Chapter Thirty-One
Hate is a poisonous thing. A calling to the darkness beneath. Rotting and sour as it forms us into something we never wished to be. One of the Old Gods’ curses on this world, to make their summonings easier. To weather our hearts so their offers relieve us of the pain of our own destruction.
– An Introduction to Ancient Curses , 1289
Thankfully, everyone seemed to have forgotten I existed through the rest of the dinner and afterwards. Enough for me to linger by the window, looking out at the dark gardens as I held a glass of wine, rolling it between my palms. Waiting for the torture of the evening to be over. Before I was overcome with the urge to bludgeon Lord Percy to death with a wine bottle.
I turned to look out at the darkness beyond the window, part of me wondering if anything was looking back. The moon a pale silver disk against the blackness.
Yet, as I glared at my own reflection in the grimy glass, I couldn’t stop my attention being drawn to the cackles of laughter coming from the far corner, where the loudest guests had gathered, Emrys pulled deep into the fray, either by choice or obliged, I didn’t know. Shouldn’t care.
A flare of light in the darkness beyond the window caught my eye, just by the trees at the side of the house. I leant closer to the window, holding my breath so it didn’t fog it as I tried to focus on the shape. A small spectre, from what I could make out. Maybe the same one from Paxton Fields. But it darted around the other side of the house.
My temples ached with the threat of a headache, like a creature clawing at my mind. I put my wine down on the sideboard, turning sharply to try and find where the spectre went, wondering if the gardens were still open as I ran headfirst into something solid.
‘Good gracious, Miss Woodrow. Are you all right?’ Lord Fairfax asked, breathless with my assault.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I blurted out, pulling back and trying to steady the old man. I could have knocked him clean off his feet but thankfully he remained upright, smiling as he fixed his grey hair with trembling fingers.
‘It’s no trouble. I came to see if you were enjoying the evening.’
‘Of course, they don’t offer such entertainment at the Institute.’
‘No, I wouldn’t say they do. How dour they’ve all become since they took power.’ He nodded, tired blue eyes taking in the room. As if wanting be anywhere but here.
‘I don’t have any complaints,’ I replied easily. Not falling into the trap of disrespecting the Council to a stranger.
‘Really?’ he pressed, a playfulness in his eyes that had little to do with kindness. ‘You seem startled.’
‘Sorry, I thought I saw something outside.’ I shook my head, unsure how I’d lost control of myself so easily.
‘This is an old house; spirits are bound to dwell,’ he reasoned, but his politeness didn’t distract me from the lie in his words. Fey spirits didn’t dwell in places like this. Not unless they were trapped. ‘Robert found it easy enough to find his way back to me.’
Robert. His son. The potency of that grief, the glimmer of tears in the man’s eye, made my stomach knot. Pain at his loss, at how much I understood it. I didn’t want to. Wanted no connection to this lord and all the horrid secrets his house kept.
‘I’m glad.’ I smiled, even if it was nothing but madness. I was glad he had that comfort if nothing else.
‘Come.’ He offered his arm gently, giving me no chance to refuse. ‘You’ll find this interesting.’
Unease brushed across my bare shoulders, hoping he wasn’t about to show me some petrified creature, only for him to move to an alcove bookcase with a small seating area before it - off to the side where I imagine guests would play cards. The dusty chairs clustered together for privacy.
‘My father was a great lover of the game.’ He waved his hand to the small table, where a game board was set up. ‘Despite his other … reserved beliefs.’
My heart dropped within my chest, sinking into a horrid coldness of my own grief. All the sound seemed to fade away and all I could see was that board. The small stone pieces carved with a different creature.
Lo Karun. The Game of Beasts.
A fey game from the wilder lands. One my father taught me; one I hadn’t seen since. Not beyond the memories of my childhood. I could feel the rough callouses of my fathers hands as he curled my fingers around the dice. Hear the deep echo of his laugh. My mother’s soft hands would be on my shoulders, the tickle of her breath at my ear as she showed me the best way to beat him.
No cheating, Eria. He’d warn her with a laugh. How it would fill the whole room.
Eria – my love in Kysillian. How much tenderness he could press into the word.
Memories buried too long. Ones I’d almost forgotten that seared my chest with the pain of them. As if Lord Fairfax had fished down deep into my soul and found something I missed the most.
‘I haven’t seen one of these in a very long time,’ I barely whispered. Unable to swallow down that horrid weakness in my voice.
‘Do you play?’ Fairfax asked, that kind smile still in place.
‘Not since I was a child.’ I shook my head, blinking hard to stop the fall of tears. How something so small could unman me so easily.
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you, Miss Woodrow.’ He reached out for my arm cautiously.
