Chapter 56
DRASKO
The past had the power to heal. But it also had the power to rip one’s heart into shreds.
Drasko sat on the floor, his back against the wall as he told Grace everything from the very beginning. How he’d been a street thief, the encounter at Ol’ Days at the port with the two men who changed his fortune. He told her about her mother who had made a choice that ruined many lives.
He told her the stories slowly, gauging her reaction.
Knees raised to her chest, her arms hugging them, Grace sat next to him and listened, first without interrupting, then asking questions, hesitant at first, as if doubting the truth.
Soon, the words poured out of him easily, at last undoing the lies and tragedies that he’d carried with him for years.
“I rode an elephant?” she asked in quiet amusement.
“Yes, on my lap,” he said with a smile.
There was so much hurt in her gaze that it pained him. But what was he to do? She deserved the truth. Before, he’d thought that it would devastate her. But he simply couldn’t hide it anymore. The past was their present. And who knew if they had a future and what the auction would bring.
“How did you find me?” she asked.
“Lawyers, bankers, a paper trail. Uriah was still alive, and I was careful not to let anyone know about my findings.”
“So, when you came to my concerts, you knew already?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
He smirked. “Because you’d think it was a cheap trick to get you to like me. Would you have believed me if I told you that on our wedding day?”
She shook her head, understanding.
Of course not.
He told her about Rakshasa, and there were tears in her eyes as she openly studied his scarred face while her fingers aimlessly rubbed her own scars.
He wiped her tears, and she held his hand to her cheek, leaned into it, and closed her eyes, coming to terms with their past.
“I saw the painting of Rakshasa on your desk,” she whispered as if she was afraid to summon the demon.
Drasko nodded.
He had commissioned the piece from an Indian artist. It was the scene from their past. A giant tiger with clawed paws and bared fangs took up most of the picture, just like Rakshasa on his back.
In the center of the picture, in a tiny space, as if inside the tiger itself, stood a boy with a poker, protecting the little girl who cowered behind his back.
The picture was a reminder to Drasko of what he had to do to protect what was his. The true king was not the one who possessed the most treasures, but the one who took care of the people he loved.
He told her about her childhood.
At last, she smiled. “I used to wear diamonds?”
“A diamond on your bangle that you fearlessly threw at Rakshasa. A diamond on your anklet, yes. I made them myself.”
He hoped that she now understood the scents that had haunted her all her life, the foreign notes that trickled through her songs that she could not make sense of. Why the vibrant colors in his house affected her so, and the sound of Hindi perked her ears.
But Drasko had noticed it, hoped it would wake up the memories buried for the longest time deep inside her.
He told her about her own death.
“Died…” she whispered in quiet horror. “That was a terrible lie to tell.”
He nodded but didn’t tell her how the day he got the news, for the first and only time in his life, he had cried uncontrollably on the street and punched the man who could destroy him for that.
“We had The Gazette sent to India, you know,” he said, aimlessly studying his hands.
“Just like many others, from all parts of the world. Business, you see. I saw Uriah keep the same Gazette issue for days, reading the same article. January, 1885 ,” Drasko read from memory with a smile, “ Grace Sommerville debuts at the Christmas Ball with an intricate piano piece that stuns the Duke and Duchess of Trent, the biggest patrons of music. I wondered why Uriah held on to that article until a suspicion crawled into me. And the next time I was in London, I started investigating.”
“That was how you found me?”
“Yes. In March of 1886, you performed with the famous Ceritelli. In June of 1886, your name was involved in the London Orchestra scandal. The cellists refused to play under the lead of a girl.”
She cast her eyes down.
“July, 1887. You collapsed on stage right after your performance.”
Her smile waned. “I had those pains again.”
“I wish I was there for you, Grace. So that you knew that one person cared. Because your guardians never did.”
“Rivka was there,” she said grimly.
“I will build Rivka a palace for all she has done for you.” He took a small pause.
“August 1887, fifteen-year-old Grace Sommerville stuns the audience with the most intricate piece yet ,” he continued.
“I was there, Grace. That was the first time I met you, heard you play, hoped you’d recognize me.
