Chapter 5 Savi
Savi
Fuck it, she was getting up.
Savi had had enough of endlessly tossing and turning, worrying about the day she was about to have. The sun was rising; it was as good an excuse as any to get out of bed.
The adrenaline running through her system accelerated her rate of dressing.
She couldn’t be bothered to wear a sari, with its pleats and knots and draping, not when she’d be shoved into that hideous wedding dress in a few short hours.
Savi opted for a lehenga instead, shouldering on a dark green, short-sleeved cotton choli—a blouse—and hooking it closed, before stepping into the matching skirt.
Storming out of the apartment’s bedroom, she threw a filthy look at the wedding dress before scooping up the satchel where her sketching folio lived. She quietly made her way out of the arched door and into the main corridor, just picking up the sound of a baby crying. Albert, most likely.
Treading the deserted path down to the northern morning room, Savi let out a sigh when she reached it. The bustling crowd of last night had disappeared, meaning the view from the doors was unimpeded—and what a view.
The swollen sun bled fiery orange streaks into the clouds, hanging low in the sky.
To the left lay distant hills coated with heather, turning them into rolling waves of amaranthine and mauve.
Low clouds had settled into the valleys between them, shielding their contents from view.
To the right lay a forest that seemed to be an endless sea of densely populated trees, the tallest of which skimmed the low-lying clouds.
The sight of it sent a shivering reverence up her spine.
She could well imagine the ancient beasts that once roamed these lands.
Aurochs and mammoths and Irish elk, their steps shaking the ground beneath them.
But what animals still lurked within its depths?
Itching to find out, Savi unlocked the doors with a turn of the key.
The crisp morning air unravelled the tension that had tangled in her chest overnight, smoothing the jagged edges of her apprehension. She headed for the forest, eager to soak in her surroundings.
Skirting around one of Silverburn’s vast turrets, Savi noticed a well-trodden path leading from one of the other wings—the east wing, judging by its position in relation to the rising sun—into the forest. She hurried over to follow it, knowing that without it she’d likely just end up lost.
The scent of pine whirled around her as she entered the forest itself, and she found herself taking deeper and deeper breaths.
With every step farther in, she found something new to appreciate.
The drops of dew on the grass, the gentle tinkle of birdsong, the raspy coo-coo of pigeons, the puddles of sunlight accumulating between the gaps in the trees, the silvery morning mist, her silent companion.
This place was so very easy to fall in love with, and she wanted to draw each and every bit.
Soon, Silverburn disappeared into the mist behind her, cutting her off from the outside world, until she was completely, wonderfully alone.
Or so she thought.
Savi stopped in her tracks. In the middle of the path up ahead sat a pure, almost ethereally white cat, its startlingly blue eyes fixated on her. It lingered on the edge of the mist, as though it was halfway between this world and the next, before slinking back into the white nothingness.
No wonder the ancient Egyptians revered cats.
It was a topic she was only too familiar with, given that, outside of Egypt itself, the Ashmolean’s ancient Egypt collection was rivalled only by that of the British Museum.
She had lost count of the number of artefacts she’d illustrated depicting the cat-headed goddess, Bastet.
There were even a few mummified cats in the collection, so great was their veneration.
Without thinking, Savi followed the cat, her fingers itching to sketch it. The mist whispered against her cheeks as she entered it, her gaze all the while searching for the ghostly feline. She half expected the path to twist and turn through the forest, but it remained as straight as an arrow.
The cat walked lazily ahead, becoming more corporeal as they left the mist behind. The trees were thinning too, and soon the woodland on her left gave way to reveal what had hidden behind it.
A glassy lake stretched out before her, its still surface perfectly mirroring the dawn’s early light. Patches of mist rested upon its surface, a picture so effortlessly gorgeous that Savi wondered if she was dreaming.
The arrow-straight path, she discovered, ended at the front door of what would have been the largest home she’d ever seen—had she not seen Silverburn yesterday.
Its walls were as white as the passing mist, rising up storey after storey after storey.
Where Silverburn seemed to have been extended over the centuries, tumbling across its surroundings, this perfectly rectangular house was a touch more dignified.
