Chapter 3
Darkness swallowed him whole, body and soul, the instant he stepped through the immense doorway.
Before him yawned a mausoleum, silent and empty.
The butler waited patiently while Will turned in a slow circle, staring.
No one could deny the stonemasons’ mastery, the weavers’ intricate knotwork, or the architect’s vision, but together they had created a tomb.
Will followed the butler up the broad stone staircase, lit only by the occasional lantern, almost smothered by the darkness.
“What is that smell?” Will asked before he could stop himself. Something damp and coppery mingled with the mustiness of dust.
The old butler narrowed his eyes, and Will was certain the question had been impolite—even more so here than it would have been in the Capitol. The man wore a perfectly pressed suit, though his skin was pallid, his gait stiff, and the hair on his head sparse.
“We shall see how long you stay,” Will thought he heard him mutter.
Uneasily, he glanced over his shoulder at the pile of suitcases left forgotten beside the entrance. He had the distinct impression that the house itself, along with unseen eyes, had fixed its curiosity on them.
“Do not lose your way, Mr. Frank.”
Will hurried after him, up to the third floor and along a lengthy corridor. By the time they stopped before a door, he was breathless.
The hinges groaned as the double doors swung open. Near-total darkness greeted him, the room lit only by a faint lamp at the far end. Within its pool of light stood a tall chair, a hunched figure seated in it.
Will had spent hours studying the handwriting, and by now he was certain the duchess was not an old crone. The pen had swept across the paper with far too much confidence and clarity, without the slightest tremor or hesitation.
Yet now he faltered, his steps slowing as he crossed the vast room. Was this the ballroom? No—the room was in the wrong part of the house, too secluded for guests, though the absence of furniture allowed for little further speculation. He kept moving toward the figure in the chair.
A movement beside the chair brought him to a halt.
A woman stepped out from behind its high back and bent toward the seated lady.
Now only a few meters away, Will could make out a coat drawn tightly around the seated woman’s chest, covering every inch of skin from her gloved fingertips to its high collar.
Only in her lap and around her feet, where the folds fell open, did white linen show through.
He frowned at the sight of the nightgown.
“Your Grace, Mr. William Frank has arrived,” the butler announced.
The lady’s maid stepped back, and the light brushed the duchess’s face—or the place where her face ought to have been. A steel mask, wrought as delicately as the tracery adorning Bloodgrove’s buildings, encased her head.
Will froze, staring. Was that a crown? Filigreed ribs curved behind her head like a halo, and even the brace encircling her neck was intricately engraved and set with rubies.
Just in time, he remembered his manners and sank into a deep, dramatic bow, one hand pressed to his chest and the other extended as though he were an actor on a stage. He had not come here to judge, but to work.
“Your Grace, thank you for inviting me. It is an honor to undertake this work for you.” His long braid slipped over his shoulder like silver silk. He dared to raise his eyes, searching the shadows for some sign of a reaction.
A gloved hand motioned for him to rise.
“William Frank has succeeded in hollowing out a piece of his soul large enough for all of us to enter,” the duchess read aloud, her voice faintly distorted by the mask.
Only then did he notice the newspaper she had produced from the folds of her coat.
He was so taken aback by the soft music of her voice that he scarcely registered the words of the article that had marked the beginning of his downfall.
“He shares with us his dream of sunrise over the sea, amid pink spray and white clouds. Mr. Frank does not strive for practicality or commercial appeal, but rather to make the visitor pause and marvel when the heart itself whispers ‘home’. Those are grand words, Mr. Frank.”
Almost imperceptibly, he shifted his weight from one leg to the other, relieving the foot that was missing its little toe.
“I strive to live up to them,” he replied, his voice rough after so many hours of silence. Praise like that could open every door for a young artist while, at the same time, becoming the executioner’s blade hanging above his neck.
His gaze traveled through the dark room; slowly, his eyes began to adjust to the lack of light.
At the sight of the taxidermied beasts and the bulky stone table, he wrinkled his nose.
He assumed they were an attempt to make the room appear more presentable and distract from how little furniture it actually contained.
Even so, the quotation gave him hope, for at the end of the world, where a year-old article was read aloud as though the next generation’s newest darling had not been praised only a month earlier, it would presumably take very little to impress.
“This is what the architecture of the future looks like,” she continued. “Can you give me that? Can you usher in a new age?”
“If Your Grace grants me sufficient freedom…” He slipped into the role of the self-assured artist as easily as into a pair of familiar gloves, concealing the uncertainty that had plagued him since the scandal. “May I ask how extensive you wish the renovation to be?”
The duchess made a small gesture toward the hall, but Will could not shake the impression that she lacked the strength for even that. The way she kept her elbow propped upon the armrest, barely lifting her hand…
“I see your disapproval.”
