Chapter 44
One week later, they climbed into a sleigh that looked like a winter forest, black and gnarled, the four horses before it carved from the same wood. Elodie and Will wrapped themselves in furs up to their noses, the pelts so thick they swallowed his entire hand.
White clouds towered before the steel-grey sky; a storm was gathering over the sea.
“Like clockwork—the peninsula is struck by its worst storms every winter solstice,” Elodie said. She pulled her fur hat down to her eyebrows until only a narrow strip remained for her eyes, which were the same color as the sky above them. Will drew her closer.
“In the Capitol, it never truly becomes winter.” He did not know this kind of cold, which bit through to the bone and threatened to flay the flesh from his cheeks.
Black Bloodgrove became almost picturesque beneath it, with thick beams of snow upon the windowsills, drifts piled against the walls, and roads packed smooth beneath the passing sleighs.
Even the oppressive landscape of rooftops seemed weightless: white waves as far as he could see, broken only now and then by dark tracery.
The sleigh lurched into motion, and they were away, silent but for the bells upon the harnesses.
“How do you celebrate the solstice?” he asked. He searched the shop windows for decorations, though he knew better—this city was allergic to romance. And yet, even as a grown man, he missed the lights, the music, the small wonders.
“Celebrate?” Beneath the blanket spread across their legs, Elodie slipped her arm through his.
“We fear this day. The longer the night becomes, the wilder the vampires grow. Every household locks itself inside a single room with food and blankets. Candles burn everywhere, and herbs are thrown into the fire. We write blood wards on the doors to keep evil away.” Her eyes shone as she looked up at him. “I loved it.”
Will laughed. Only a madwoman like her could enjoy such a night.
“I loved it because my entire family and all the servants were gathered in one place. It was cramped and warm in a house that was otherwise never cramped or warm. Every year felt like an adventure. My sisters and I huddled around the fire and were allowed to eat and drink as much as we wanted. Hedgefort read us fairy tales, and Papa…” She broke off, the corners of her mouth falling, and unless Will misread her expression, she missed the man.
No matter how terrible her father had been, no matter how many atrocities he had committed until the blood had seeped into the foundation of the house, she missed him.
Or at least one facet of him, the one she had seen only on the darkest, most terrible night of the year.
“And you?”
As Bloodgrove glided past in its black-and-white splendor, like the burned-out remains of a fairy tale, he found it difficult to think of home.
“When I was little, I loved it. My parents and I celebrated in our cottage by the sea. We decorated every inch with figures of angels and candles, burned herbs, and sang songs. There were gifts and food, and I would fall asleep in front of the fire.”
“Not anymore?”
“If I were not here, I would still travel to see my parents. But it is not like it used to be. My father doesn’t understand me—especially my hair.”
“How could anyone not love your hair?”
“He says that was where everything began—whatever that is supposed to mean.” Will laughed uneasily.
No matter how long the journey lasted or how fiercely the cold threatened to freeze his nose, he enjoyed being alone with Elodie again, unobserved.
The driver upon the box never turned toward them and never spoke.
Will was not entirely certain she was human.
The horses galloped onward without rest while wolves howled in the distance.
Around noon, they paused at a bridge spanning a gorge, though the sun was scarcely more than a pale point behind the heavy clouds.
Far below, a river roared, carrying ice down from the mountains before finally merging with the sea.
The trees here were ancient and would bear no leaves even in summer.
The wind grew stronger, and they encountered fewer and fewer villages. When they did pass one, pale faces watched them from behind barricaded windows.
But the time flew by. Will and Elodie spoke of books, the Academy, and the architecture of the Capitol. They philosophized about angels while sipping steaming tea. Only the subject of magic did Will skillfully avoid.
“Do you hear that?” In a moment of silence, Will thought he heard a voice through the wind. Tragic and beautiful, it touched something deep inside him.
Elodie pushed the hat off her ears and listened. But there was nothing to hear beyond the rising storm and the bells.
