Chapter 11 #3
He breathed out a bitter laugh. "Sometimes. When I was twelve, she gave me a gift. It was a Sclavus Collar. She told me to put it on, that it was a great present indeed. So I did."
Cleo sucked in a sharp breath. She'd only once heard of such a thing, a collar that could force incredible pain upon its bearer and turn them to the will of another who wore the matching ring.
It made her feel sick. Twelve... Just twelve.
A little boy betrayed by his own mother.
She didn't even know what to say. "But that is forbidden. "
"You do not know my mother. She fears my powers.
" He echoed that laugh again, a sound full of blood and hate that made her a little uneasy.
"She should. If I had one chance, just one, I would cut her down where she stood.
What does that make of me? Do you think I am a nice man now?
" There was a darkness to his voice that threatened to suck her into prediction.
"You would be better off never knowing me. "
"Perhaps." Cleo considered her words. She still couldn't seem to reconcile him as a bad person in her mind.
She had met bad people before, those who had hurt her, or demanded visions of her.
Those who had blood all over their hands.
He was nothing like them. And she had the tenuous feeling that he stood on the dark edge of a cliff.
One step in the wrong direction, and he would fall into darkness and shadows he could never climb out of.
But if he took a step backward, perhaps he could be saved.
And if he could be saved, then she would do it, she vowed deep in her heart.
"If you had the choice to do such things, would you do them?"
"No."
"Then you cannot think yourself responsible for your actions," she told him simply.
"If there is no choice available to you, then your ills fall on her shoulders, not yours.
You mustn't blame yourself for her deeds.
You are but a tool in her hands, Bastian.
I–I understand how that feels. My father has used a great many of my visions for his own purposes, and I know that some of the things that I have seen, come to pass because of what he has learned from me.
But the truth is, I cannot stop myself from predicting such things.
It simply overwhelms me, no matter how much I try to withstand them.
So I have decided that he makes the choices to take what he learns and twist it to his advantage. Not me. I won't bear his burdens."
"I don't even know why I'm telling you of this.
" Sebastian sighed. "I've never told a single person what she does to me.
You have something that is beyond beauty, Miss Sinclair," he admitted, and there was a little hint of unease in his voice.
"I am starting to think that of the two of you, you are far more dangerous than your father. "
"Well, now." Again her cheeks heated. "You are starting to get the hang of it. Young ladies quite like it when devilishly handsome young men tell them they're the dangerous ones. May I ask you a question?"
"I'm not certain what would stop you."
"Well, this one's a little... more... confronting than usual."
"Good God. I'm almost afraid."
Cleo laughed, then let it fade. "Stop it. This is serious."
His silence seemed to acquiesce.
Cleo let out a steady breath. Her heart was galloping along in her chest. "Do you want to marry me?"
He was a long time in replying. "No."
Cleo sucked in a sharp breath. "Well, I don't want to marry you either. I've just met you, yet I can already tell that you are rather... grim. You should smile more often." With that she strode ahead of him, reaching into her basket for the small paper bag of breadcrumbs. Three more steps.
Footsteps followed her slowly. He was watching her again, she thought. "I don't have a lot to smile about."
"Neither do I," she replied, throwing a handful of breadcrumbs out in front of her.
Ducks came squawking in from left and right, their feathery bodies jostling her skirts.
"I'm blind, I'm locked away at this estate like Rapunzel in her tower, I foretell horrible things every day, and sometimes I wake up screaming, because even in my sleep, I cannot escape my predictions.
" She tilted her head toward him. "I don't have a single thing to smile about some days, but that doesn't stop me.
I find things to make myself smile. Like feeding ducks.
You cannot remain glum when an entire horde of ducks are dueling to the death at your feet for a tiny morsel of stale bread. Can you hear that?"
The quacking was positively overwhelming.
"Hear what?"
"Their battle cries," she said, her lips softening. "I've even named them. That—" She pointed to her left, "is Sir Eiderdown. He is always particularly strident. I daresay he is assaulting Lord Featherbottom as we speak. It's a little bit Montague and Capulet, you see. They have a history."
