Chapter 6
Six
Lilith
The next morning was more chaotic and difficult than I’d feared. When I came down the stairs into the living room, I caught sight of my mother covering the hall looking glass with gray cloth.
I paused on the last step, glancing around.
The curtains had not been drawn this morning, which left the room in deep shadow.
Only one small strip of light slipped through the crack in the curtains and darted across the wooden floor, through the doorway into the hall, until my mother’s skirts blotted it out.
The front door’s seal was tight enough not even an outline of sunlight appeared.
“Good morning,” I murmured.
Mother glanced at me, eyes red-rimmed. She pointed to a pile of clutter resting on the hearth of the small parlor fireplace. “Sort that. Some of Absalom’s things are in there.”
I rubbed my forehead. “Yes, Mother.”
“You aren’t wearing that to your brother’s funeral, are you?” she demanded as I crossed the small room.
“I…” I glanced down at the maroon muslin dress. “This is my finest dress. It’s my Solstice dress.” What else would I wear?
She sniffed and swept into the kitchen, leaving the door open so she could call to me. “The elders’ wives decided we’re eating in the fellowship hall for breakfast. Two losses like this…it’s best if the congregation stays together.”
I knelt at the hearth and began to sort through odds and ends that belonged to Absalom. A few coins, a scrap of paper with illegible scrawl, an extra key to his new cottage, and a handkerchief.
“Mother? What do you want me to do with these?” Sadness, or perhaps an echo of sadness, drifted through me.
She blew her nose. “I suppose Silence has a right to them since she’s his wife. Widow. But he’s my son. They’re too precious to give away.”
I stared at the dirty handkerchief. “Um.”
“I’ll make a keepsake box,” she decided.
How little our family had become. It was surreal. Absalom was gone. Before that, it was Father. And before that—well. My mother hadn’t created a keepsake box when my elder sister disappeared from the family.
Despair swirled through me. Was this really all that was left of the Meadows?
Old anger rose, making my pulse spike. It didn’t have to be just the two of us.
If my sister had behaved, done the right thing, had listened, then she’d still be here.
She was long dead now. I knew it deep in my heart.
No young woman could survive the streets of Lownden alone.
And now Absolom, my younger brother.
My vision blurred, and a hot tear fell on my hand. He’d been a brute, but he was my brother. I’d tried to keep him in line as much as I could. I was a woman and he’d been an elder, but I was still his older sister, and that relationship never quite faded away, no matter how powerful a man became.
A cabinet door slammed in the kitchen. “Silence might be his widow, but I’m his mother.”
I folded the dirty handkerchief and set the coins atop it, leaving it on the hearth. Marriage to Absalom had never been Silence’s dream. We weren’t friends—I didn’t have any friends—but even I could tell she’d been dragged into the marriage two months ago.
Mother bustled out of the kitchen holding two jars of jam and cheese wrapped in cloth. She frowned at me. “Aren’t you coming?”
I rose, ignoring the ache in my knees. “To breakfast? I suppose.” I followed her to the hall, where we donned our cloaks and tied our bonnets.
Mother glanced back at me and tsked, brushing a loose strand of hair from my face. “You look awful.”
“I had to bring my brother’s body back in a cart on a two day journey,” I snapped.
She raised her hand, violence bleeding from her eyes.
I flinched, but didn’t break eye contact. Her face was white as bone, and she looked like she’d aged ten years overnight.
Mother took a heavy breath, ice in her face. But she lowered her hand, letting it smooth out the cloak over my shoulder instead. “I want you to look your best. Lord Erlik gave you beauty, a gift that should be cultivated and honored. You should apply a mask to your face tonight before you sleep.”
When I was seventeen I would’ve yelled at her and refused to wash my face for three days. But I was twenty-five now. I’d learned to let the words slide right off and then do as I pleased. “Yes, Mother.”
The walk down the street, passing the other homes, was cold.
Our breath filled the air in front of us.
The congregation took up most of an old neighborhood.
We had to go to market, the men find apprenticeships, and hire services outside the community.
It wasn’t like we were cut off from the world.
Just last week I’d picked up a new ream of vellum for Elder White at his favorite store, nearly a mile away and in the heart of the city.
