Chapter Nineteen - The Reverie
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The Reverie
“WHERE ARE WE going?”
He did not respond and started walking quicker.
“Who were those men? Why were they attacking you?”
Her legs burned as she struggled to keep up with him.
“What was that thing?”
Nothing.
She gave up.
Rosamund followed him, a few steps behind, as he led them through the winding alleyways.
She did not raise the hood of her cloak against the rain as it battered down upon them.
Her body was so exhausted from the fight that her mind did not have the capacity to even panic.
The usual stream of thoughts that coursed through her, silenced in the face of her fatigue.
Most of her hair had fallen from it’s braid during the fight.
As they walked, she unravelled the rest of it, the long brown tendrils cascading down her back.
She had become so focused on her hair that she had not been keeping track of where they had been walking.
Rosamund nearly crashed into Dorian’s broad back as he came to a halt in front of a large wrought iron gate.
He unlatched it, the gate swinging forward with a creak as they stepped into a walled garden.
Unlike the dying brown gardens of Blackthorn Hall this place was bursting with life.
An abundance of trees and plants. The wood chipped path wound past thriving willows, silver birches, bushes of Hydrangeas.
And roses. So many roses. She could smell others on the wind, further along the path; there were apple trees not too far away, and other plants she knew were used for medicinal purposes.
Beautiful and practical, just like the rest of The Veil.
The rainwater cascaded down stepped gardens, falling into sparkling pools, wooden bridges spanning across them.
In amongst the pools were many statues like those in the square, weathered with age and rain.
Someone had taken great care to keep them clear of the crawling ivy, and she could see the changes in plaster as someone else had repaired a breakage here and there.
She heard the click of the gate behind her. Dorian swept past her along the path, “this way.”
He led her to a small cloister, the white stone arches covered in names. She stepped closer to look at one of them when he said, “don’t.”
She snatched back her hand as if the wall had electrified her and spun round to face him. He stood well back from her; his glower fixed on her.
He sneered, “so you do listen then.”
Despite her exhaustion she could feel a fire building in her.
“Were you just temporarily deaf then when I said you were forbidden from leaving the house? From entering The Veil,” he asked angrily his frustration growing, he winced as he attempted to fold his arms, and dropped them back to his side, “or is it a poor memory perhaps? Why are you here?”
Her pulse began to race. It was just the two of them here. There would be nothing to stop him from turning her into the same husks he had made of those men. He could even blame it on the assassins.
Do you believe that? Is he really that kind of man?
No.
She took a step towards him, “you’re hurt.”
“Answer the question,” he said firmly, though he took a step away from her, one hand rising to cover the cut on his arm with a wince.
“Will you answer mine?” she snapped, folding her arms in front of her, irritation rising at his stubbornness.
“This is not a negotiation Lady Valehart, it’s an interrogation. And you will tell me why you are here.”
“I will,” she nodded to his arm, “if you let me take a look at that.”
He looked at her, dumbstruck until she started moving towards him. He backed away from her again, “don’t touch me.”
The image would have been amusing if she wasn’t currently fighting down her terror and fatigue. This tall broad man, the Prince of Death, backing away from her.
With a weary sigh she held up her hands, “just let me look,” when he still looked at her suspiciously, she added in a tone not unlike her mother’s, “I’m not even sure I could do anything even if you wanted me to. So just sit, down, and let me make sure it isn’t infected.”
There was a pause where she was certain he was going to continue arguing with her, but slowly he sat down, his eyes never leaving hers.
There was something in his expression she could not quite make out, was too tired to see.
She moved forward and this time he did not flinch or move his arm away.
He looked up at her and held his arm out to her.
There was a long deep cut where the knife had dug in.
It looked like his attacker had slashed at him and he had raised his arm, expecting to easily deflect the knife with whatever power he had.
Instead the knife had cut right through.
She could see little pin pricks of ruby in the wound.
She stood up from where she had been leaning over his arm and sighed, “I need to clean it.”
He pulled his arm back, “Corvin will look at it. I’ll just bandage it up or something.”
