mouth, feathers brushing my lips. I laughed, the sound muffled by his silky wings.
Sylum only sighed, catching my hand instead. He kissed each finger gently. “Rest, my love. I’ll fetch you a tray. You must be ravenous.”
I smiled, watching him linger a moment before he finally turned toward the door.
Poe swooped to the bedside table, pecking at the book. The one I had been reading to him before my fall.
William Wilson.
“Two shadows. One bone,” he croaked, almost tenderly.
I smiled, coaxing him back into my lap as I opened the book to our place. The candlelight trembled across the pages as I began to read aloud.
“You have conquered, and I yield. Yet henceforward, art thou also dead—dead to the world, to Heaven, to hope! In me didst thou exist—and, in my death, see by this image, which is thine own, how utterly thou hast murdered thyself.”