“Only the wind, whistling through the cliffs,” Elodie murmured, moving closer. “But do not think you can distract me from the subject of your magic so easily. We will discuss it eventually.”
“I will show you magic.” With that, he put his glove between his teeth and pulled it off.
Then, beneath the blanket, he gathered Elodie’s skirts.
Past the heavy fur coat, his fingers brushed thick stockings and traveled higher until they found her heated center. Had she worn no undergarments for him?
“You are terrible,” she breathed.
“One sound and your honor is ruined,” he whispered into her ear, though Elodie’s eyelids were already fluttering shut.
The sleigh bells rang, the snow crunched, and the wind howled.
Otherwise, the dead landscape was silent.
Though Will still listened for the strange voice, he heard only Elodie’s gasps as his fingers caressed her damp center and spread her wetness over her lips.
Soon, even the voice was forgotten while he pressed small kisses to her throat.
He never entered her, only teased and cherished her.
But it was enough—her fingers clawed into his coat.
Her brow rested against his shoulder, and they breathed together.
White clouds hung before their mouths, dusting the furs with ice crystals.
But Will knew only heat and burned with her as he drove her toward her first climax.
He felt her release inside his heart and trembled with her. The wind swallowed her soft whimper and carried it away. Wonder shone in her eyes. He kissed her brow and wanted nothing more than to draw her fully into his arms and hold her. Instead, they remained leaning against one another.
“So beautiful,” he whispered and kissed her brow once more. Then he brought his fingers to his mouth and licked away the final drops of her.
Dusk had fallen by the time they reached Wilkinson Castle. The sky melted with the land, and above the roofs, the clouds became snowdrifts spilling down from the black gables.
Will looked up at the arch as the sleigh swept through without slowing.
Where the mountains, hills, and sea met, three towers crouched like ravens upon a cliff.
Their windows were small, built to withstand weather that shifted throughout the year between savage ocean storms and freezing mountain winds.
“Welcome home,” Will said dryly, though the storm nearly swallowed his words.
Elodie still managed to glare at him. “It is grotesque.”
Three servants helped them inside and had to brace their shoulders against the gate to shut out the snowstorm. They took the ice-encrusted coats from them, and the butler bowed deeply.
“Welcome to Wilkinson Castle. It is our honor to receive the future lady of the house. At present, we are the only staff in residence. Duke Wilkinson intended to arrive with the remaining servants.”
Elodie raised an eyebrow but merely nodded. “In this storm, it will be a miracle if he reaches us before morning.”
“We have received word that Duke Wilkinson must remain in Bloodgrove until the storm passes. A tree has fallen across the bridge at Karl’s Grave and cannot be removed until after the solstice,” the butler explained.
Will’s gaze darted toward Elodie. He knew exactly which trees the man meant. Their only pause had been at that windswept gorge, and Elodie had disappeared behind several trees to relieve herself. He would not put it past her to have cast a spell to keep her fiancé away.
“What a coincidence,” he said, and Elodie sighed mournfully.
Will left the greetings to Elodie and wandered instead through the vast entrance hall to restore some circulation to his stiff legs, passing row upon row of ancestral portraits.
An immense family tree covered one wall, many of its branches ending abruptly.
Children who had not reached adulthood were usually marked beside the year of their death with a red droplet, presumably indicating that they had succumbed to bloodlust.
Elodie betrayed nothing and played the part of the devastated fiancée. “We will miss him. It was meant to be our first solstice together. But we have our entire lives ahead of us.”
“You will therefore be alone for the holiday. In this storm, Mr. Arcos is unlikely to attempt the journey either,” the butler added, and at that news, Will’s disappointment was genuine.
The moment the butler led the way toward their bedrooms, Will caught up with Elodie and gave her a knowing look. “Was this your plan from the beginning?”
“Of course. Do you think I want to be trapped inside this ancient ruin with the duke?”
Will laughed softly. “I love your mind—when you use it for good.”