Will stiffened.
“Good. All of this is my father’s work, but I am now the head of this family, and I want to burn his rot and decay from these walls. Replace it with ‘pink spray and white clouds,’ should you wish.”
“If I may speak frankly, Your Grace…” Will’s gaze darted toward the lady’s maid, who watched him like a vulture. “But Bloodgrove does not strike me as a place where such a style would meet with approval. We could perhaps find something more…fitting.”
“You learned all that from a single carriage ride?” She laughed dryly. “Bloodgrove is a swamp. It is time we remind its people of that and bring the future even to our forgotten corner of the world. Break the old curses and bring the world to us.”
A faint smile touched his lips as a cautious spark of excitement kindled within him. He did not dare pass judgment upon the duchess, yet her lucid words seemed strangely at odds with her fragile appearance. He burned to see the face beneath that strange mask.
“I will demand a great deal from you. This is a commission unlike any you will ever receive again,” she continued. “The entire city will speak of our undertaking, and throughout your time here, you will represent my house. Are you prepared to give it everything you have?”
Will forced himself to nod. “I understand, Your Grace. I am ready.” It all sounded suspiciously like the very thing from which he had fled, and for a moment panic threatened to drive its blade into his heart.
He swiftly forced it down. This commission could restore his reputation, and he would prove that, even without magic, his talent alone was enough to make him worthy of it.
“Tomorrow, you may inspect the ballroom. It must be completed in time for the New Year’s ball, so we have no time to lose. For today, however, you are to rest.”
“I—”
The duchess raised one hand, only to hide it immediately within the folds of her coat when her fingers twitched and cramped. “Enough. I shall retire now. Hedgefort will help you with any further questions.”
Will bowed hastily. “Thank you for placing your confidence in me, Your Grace.”
The butler was waiting by the door, but before Will left the room, the duchess spoke once more. “And Mr. Frank—I strongly advise you not to leave the house after dark.”
“Nor to wander the corridors unattended,” the butler added.
With that, the door fell shut behind him.
Will’s head swam as Hedgefort led him through a labyrinth of corridors and staircases until, in a deserted passage on the fourth floor, they reached the guest wing.
His first meeting with the duchess had not gone at all as he had imagined, though he would not call what he felt disappointment.
The goosebumps had not subsided since the moment he entered the grand townhouse; even now, the fine hairs on his skin remained raised, as though a constant, cool breeze were brushing over him.
Bracing himself for the next unpleasant surprise, he followed the butler into his rooms. The scent of freshly disturbed dust tickled his nose, but everything was clean.
A fire burned in the soot-blackened hearth, while lamps illuminated the monstrosity of a four-poster bed, each of its posts carved into the bound bodies of young men and women writhing in pleasure. Will raised an eyebrow.
To his relief, his suitcases were already waiting for him, and he declined the butler’s offer to unpack them for him.
“I shall bring your dinner to your room this evening, sir.”
Surprised, Will agreed and continued to wander around the room.
It could have been worse. With spiteful satisfaction, he thought of his traitorous friends in the Capitol, who had wanted to see him fail.
Yet here he was, entrusted with a project that could restore his standing, and all he had to do was breathe fresh life into these ancient walls.
The instant Hedgefort was through the door, Will tore open the heavy velvet curtains and welcomed the moonlight, the moon now one night past its fullest. Its silver glow mingled with the gold of the oil lamps.
Hardly a window was illuminated at this hour; only now and then did he catch a flash of light through a narrow gap in the curtains.
There was nothing to distract from the sea, which stretched glittering toward the horizon like a vast expanse of silver scales, and his smile softened.
He remembered summer nights from his childhood, when he had watched the moon dance over the waves.
“You would do better to leave those closed,” the butler’s voice said suddenly. Will had not heard him enter, yet there he stood in the middle of the room, a tray balanced in his hands.
“Next time, knock.”
“I did, sir. You did not answer.”
Will dismissed the matter with a nod. He would inspect every one of his suitcases carefully.
Hedgefort served the evening meal upon a small table by the window. “Bat in a blanket, with fig compote.” Then he poured red wine from the decanter.
“I will need a desk,” Will said, surveying the room. The bookcase along one wall was sparsely filled and offered ample space for his collection of sample books. The two doors presumably led to a washroom and a dressing room.
“Her Grace has prepared the conservatory for your work. She believes it will best meet your requirements.”
“Thank you.” He would have preferred to make these four walls his refuge, somewhere he could design in peace, but he would discuss the matter with the duchess personally.
Before leaving, the butler paused once more. “You should close the curtains. You already look like one of the moon children.”
With that, he departed, and Will smiled. His mother used to call him that.