Chapter 13
Chapter thirteen
The gate outside the mayor’s mansion in Ghadra had been tall and spired, the whorls of iron shaved sharp enough to cut. These gates put all of it to shame. Twice as tall, with spires needle-fine, and whorls that seemed off-putting to Lux’s eyes—until she noticed what it read.
Mothlock
She pressed her face nearly upon the glass to better view the thick stone pillars supporting them, and how those pillars gave way to a wrapping iron fence, extending as far as she could see. And beyond it—
Lux sucked in a breath.
“It’s really not so unfriendly as it appears.” Corvin’s voice resonated between their bodies, quiet and reassuring.
But she hadn’t even glanced at the hulking residence spearing the sky.
She stared at the water.
It was far away and interrupted by fencing, but it was blue. A deep, dense blue. And it stretched on forever. Hardly a cloud marked the sky, and the sunset beamed upon the land unobstructed. It lit the sea last, its evening rays bathing everything in shades of orange. Then it all vanished.
Lux eased back as the carriage turned to face the manor. It was almost too impossible to fathom. That she was here and not there. That there was so much space. That she could look out on a clear day and see the very reaches of the horizon.
People live like this?
A jolt of envy skewered her at the thought, dousing her cold. How horribly unfair. To have been born in Ghadra. To grow up as she did and see what she saw. Her fists clenched around her hidden books.
Devil below, what I would do to change it. Her gaze met Corvin’s and narrowed. To have his life…
“Are you well?”
His blatant concern only angered her. Because somewhere deep down she knew she was being irrational. One cannot help what they cannot control, and the circumstances of her birth fell into that category. But if she’d been brave enough to leave sooner—
“I think my lack of sleep is catching up with me.” She massaged her temples in an attempt to lessen the tension.
She listened to Corvin’s reply from behind closed lids.
“I’ll secure you a room. The whole of Mothlock will be yours to explore come morning.”
Her eyes snapped open. “All of it?”
“Fine. You’ve caught me out.” Corvin ran a hand through his hair, a smile tugging at his mouth. “Most of it. There are, after all, a lot of dead spaces and ends in an old house like this.”
“I didn’t realize an invitation allowed so much.” Lux studied the peculiar markings on the pillar as they passed it by. Are those…faces?
“It doesn’t. That’s what you have me for.”
Lux turned back in time to catch his devilish grin and could well imagine the sort of child he’d been, with a clever, curious mind and a sprawling manor for a home.
She thought he might also be an orphan. But she didn’t dare ask.
“And how quickly could I see the water?”
“Immediately?”
Her heart skipped before galloping ahead. “Please,” she said, hoping it didn’t sound as pleading to him as it did to her own ears.
Corvin’s expression softened; she knew then she’d been begging.
“I cannot deny you,” he said, and when the door swung open, he descended first. His hand reached between them, into the carriage. “Welcome to the great Mothlock Manor, Lux Thorn.”
Lux slipped her hand in his—and promptly lost her breath.
They were too close. She couldn’t possibly take it all in at once.
Lux stumbled back against the carriage and stared, her gaze sweeping upward.
Black stone stairs ascended to black doors, and onward, to cross-barred windows and a single, peaked tower.
Sculpted creatures peered down at her from the highest vantages.
“This is…” Deep-green vines crept partly up the walls, their fingers digging in tight to any cracks. Blue blooms larger than her head were spread stark against the black.
“I know.”
Lux afforded herself a quick glance and found him staring up at the manor’s entrance with something akin to reverence. But the roar of the sea was louder now outside the carriage, and she couldn’t be distracted for long. Her gaze swept the garden.
The rather…overgrown garden. Pale stone paths branched from either side of the courtyard she stood within, tunneling into the reddened briar. But which one leads to the water?
When she asked, Corvin huffed a laugh. “I’ve never met someone so singularly obsessed with the sea.” She stared at him until he relented. “This one,” he said, pointing to their right.
She immediately started toward it, but he gripped her arm. “Remember to mind the plants.”
Lux breathed away the reactive wish to toss his hand off.
Instead, she waited until he removed it on his own before nodding and heading into the thicket.
Corvin followed behind her—she could hear his soft footfalls—but she kept her eyes trained forward.
To the growth lining either side of the pathway, but also on the roar ahead.
She could smell the salt stronger here than before, the brine-scent of sea-grown things, and when the first dusting of water peppered her skin, she nearly wept.
So this is what it feels like to live your dream.
The path curved, and Lux stopped, an arched door of dark wood rising to meet her. She glanced over her shoulder, her hand outstretched toward the ring in question, but when Corvin only winked at her, she faced ahead once more and, mindful of the brambles, pulled.
There beneath the stone archway, Lux nearly sank to her knees.
Stone steps and a raging sea. They were so much higher above it than she expected, and it sapped the strength from her legs.
She could see indefinitely. Dark cliffs dripped with seaweeds and sea-spray beneath her.
Farther out, spears of rock rose from the waves, so drenched they appeared black.
It was dramatic and wild—so far removed from any creek, lake, or river, it seemed unreal.
Corvin stopped beside her.
“The steps lead down to the cove. It isn’t safe during certain times of day with the shifting tides, and you mustn’t enter the water here, but otherwise, you can walk the shore. It’s a good place to think and dream.”
“I have no more dreams than this.”
“None?”
She could feel his stare against her profile, but she couldn’t pull her gaze away. Maybe one more, she supposed, and gasped when a great wave crashed below, the windswept spray coating one side of her face.
“What do you dream of?” she asked.
Corvin watched the waves with a thoughtful expression, his brow furrowed.
“I’ve not had anyone ask me that, I don’t think.
Not for a long time anyway. I suppose I dream of accomplishments.
To be the best I can be. To learn as much as I’m able to in this life.
And I dream of dreams. I’ve slept without for too long. ”
“You can’t dream?”
“No. Not in the traditional way. Not in the way I’d like to.”
Lux studied him, at how well he seemed to fit upon this cliffside, with his hair as light as the sky and the rest of him blended into the dark seascape. To sleep without dreams? Rarely could she recall experiencing it herself.
Most of what’s in my head are nightmares.
“Those are admirable,” she said, just as another—larger—fissure cracked her suspicions.
“So is experiencing what you never have before. I apologize if I implied otherwise. I’ve come to take my home for granted.”
“You didn’t imply.” She extracted her gaze from his and breathed in lungfuls of salt.
“The mountains were breathtaking, but treacherous and cold. And the forests I came to, like Ravenwood, were calm and beautiful, nothing like what I’d grown up with.
But this…” She shut her eyes a moment. “This speaks to my soul.”
“Careful,” murmured Corvin. “Or I might have to convince you to stay.”
And before she could think of what those words could mean, she said, “I might let you.”