Chapter Twenty-Five
He knew. Because of course he knew. But—did it matter? What harm was it really, that he guessed she’d turned the beasts to stone?
Alora did not ask for help, nor did she get any, as she unloaded what trim remained from their frantic journey.
It was just as well, being as how she needed to imagine nearly every piece whole again.
Cracks and splinters abounded, and one piece was missing entirely.
She knew the one and discreetly checked her measurements before bringing another into existence. What else could anyone have done?
Mr. Macaw met her eyes briefly but didn’t return her wan smile, his face reddened with exertion as he hauled the first specter wolf into place.
Alora hated that the creatures responsible for killing a man and gravely wounding another would be immortalized before the mansion’s front doors.
Because that’s all the Urchin was: wounded. Not dead.
He couldn’t be dead.
Alora stacked as many pieces of trim as she could comfortably handle before making her way up the steps.
She spared a glance for the new topiary.
It was still unfinished, as Mr. Macaw was now busy with other things, but the bottom half looked nearly complete.
There were all manner of objects along the base, and they seemed to be trickling down from something, but that something was yet incomplete, and so she couldn’t be sure what it would eventually be.
Nothing, if she didn’t finish the room.
Except her mind was far from her project.
She’d told the Urchin captain she’d become traumatized if he died in her arms, but in truth, she’d become traumatized already.
She could think of nothing aside from what she’d done and how he’d felt, his body slumping to unconsciousness against her.
She supposed they would have taken him out the back.
He must have rooms similar to William. She hoped they’d found the healer who’d helped her.
Of course they will have.
She was being foolish. He was too young—too important—to let die. He was Master Merridon’s son, after all, though she couldn’t help but think of what little regard the man had seemed to spare for him. What if help had come too late?
Dammit, she shouldn’t care! He wasn’t a good person. How could he be? Good people didn’t skulk about bludgeoning others and spying for wicked men. They certainly didn’t command others to do so.
Except—
He’d saved her once, had helped her more than that. He’d saved Reginald. And he’d kept her secrets. All of them.
The trim was heavy, as quality wood often was. Alora was out of breath by the time she reached the darkened hall, and her arms were afire. Yet she refused herself a reprieve. She also refused to shuffle what she held in order to retrieve her lantern. She knew the way now regardless of light.
She regretted the latter choice a moment later.
“Miss Pennigrim.”
Alora stilled in the dark. “Who’s there?”
“I’m wounded you don’t recognize my voice.” She felt movement to her right and swung toward it, her eyes adjusting enough to make out the human shape. “Easy with those. I’ve enough bruises to contend with because of you.”
William.
Alora didn’t know it was possible to be both equal parts furious and frightened. Her voice dripped with vitriol. “How long have you been down here?”
“You’re angry I didn’t come to you sooner? I tried. You weren’t at home.”
Her entire body spasmed at his words. She yearned to lash at him until he was nothing more than pulp.
Her leap to such imaginings scared even her, enough that she came back to herself.
“That is not why I’m angry, and you very well know it!
What were you thinking, coming to me after what you did?
What you meant to further do?” She reached out blindly and murmured a blessing in relief when she found the knob. She swung the door in.
She could feel William follow her inside.
“Do you want an apology? Forgive me then, Alora. For not realizing you didn’t want things to progress between us. But need I remind how differently you behaved that day? The rules you disregarded. How you begged against my throat?”
“You drugged me with Lust!” She tossed the trim down and found the lamp. She felt like the Urchin captain, striking and breaking matches in her rage. At last, one caught and flared between them.
She gasped at what she saw.
“Ghastly, isn’t it?” William traced the split in his lower lip, though it was his eye that had apparently suffered the most. “The captain thinks he is quite the enforcer of expectation, but I think we all know his true motivation, don’t we?”
Alora turned up the lamp with shaking fingers. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“I hate feigned ignorance.”
She looked up in time to see his eyes harden, his lips pressed tight.