Silly, of course. I can go on and on. I know them all.
I followed your every step once I finally found you.
And despite the bitterness of noticing how self-conceited you’d become?—”
“I didn’t think I was?—”
“I admired you,” he cut her off. “The next time I saw you, only a few years later, you were already a young woman, beautiful yet… still vain. Or so I thought. I wanted to despise that person who had once given me utmost comfort and hope and then forgotten all about it.”
“But I didn’t know!”
“I know, Grace, I know. I used to be a hateful man. I am willing to admit my faults. My thinking wasn’t rational.
It stemmed from pain, having lived through many heartaches.
I once thought I lost you. And when I found you, I imagined a happy reunion, only to find out that you would talk to anyone but me, as if I were an undesirable. ”
Her eyes misted with tears, she shook her head. “No, Drasko,” she whispered. “No.”
This talk was crowding his heart with feelings that were hard to control. For what could be more courageous than laying out his entire life in front of her, with all its scars and torments, and hope that she would accept it with grace and understanding?
He was telling her who she was, who she had once been, their lives finally weaving the separate threads together.
“In the last months, I realized that I was wrong about you,” he said quietly, reaching for her face and cradling it between his hands.
“That you were simply lonely and hiding your vulnerable self under the mask of confidence. That your guardians were cruel people. Years of resentment and the lies I was telling myself about my own feelings… And only several months with you to realize that I never hated you, not for a second. I hated that I still cared. I despised myself for being drawn to you like a hopeless opium addict to an opium den. I was falling for you. Thought you hated me. And that was the worst feeling in the world.”
Her sob drew him closer. He bowed his forehead to hers.
“I did not hate you,” she whispered, her shoulders shaking as she tried to hold back another sob.
She took his hand in both of hers, just like she used to back then, years ago, when she was little and didn’t yet know the meaning of its comfort.
“We are bound by our past, aren’t we?” She smiled through tears. “Rivka calls it destiny. Though I grew up desperately wanting to know more about my past and trying to remember. And you lived, trying to forget. I didn’t mean to cause you so much pain, Drasko. Please forgive me, will you?”
Her eyes searched his for forgiveness, her fingers still stroking his hand.
“There is nothing to forgive, Grace.”
“I never meant for you to hurt so much,” she said in a trembling whisper.
“It wasn’t because of you.” He leaned over and brushed his lips against hers, finally saying the truth. “It was because you weren’t there.”
Tears streamed down her face—because of him. And he kissed them away, whispered the promises until her beautiful smile was back—also, because of him.
He told her about the Crimson Tear, the diamond game, and the letters, omitting the dreadful terms.
“What is going to happen, Drasko? Uriah was an awful man.”
“I don’t know, Grace. But I will do everything to make sure you are safe.”
“What about you?”
He smiled, confident he would sort it out. “He wants the Crimson Tear. He shall get it. I promised.”
There was only one day left. One day until the auction. Two letters to receive.
“Promise me that you will,” she pleaded. “No matter what, he shall get his bloody diamond. Because I… I don’t want to lose you. It would be”—she wiped her tears—“quite awfully boring without you around.”
He laughed and kissed her forehead. She tilted her head onto his shoulder and rested her hand on his chest.
The journey in the carriage was filled with stories, the decades they’d spent without each other. What was one more day to wait until the dead man’s mystery was unveiled?
When they reached home, they held hands and walked into their house different people.
There were smiles. There was hope. There was love.
The future suddenly looked so bright!
“Well,” Grace said as they walked into the main hall. “I suppose Narayan’s cooking is quite fitting for the occasion.” She chuckled as Drasko pulled her into his arms. “Should I make a menu request?”
He grinned, his heart too big in his chest as he buried his face in her hair, happily inhaling her scent.
The butler cleared his throat and bowed. “There is a letter for you, Mr. Mawr. Urgent. It arrived this morning.”
He held a tray out for Drasko, one single letter on it.
Cream paper.
Brown seal.
A diamond in the center, shining with a sinister wink.
Eerie silence stood in the air as Drasko raised his eyes to meet Grace’s.
Her smile fell.