But we did tend to flock together. We dressed more conservatively than other women. Our men spent more time in church than many Lownden men. We were holy. We took our worship seriously, unlike those who just went through the motions. It was why we were Lord Erlik’s favorites.
The fellowship hall was a new, squat building attached to the much older church. The red brick of the hall contrasted poorly against the smooth gray stone of the church. Already people were filing in. Elder Tomes held the door open for me and my mother, nodding gravely as we slipped inside.
After hanging our cloaks and bonnets on the hooks, we went to the far side of the large, open room, passing long tables with benches. The next room was the kitchen, where the women prepared breakfast for everyone.
A few men, dressed in their best black suits, sat at the tables and talked in low tones. I glanced around for Castiel, but didn’t see him.
I huffed, thinking of that insufferable seraph as I donned an apron and turned to look for something to do.
I’d stayed up half the night replaying the conversation in my head over and over.
The absolute gall of this man, to dance in and pretend to be a messenger of Erlik.
It was blasphemy! I would be punished if anyone found out I let this imposter into our community.
I had aided him yesterday with the blessing, in a split-second decision that I should regret.
The elders wouldn’t forgive that deception.
I would need to keep his secret, help him get this book, and get out. Before anyone punished me.
Something about that annoying smirk, those sparkling eyes, and the absolutely irritating curl that hung over the left side of his forehead—it all spoke of smug maleness I didn’t need in my life.
If anyone discovered his secret and that I’d known about it almost from the beginning—my stomach turned.
I shuddered at the thought of floggings or the prayer closet.
I hadn’t been in the prayer closet since I was fourteen, and I wanted it to stay that way.
The last time my father had asked Reverend Grimshaw to put me there, I stayed on that rug, praying for forgiveness for my wicked tongue for two days.
The bread had been burnt, and I hadn’t drunk much of the water because I hated the idea of using the bucket in the corner to relieve myself.
“Are you well, Lilith?”
I glanced up, realizing I’d been staring down at the counter, my hands braced on it, lost in my dark thoughts. “Oh.” I managed a weak smile. “I’m well.”
Mistress Dalton, one of the elders’ wives, gave me a puzzled look. “You’re holding up well,” she commented. “After losing both our beloved reverend and your brother.”
I quickly shifted my expression to something more long-suffering and grief-stricken. “The Lord Erlik has called them home earlier than I wished, but who am I to gainsay our god?”
She patted my shoulder approvingly. “Your faith will not go unnoticed.” With one last sympathetic look, she strode toward the ovens to check on some bread the other women were pulling out.
I hated kitchen duty. Most of the other girls loved it.
It was time for them to whisper and giggle, free to be themselves while away from the leaders’ watchful eyes.
Often the elders’ wives would leave us to it, and then the women would really be free to talk—not gossip, because that was a sin—and catch up.
But not me.
Oh, sometimes I joined in conversations.
Some of the other young women were kind to me.
But it never felt genuine, or at least long-lasting.
The younger girls, the ones in their teens, tended to be awestruck and trip over themselves to do whatever I asked of them—get a mixing bowl, fetch the cinnamon, find the plates.
I might’ve abused that power in the past. Maybe.
“How does she still look so pretty?” one young woman whispered to her friend.
I pretended not to hear.
“Her brother just died. You’d think she would have the decency to have bloodshot eyes or, I don’t know, a pimple on her nose. But no, as distracting as ever.”
“She looks tired,” her friend mused.
I glared at them, and the two women fell silent.
Suddenly, the entire kitchen went still. I glanced up from the pile of dishes I was about to begin cleaning.
Silence Bellwether Meadows stood in the doorway, her mother behind her.
She swayed, looking as if a stiff breeze would knock her over.
Her black hair was pulled back in a tight bun, pulling at the skin of her forehead.
She had a pinched expression, and she looked horribly sallow in gray.
Silence held a tray of biscuits in her hands, her knuckles white.
Her mother put a steadying hand on her shoulder and whispered something in her ear.
Taking a breath, Silence bowed her head and walked across the kitchen to set the tray down.
“The men are asking for coffee,” Mrs. Bellwether stated.