"I think you're quite correct." His face was tilted away from her, distorting the words. "That is clearly attempted duckicide.”
"Good work," she said. "That was quite amusing. You're getting into the spirit of things now."
More silence. It made her skin itch.
"What are you thinking?" she asked. "I dislike it when people are quiet. I cannot see them, you see, so it is quite rude when they do not let me know what they are thinking."
"I am thinking that I am actually smiling. Also, that you are quite a strange girl."
"Is that an insult, sir?" she asked with a teasing smile. "For I assure you, you are surrounded by my knights. I would hate to see them have to defend my honor. They worship me as the Lady of the Breadcrumbs, you see. They might peck you to death. In the least, they'll ruin your boots."
"I'm fairly certain that's already happened. I think you rather fortunate not to be able to see where we happen to be standing."
There was a distinct odor that one couldn't deny. "Well. Now you've made me worry about where to put my feet."
"Where do you want to go?" he asked, sounding suddenly closer.
She jumped. "You are very quiet, sir. And to the folly. I like to sit in the sunshine—well, what there is of it—and soak up the heat. Summer is my favorite season."
He cleared his throat. "Would you— Would you mind?"
"Would I mind what?"
He tugged at the edge of her basket, encouraging her to take a step forward. Cleo lost the breadcrumbs, grabbing hold of the basket handle with both hands. The ducks erupted in a flurry of battle as Sebastian steered her to safety.
"No, I don't mind," she admitted. It was a little bit of a whisper, if she were being honest.
"I shouldn't have said what I said earlier."
"Which part?" Her heart started to beat just a little faster.
"That I didn't wish to marry you."
There wasn't much to say to that, but she tried. "Oh."
"There could be worse things—"
"I bet you charm all of the ladies with that tongue."
Another thoughtful silence. "That wasn't really what I meant to say either."
"You mean to say that you didn't particularly intend to marry, and you're not very happy about the situation.
But having met me, you think you're quite a lucky fellow now and you can barely contain yourself, and would like to ravish me, right here.
Of course, that wouldn't be very gentlemanly, so you are restraining yourself. "
"Something like that." There was that hint of warmth again, as if he were smiling. She ached to see it. His voice softened. "Do you ever feel as though you're not in control of your life?"
"All of the time. And why do you make such serious turns in conversation? I was actually attempting to see if I could pry a laugh out of you. I think I am this close to it." She held up her thumb and forefinger an inch apart.
"I think you could make me laugh." Sebastian sighed, and took two steps up into the folly.
Cleo followed him, feeling the cool shade plunge over her.
She moved to her favorite spot, a sunny little space where she could sit on the stone rail.
Tilting her head back, she let the sunlight drench her.
Its warmth was delicious, and apart from Duck Waterloo, the afternoon was peaceful.
"Do you know, I never understood the interest in men like Rochester or Heathcliff. "
Sebastian leaned against the folly rail at her side, his weight shifting it. "You're trying to form some sort of correlation between them and me? Sorry, no mad wives in my attic. I don't own an attic."
"Actually, I was almost thinking that I understand it now. Brooding men are rather interesting." She turned her face. He was very close to her.
So close that she could touch him if she wanted to...
A breathless feeling caught hold of her. Did she dare? She had been unusually bold today, but this was taking a rather large step over the line drawn in the sand between them.
And if you don't take that step? Her life stretched out before her, full of its usual monotony.
Cleo was so weary of being trapped in her glass tower, as if coming into contact with the rest of the world would destroy her.
She was not some brittle, precious object.
She was a young woman, one of flesh and blood, who yearned to be touched, to explore beyond these walls, to learn what the world out there held. She wanted to be kissed. Just once.
Very well, then.
Cleo took a step, finding the lip of the stone edging of the folly. She stepped up on it, grabbing a handful of her skirts, and pointed somewhere toward the lake. "Look!"
Instinct made him turn to look, the edge of his sleeve shifting beneath her hesitant glove. He hadn't even noticed she was touching him, until he realized she could not have possibly seen anything on the lake.