Chapter Twenty-Five #2
She breathed deeply, trying to calm herself.
Autumn had arrived, and the night air was cold inside of her.
It had been almost a year since Persephone had disappeared, but she tried not to think of her tonight.
For so long she had hoped that her sister was somehow still alive, and yet now the thought horrified her.
That meant a year of captivity. A year of torment.
If somehow Persephone still lived, would she be the same sister Elswyth had lost? How could she be?
A voice sounded behind her. “So. The scandalous Miss Elderwood is to wed the good doctor.”
She jumped. Silas stood in the shadows of the balcony, looking out over the city. His eyes shone in the dim moonlight, two spots of amber flame.
“Following me now, are you?”
Silas stepped forward, his hair materializing out of the shadow in twisting tendrils. He wore a trim black suit with a single white rose in the lapel. He reached the railing and leaned against it, standing a few feet away from Elswyth.
“Following you? I thought you were following me. These are my quarters, after all.”
Elswyth looked confused, and Silas nodded behind her.
She turned around, her eyes adjusting to the dark, and looked through the open door to her right.
Inside the ornamental lantern roof of the conservatory was a small chamber.
A mattress lay on the floor, blankets strewn across it.
A writing desk stood against the far wall as well as a wardrobe and a small washing basin.
Books and letters lay scattered on the floor.
“You live here?”
“Did you think archaeology was so lucrative? Dr. Gall has been kind enough to offer me lodging in the Royal Gardens in exchange for my services. This is how I rescued you from the corpse flower. I can see everything in the conservatory from up here.”
“Apologies. I assure you, I did not know. I merely meant to get some air. This whole party is…”
“A farce?” Silas said.
Elswyth turned away. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I’m fairly certain I do. I think everyone knows exactly what this is.”
“And what is that?”
“A marriage of convenience between an old man and a desperate girl from a dying family,” Silas said. He seemed casual, glib, even, but Elswyth felt something darker burning beneath.
“I am doing what I must to protect my family, instead of allowing my passions to control me,” Elswyth said. “It’s not something I would expect you to understand.”
Silas turned, wrapping his hands around the iron rail. “Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps I do let my passions control me. It’s the bastard blood in me, I suppose.”
“That’s not what I meant, and you know it. I only meant that I must do what is logical for my house. I have to make calculated decisions.”
“You barely know the man, Elswyth.”
“I know him as well as any man I might marry. What I know is that he will financially support my family, and he will help me continue my studies. Perhaps I can use his money to finance my own investigation into Persephone’s disappearance. That is what I know.”
“Elswyth—”
“If you’ll excuse me, Sir Silas, I need to return to my engagement party,” Elswyth said. She crossed the balcony and found the staircase, quickly descending.
Silas followed. She heard his hurried footsteps on the stairs. “Elswyth, wait—”
“Stop following me,” she called back. She came to the bottom of the stairs, into the central chamber, forgetting which tunnel she came through.
She moved toward the sound of the party.
On either side of her, shadowed forests loomed behind the glass walls, and each step took her deeper into the maze of glass.
Silas’s footsteps sounded behind her, and she moved faster.
“Elswyth, if you would just listen to me—”
She came to a door at the end of the hall, metal stained green by time. She grabbed the wheel that sealed the door and pushed. A wave of warm, wet air hit her, and she stepped into the room beyond.
It took a moment for her eyes to adjust. She stood in a colossal greenhouse with high glass ceilings that refracted the light of the stars. The path before her was narrow, and ferns drooped over it, concealing the way. She pushed forward, swatting away the heavy leaves.
She wove through the underbrush until she came to a small clearing in the center of the chamber.
Vines hung in tangles, dangling from trees.
All around her, exotic flowers slept, some with their blooms closed, others still open, their nectar perfuming the air.
An artificial pool sat in the center of the clearing, a waterfall trickling into it over mossy stones.
Birds trilled their warning songs in the canopy above.
She recognized the room, now that she was inside: the Hall of Orchids.