“Feigned ignorance? As you stand here and spout about your confusion in my behavior? You gave me an enchanted drink, William. Yes, I did not ask, but I should not have had to. You’re manipulative and entitled and I want nothing to do with you, not even a friendship. ”
“Such harsh words! It seems I need to convince you otherwise.” His hand shot out to grip her wrist, and he tugged, meaning to pull her in.
But Alora leaned back and dug in her heels. “Let go.”
“What is it? Is it because I am not my brother?” William’s lips lifted into a sneer, his eyes narrowed and flashing. “Should I pull on a hood and an atrocious leather coat to claim you?”
“Of course not. It isn’t that. That Urchin—”
“Urchin? So, he’s divulged the secrets of his associations to you and still you want him? My, you are more devious than your innocent look claims.” He smiled then, though it didn’t reach his eyes. Instead, a fire seemed to build inside him. “It is lucky for you that I enjoy those traits even more.”
The next time he pulled her, she didn’t have a hope of stopping him.
Her chest met his in a rush of air.
“Enough of this, William! I will go to Master Merridon.”
“Master Merridon?” His laugh was dark and lasted so long, goosebumps erupted all over her skin.
“By all means, please do. And I will follow you after and tell him of all you know but shouldn’t.
Do you realize what sort of weapon your beloved Urchins use?
” His opposite hand left her arm to caress her temple.
“I would hate to see you bleed over it.”
“What have I done to make you believe I wanted you this way? I’m not interested in anything between us. This obsession you have needs to end.”
“Obsession?”
Alora cried out as his grip turned crushing on her wrist. “William,” she whimpered.
“I loathe that word. And I know precisely who’s given it to you to use. Did you know, Miss Pennigrim, that he is dead? Good riddance, if you ask me.”
Alora felt as if the ground crumbled beneath her feet, the earth falling away. “What?”
“They couldn’t save him in time. He lost too much blood.
Oh, fucking hell. Look at your face. And here you tried to convince me you harbored no feelings.
” He reached to her cheek, his thumb wiping the tears beginning to fall.
His gaze softened to something mimicking tenderness.
“Forget about him, Alora. Forget all the past ugliness between us. Let’s start anew. ”
“It can’t be true.”
“Oh, but it is. You might think I am manipulative and whatever else, but I’ve never lied to you.”
His hand moved along her jaw, tangling almost painfully in her hair. Alora cringed at the feel of it, her entire body recoiling. “Please. Stop.”
“Never,” said William, and bent his head to hers.
Alora pressed her eyes closed as William bellowed, stumbling backward when his hands fell away. He cupped his face, groaning. Blood trickled through his fingers. “My nose! You’ve broken my nose!”
Alora gripped the trim she’d imagined into her hand like a lifeline. “I asked you to stop.”
At her quiet words, William ceased his moaning. When he lowered his hands, it took all her fortitude not to run.
William's eyes were a nasty web of broken capillaries, his nose bruised and crooked, running red over his lips and chin. When he bared his teeth, they were stained with blood. He looked murderous, and she’d no doubt at all that he would follow through on those feelings. He stepped toward her.
“Do not come near me. Not another step.”
In answer, William spat a stream of crimson onto the floor.
“William—”
He lunged.
Tripped.
And Alora wasted no time swinging again, wood meeting his skull with a horrid crack that rattled the room. Master Merridon’s second son slumped to the floor.
Alora’s breaths were coming too fast to be useful.
She put a hand to her forehead to fend off the dizziness threatening to consume her.
A pool of blood formed beneath William’s head, the floorboards returning as they once were, no longer warped and protruding, but flat and straight.
She’d done that—tripped him up when he would have tackled her to the ground, and she’d bludgeoned him. Like some kind of Urchin.
She almost vomited right then, but somehow her body managed to hold out.
She didn’t know what to do. Who to turn to. Who could she trust in this place?
Or maybe that was the wrong question.
“Madam Feebledire,” she said, her gaze still focused on William and his shallow breaths.
“MADAM FEEBLEDIRE!”