She squinted, noticing that it even had matching planters on either side of the front door.
A gentle splash of water tugged her attention back to the lake, as though something had popped its head above the surface before pulling it back down. In her search for ripples, Savi finally saw the cat perched on a large weathered stone, neatly curling its fluffy tail around its front paws.
Perfect.
Savi made her way over to the shore, leaving the path for the first time. Some distance ahead, there was a bench, but it wouldn’t give her the angle she wanted; instead, she settled for a pile of stones a couple of feet from the cat’s chosen perch.
It wasn’t the most comfortable seat, but it wouldn’t be the first time she’d sacrificed her own comfort for her art.
She had almost frozen solid when sketching a kingfisher last winter.
Savi pursed her lips and sucked the air through her teeth to produce the familiar chirping noise she used to get the attention of the ratters at the Ashmolean.
The cat ignored her, with nary a twitch of a whisker.
Savi did it again, to no avail. She leant to the side slightly, trying to attract the cat’s attention. “Little cat?” she asked. “You’re not a ghost, are you?”
“She’s not a ghost,” an amused voice said.
Savi let out a half-concealed shriek, almost falling backwards off her stone. She quickly located the voice’s owner—a man some way off shore. He was up to his shoulders in the water, his arms gliding through it in steady, repetitive motions.
“But she won’t be able to hear you,” he continued, softening the sharp cut of his jaw with an apologetic smile. “She’s deaf. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. You must be here for the wedding.”
It took her a couple of seconds to regain the ability to speak.
“I am.” A beat of recognition thrummed through her as she noticed his hair wasn’t all dark brown; in the middle of his forehead sat a slice of shockingly white hair, as though he had a built-in tikli.
Just the same as the oil paintings she’d seen at Silverburn.
Did that mean he was related to the groom? “Will you be attending as well?”
He suddenly straightened in the water, as though his feet had just found solid ground. It revealed the first few inches of his expansive build. He gave her a lopsided smile, a dimple briefly flashing on his left cheek. “I’ll be there.”
The defined lines of his shoulders were so very intriguing—from an artist’s point of view, of course. A knot of discomfort tangled in her stomach when she realised she was eyeing up a stranger on the morning she was about to wed.
She should have had one last night of fun before she left Oxford.
The curator’s son, perhaps. Or the man who worked at Blackwell’s on a Sunday.
Her most recent dalliance had been with a visiting professor from Greece, and she hadn’t been all that impressed.
At least if her life as a spinster ended on a high note, it would be easier to endure the cold winter of marriage.
“Are you a neighbour?” Savi gestured to the mist half-concealing the white house at the end of the path.
“No, myself and the rest of the family are only staying at the Dower House for the wedding.”
So he was related to the groom. “Dower House? As in, dowry?” Did that mean it was for the bride? Was she about to get an entire house all to herself?
“Almost.” He came a step closer to shore, his features becoming clearer still.
There was an unexpected dichotomy to them; rugged cheekbones and a nose that had definitely been broken at some point, paired with gentle eyes and the most endearing dimples she’d ever seen.
“Dower houses are usually inhabited by the widow of the late lord—the dowager.”
“Is the dowager living there at the moment?” No one had mentioned a mother-in-law to her. She knew her own mother’s mother-in-law had been little short of a tyrant.
“No,” he sighed, sorrow looming large in his expression. “She passed away nearly four years ago now.”
“I’m sorry,” she murmured. Something white shifted at the edge of her vision, and she looked over to see the little white cat climbing off its rocky throne, carefully padding over in her direction.
She tentatively reached her hand out, smiling when the cat rubbed its head against it.
“I’m really quite glad you didn’t turn out to be a malevolent spirit luring me to my doom. ”
The man gave a snort of laughter. “Like a furry little siren?”
“Quite,” Savi agreed seriously, before sending him an exaggerated stare, faux suspicion mingling with amusement on her expression. “Although I haven’t made my mind up about you.”
The man raised an eyebrow, a smirk spreading across his mouth. “Do you think I’m about to lure you into the loch?”