In that moment, she might have been in a jungle, deep in India or Africa. The heat of the air was oppressive, and she started to sweat, her gown already soaked with water from the air and her march through the greenhouse.
She leaned against a tree, panting from the heat, and wiped her brow.
Silas crashed into the clearing behind her, also sweating, a small cut on his left cheek. Leaves stuck out from his hair. He began swatting his way through the hanging vines, moving toward her.
“Elswyth, you must listen to what I have to say.”
Rage overcame her. She grabbed the vine that hung down from her right, sending a wave of vitae through it.
The vines around Silas sprung to life, wrapping around his legs, reaching down from the trees and ensnaring him.
She sent another wave of vitae through them, and they tightened, holding him fast. Another vine slithered up his chest, wrapping around his throat. Tendrils crawled over his face.
“What—what are you doing?”
“If you are going to harry me so, then it is the prerogative of a lady to defend herself.” She sent another pulse of vitae, and the vine around his throat tightened. She began to ache from the exertion.
“Elswyth, please listen. You cannot marry Gall,” Silas croaked.
Elswyth scoffed. “You’re like everyone else, then. Telling me I must marry but never happy with my choices.”
“Will you be happy, Elswyth?” Silas said, struggling against the vines. “Will you really be happy with Gall?”
“Surely you are not so concerned with my happiness, Silas. Otherwise, you would leave me alone.”
“I know of the deal he offered you. A marriage of the minds. But wouldn’t you want children, Elswyth? A family?”
“Why should I want a family?” Elswyth said. She almost laughed. “Look at what my own has done to me. What is the point of having daughters? Servants birthing servants, and the cycle goes on and on. Let someone else’s progeny suffer through it.”
“Your bloodline—”
“I do not care about my bloodline, Silas. I care about my work. And with Gall’s support, I will be able to continue it. That shall be my legacy. That is what shall remain when I am gone.”
Silas paused for a moment. He stretched his neck away from her creeping vines. “And love?”
“What?”
“Love. Will you be content with a loveless marriage?”
Elswyth watched him. She kept her mind in the vines, kept them crawling over him. Why did she feel such rage toward him? She wanted to crush him, to entangle him. Swallow him whole.
She turned away, hiding her scar in the shadow. “What man could love someone who looks like me?”
Silas paused. He swallowed. “Let me go,” he said slowly, “and I will show you.”
Elswyth’s heart pulsed. Her throat tightened.
“What?” The word was like the tremble of leaves.
“You want to know what sort of man could love you,” Silas said. “Let me go, and I will show you.”
Elswyth’s mind raced, but her body betrayed her. Her vitae retreated from the vines, which slithered back to their roosts in the trees. Silas dropped to his feet, rubbing his throat. And then he was free. Their eyes locked, and he stepped toward her.
He found her in the half-dark. The heat of his body was even more than the heat of the air, and his breath mingled with the steam surrounding them.
He slid his hand along the small of her back, and pulled her into him, firm but gentle all the same, the sweat on the bodice of her dress sticking to the sweat on his shirt.
Nothing separated them now save for a few thin pieces of fabric.
Beneath that, she could feel him pulsing.
Heat. Muscle. Skin. The amber glow of his vitae. All the parts of a living thing.
He looked down at her, sweat making threads of his hair stick to his face.
His right hand left her lower back and traveled upward, tracing her waist, her breast, then her face and her scar.
He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear before taking her cheeks in his hands.
He lifted her chin so that she looked into his eyes, and the softness there swallowed her.
“Silas…” she said.
“Do you want me to stop?” he said. His lips grazed her cheek, each touch stinging like poison. She could feel the vitae moving between them, snapping like electricity.
She knew she should push away—should run to the party, to the man and the future waiting for her—but instead she shook her head. “No,” she whispered.
His lip traced along hers, only a hint of moisture, an echo of pleasure.
She couldn’t bear it any longer. She grabbed his shirt and pulled him down and their lips crashed together like waves. She trembled at the pleasure of it, the pleasure of heat and water, of the prickle of his shaved face, of the taste of salt and sweat.