‘You haven’t.’ I ran my hands over my skirts in an attempt to stifle my grief. ‘I’m just tired from the day.’
‘Perhaps I could interest you in a quiet game?’ His voice was so soft and alluring. Speaking to that weaker part inside of me that needed it. ‘In the library if the noise is too much?’
I wanted to say yes, for a moment to go back. To hear that laughter again, but out of the corner of my eye, for a moment, there was something wrong with his face. His smile too sharp, eyes too intent and the skin beneath them rimmed grey. I blinked and it was gone. Just a kind old man waiting for company.
That wishing stone against my skin fluttered quickly before falling silent once more.
I’d definitely drunk too much.
‘I would …’ A strange sensation washed over my skin, the same moment that wishing stone against my breastbone began to flutter again. Insistently. Pinpricks of icy pain were running down my arms, turning me to see the entrance to the hall, but there was no threat there. Just a gathering of people conversing drunkenly.
My eyes moved around the room, finding … Lord Percy surveying me with suspicion from the corner of the room, Thean surrounded by flushed ladies as Emrys watched me cautiously from the shadows, seeming to ignore every word from Lady Lovell, who chatted endlessly next to him.
Please , whispered through my mind, telling me it wasn’t a mistake. The wishing stone almost vibrating against my skin, forcing my hand to rest on my chest, feeling it beneath my dress. Turning me back towards the main doors just as something rushed passed them. I could have mistaken it for a trick of the eye, but I knew it wasn’t.
Something inside of me grew unsettled by that darkness beyond the ballroom, as if something was watching from that hallway.
‘Miss Woodrow?’ Lord Fairfax asked gently, almost making me jump as I turned to see his concerned expression.
‘I’m afraid all the entertainment has taken it out of me tonight.’ I tried my best to smile, to shake off the feeling, but I couldn’t.
Please , it whispered against my ear, as soft as breath, turning me in the direction of the doors of the main ballroom again. There sat a small tabby cat with familiar green eyes and one ginger leg.
Alma.
She turned and ran off into the darkness, fear constricting my chest. She shouldn’t be here.
‘Excuse me,’ I mumbled, working my way quickly across the room, trying not to run as I pressed passed the other guests. I ignored their sneers as I slipped into the dark hallway, the lamps struggling under the damp darkness. I pressed my hand to the cracked wood panelling, letting my fingers drag across it as I heard the cry of a cat, pulling me further into the dark.
‘Alma?’ I hissed, checking under the side tables. Finding nothing but cobwebs as I moved further down the hall. I hitched up my skirts and raced further down the hall after the sound, not caring if any servants saw. Past rooms illuminated with nothing but moonlight, doors creaking in a breeze as the sheet-covered furniture made odd, foreboding shapes.
Deeper and deeper down mould-speckled corridors I hurried, until nothing but a covered mirror stood before me at a dead end. All the peeling doors closed. Nowhere she could have gone.
The sheet hanging over the mirror rippled, something moving beneath. I lurched forward, pulling it free. Dust swirled in the disturbance, only to see a reflection of myself and the endless darkness behind me. Rust consumed the outer filigreed edge. The roses looked like skulls before I leant closer. That ache in my temples deepening making me wonder if I’d imagined the movement as I studied my own confused expression.
‘Behave,’ I whispered, frustrated with my own foolishness as I looked at the ground and surrounding walls for a crack or hole a cat version of Alma could have gone through, only for the small tabby shape to dart behind me in the reflection.
The echo of her cry came once more. I turned, hearing the distant clatter of movement, something drifting across piano keys that were out of tune from a distant room.
‘Alma,’ I hissed as I moved back the way I’d come, wondering if I’d missed her in one of the rooms. Only to take a different turn to end up in a dark hallway, walls stained with soot, what remained of the wallpaper curling away. No lamps, just the bitterness of winter air as I grasped my elbows, breath misting before me.
Faced not with the rest of the hallway, but hanging fabric that billowed, covering the wooden scaffolding beyond in the ruined section of the house.
‘Alma?’ I called out. The cloth flapped sharply, almost beckoning in the breeze.
I grasped the fabric, seeing nothing but the charred remains beyond. Sharp burnt wood and darkness. A piano leaning drunkenly to one side with only two legs.
Here , the wind hissed past me, brushing my skin like a physical, icy touch. A sniggered hiss of laugher followed. A scuttle that reminded me of those ruins.
I dropped the fabric, turning, but there was nothing.
My heart pounded against my ribs as I reached out to touch the charred wood panelling next to me. Feeling the same bite of that magic I’d felt earlier when Emrys had given the wood chip to me, the roughness of where the fire had tried to devour it but there was something else.