“Some of the ruby is still in there,” she explained, “I need to wash it out, there are some herbs here I can use,” she gestured to the gardens, “then I can bandage-.”
“You cannot touch me!” he said through gritted teeth, and for the first time she saw the fear in his eyes.
Oh. Of course.
Some of the hardness fell from her expression.
She thought he was being stubborn. He was scared.
Scared he might hurt her. This power, this rot that forced it’s way in.
He had no control over it. When he had taken her hand that day at the ceremony, he could not prevent the decay that crept in.
How long had he been like this? So much started to make sense.
The way he covered every inch of himself, the way he back away from any kind of contact.
It wasn’t revulsion. It was fear. Fear that he might hurt someone.
How long has he been without touch?
“I understand,” she said softly as he looked away from her to the ground.
She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a pair of black cotton gloves.
She put them on and held them up so that he could see.
He only glanced at her for a moment and looked away again.
Though the tension eased from his shoulders.
Rosamund realised this was the closest he was going to get to agreeing with her.
“Wait here,” she said firmly, “and take off your coat. Carefully.”
He snorted a laugh, but as she moved forwards again, she saw him slowly begin to shrug it off.
With a sharp nod of approval she headed back into the gardens.
It did not take her long to find what she was looking for.
Images of the herbs from her father’s books floated up, and she found them easily.
Someone had left a wooden bucket by one of the pools.
Twinkling at bottom were more of the inscribed crystals she had seen in The Veil.
She hoped that meant the water would be clean.
She knew how the ruby could affect a person, especially someone gifted with the goddesses blessing.
If any of it were to find its way into his bloodstream then his gift could be eradicated completely.
Though…with the way it affected him, perhaps that would be a blessing in disguise…
No. No one would ever wish to lose their power. Regardless of how it affected them.
She returned to find him leaning back against the stone wall with his eyes closed. Those grey eyes flew open when she placed down the bucket and he sat up straight again.
She held out one of the herbs to him and said, “chew that, don’t swallow.”
He looked at it suspiciously, but as she raised an eyebrow he took it and placed it in his mouth, chewing slowly.
He pulled a face, “that’s disgusting.”
“Then it’s working. Here,” she held out a mint leaf to him which he took a little more quickly than the last.
As he chewed, he watched her take out handkerchief and dip it in the water. She gestured for him to hold his arm out again, “this is going to sting.”
He snorted and held the arm out confidently. Though as she lowered the handkerchief to the cut and began to gently dab, she saw him wince. His whole arm tensed as if he was struggling not to pull it away from her. Was it the pain? Or the idea that his power might still hurt her?
They sat in silence as she tended to his arm.
He closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall.
After a while she examined it and didn’t see any more of the sparkling glints of red.
It was not possible to know for certain if she had removed them all, but she had done what she could.
His eyes flew open again when he heard her tear out the lining of her coat.
“I can wait for bandages,” he drawled.
“And ruin all my good work?” she ripped the silk into another strip, “I don’t think so. This can be a placeholder until we get you home and Mrs Hawthorn can fuss over you.”
He snorted and allowed her to continue. As she wrapped the silk around his arm she said quietly, “what you’ve built here is amazing.”
He said nothing, but his features softened.
“I don’t blame you from wanting to hide it from the rest of them,” she said tentatively as she continued to wrap his arm, “from me.”
He opened his eyes and looked at her with a frown; she looked up and met his searching gaze. It felt like he was trying to read her mind. Or perhaps searching for the truth in her words.
Looking around she said, “what is this place?”
He looked up at the cloisters and said, “The Reverie. Every tree and plant is put in the ground for someone who has passed on,” he gestured to the wall, “then their name is added here. So they are remembered. Even those who have no one to mourn them. The people of the Veil come here, and they remember.”
“That’s…” she could not find the right word.
“Morbid?” he suggested with a grunt.
“Beautiful. It’s beautiful.”
“…Thank you.”
She tied off the silk and shifted a little further away on the bench as he raised his arm to examine her work.
“Impressive. It’s stopped stinging too.”