A horrid consuming pain, agony streaking through my fingertips that didn’t belong to me.
A wetness ran between my fingers and a hideous groaning, almost human, sent me stumbling from the charred wood as I looked down at my hand. Smears of red covered my white gloves and the copper tang of blood filled my nose.
The shadowy soot-coated wall seeped with it, catching in the cobwebs before it dripped down to the ash covered floorboards.
Run .
‘Miss.’
A short cry left my lips, and I spun round to see the decrepit, stooped housekeeper, hands clasped before her. ‘Is everything all right?’
I panted, eyes darting to my hands, almost holding them out in a silent plea for help, only to see they were just trembling. No blood. No pain. Just white satin.
I turned back to the wall. Nothing but charred wood and dust.
I was losing my mind.
‘You shouldn’t be in this section of the house. It’s dangerous,’ she continued sharply. Oblivious or uncaring of my madness.
‘S-sorry,’ I stuttered, feeling the wetness of tears as they ran down my cheeks. Mad. I’d gone mad.
Ashamed, I rushed past her. Back the way I’d come, uncaring as I started to run, finding the stairs and taking them two at a time. Not slowing until I found my room, entered, and locked the door before clambering through the wardrobe, uncaring that my gown snagged on the old wood.
I rushed out into the study, the house leading me to the kitchen stairs. I tripped on my skirts getting down them, desperately following the murmur of voices, skidding to a halt at the bottom.
‘Alma.’ Her name left me like a plea. Seeing her sat before the fire, smiling at something William had said. Dark curls were pinned in a relaxed fashion on top of her head, wearing her simple grey day dress over her very mortal form.
‘Kat?’ She frowned, standing and dropping her mending back into the basket at her feet. ‘What’s wrong?’
I charged towards her, unable to catch my breath until I had hold of her.
‘Why were you over there?’ I demanded, hurt burning in my chest that she’d play such games. Those foolish tears blurring my vision.
‘Over where?’ She frowned, eyes darting to the cluttered kitchen table next to us, pages scattered across it. The remains of a small dinner, still-steaming cups of tea and slices of cake.
I shook my head. ‘I – I saw …’
What did I see? Nothing.
‘Sit down, Kat, you’re terribly pale.’ William suddenly had hold of my arm, trying to pull me down, but I shrugged him off.
‘I saw you in Fairfax Manor,’ I accused. ‘You were there.’
Her eyes went wider with worry as she shook her head. ‘I’ve been here, Kat. William has been helping me with all the notes you left.’ She indicated to the table.
I shook my head, unable to understand. It was Alma, I knew it was and yet, her eyes were clear and mortal with her truth.
I’d seen her. Just as I’d felt that pain. Just as I’d seen that blood.
Grief was a monster all its own . I’d forgotten that.
‘I’m sorry,’ I whispered breathlessly, exhausted with my fear as I sagged onto the bench.
‘It’s no bother,’ William said, and patted my shoulder gently ‘I’ll make some tea.’
‘Thank you, William.’ Alma smiled, crouching before me. Those feline eyes running over me with concern as she reached up to wipe my tears away. I should have resisted with my shame. With all the fuss I’d caused, but my limbs felt heavy as the pounding of my heart slowed. Unable to understand any of it.
‘Are you sure you won’t be missed?’ William asked carefully as he began to mess with the tea pot.
I gave him a pointed look as I pulled off my gloves and he quickly went back to making the tea.
‘I’ve been studying those earth samples Emrys gave me from the ruins. I think I’ll have some results in the morning.’ He continued to talk as he worked, filling the silence with conversation as Alma led me to the table.
‘What happened, Kat?’ Alma asked, taking my trembling hands between her own as she remained before me.
‘I’m probably just tired.’ I smiled weakly, my throat burning with all the things I wanted to say, to tell her about the horrid things I’d seen, but what good would it do to give my nightmares to someone else?
Daunton and the foul things that haunted me.
She frowned, leaning closer to gauge my expression. ‘It’s not like you to make mistakes.’
Perhaps I just didn’t know myself anymore. Not like I thought I did. Breaking my own heart with foolish thoughts and thinking I could play games that were way beyond me.
‘Kat,’ Alma whispered, her grip on my hands tightened as if sensing that darkness in my thoughts. ‘I’m here.’
A promise she’d made me before, when Daunton’s blood was still on my hands and the madness still in my veins. She’d held me even when it had burned her. Knowing the danger but staying anyway.
I pulled her into an embrace, finally letting an even breath slip between my lips as her hands made soothing circles at my back.
Here. That voice whispered in my mind. Too real and I was fearful that not even Alma’s reassurance could chase it away. As if something had followed me from that darkness.