Chapter 17 Wine and Shadows
Daphne
Wine and shadows
I entered the manor and ran to my room. The maze of passageways and ever-shifting halls was merciful this time. The staircase winding up the sunny vestibule took me straight to my room.
I sat near the fireplace, wrapped in a blanket, a bowl of candied violets in my lap. The warmth soothed me. My thoughts went back to that tormented soul and her unborn baby. I hoped she could finally find some peace.
And Emrys—cold and arrogant, applauding what he saw. Was he the murderer of the boy in the piano room, or was it the master of this manor–the one who had vanished? How I wished the Unbidden could answer this question! Well, whatever the truth was, it wouldn’t change my plan.
A sound startled me. Soft steps echoed from the corridor, lingering at my door.
Someone slid a folded piece of paper through the gap beneath.
Silent as a shadow, I snuck to the door and picked it up, my pulse hammering in my temples.
A few words, scribbled in elegant, old-fashioned handwriting.
I blinked to stop the dance of the words, and slowly, the syllables settled into place.
Miss Daphne,
Will you honor me with your presence for dinner? Liang is an excellent cook. I’m sure you’d be able to find the dining hall.
E.
I held the page for some time, thinking. Dinner with a probable murderer?
With someone once worshipped as a god? Well, that’s the best way to gain his favor, right?
I stared at the letter until the letters blurred. The parchment was smooth beneath my fingertips—real parchment, not paper, and the handwriting had a weight to it. As if it had been penned with a quill dipped in something older than ink.
What kind of man invites a guest to dinner right after applauding their near-death?
A former god, probably. Or a monster in a well-cut shirt.
I tossed the note onto the side table and pulled the blanket tighter around myself. For a moment, I sat there in silence, staring at the flames behind the grate. This was foolish. Dangerous. Possibly the worst idea I’d had in a lifetime full of bad ones.
And yet—
My eyes drifted to the wardrobe across the room. I rose, dragging the blanket with me, and opened it.
Inside, the dresses were not mine.
There were about a dozen, all in muted jewel tones and aged silks. Some bore hand-done stitching, and most looked like they hadn’t been touched in decades.
“Of course,” I whispered, running my fingers across a midnight-blue gown. “Why wouldn’t a haunted manor come with haunted evening wear?”
I held a dress up to my form, inspecting it in the mirror. It shimmered faintly, catching the light like moonlit ink. Elegant, modest, but sharp around the edges. Like armor pretending to be silk.
Too much? Not enough?
This wasn’t just about getting on his good side—it was a performance. But what part was I playing? Spy? Pawn? Guest? Bait?
A chill crawled over my skin, followed by some odd heat. This place was playing tricks on my mind.
I reached for a wine-red one. It had delicate beadwork at the throat and long, trailing sleeves that whispered of old courts and older secrets. I held it up and met my gaze in the mirror.
Do not lose yourself, Daphne.
But hadn’t I already started to?
A pair of earrings rested in a small velvet box in the drawer—gold with garnets shaped like teardrops. I clipped them on with trembling fingers, then brushed my short hair with a brush I found on the vanity table.
Was this foolishness or strategy?
I didn’t know. Part of me wanted answers. Part of me wanted to see Emrys flinch. And part of me—traitorous, curious—wanted to sit across from him and hear him speak. To watch his face shift under candlelight. To see if his wings would cast shadows on the walls.
I set the brush down and stared at my reflection one last time.
“Don’t be stupid, Daphne,” I muttered. “Don’t fall for shadows on the wall. Milan and Paris await you. You’ll sing. One day, you’ll sing.”
But I still reached for the shoes.
And I still walked toward the door.
****
The dining hall was too grand for a house this empty.
It swallowed the candlelight, its vaulted ceiling lost in shadows.
Heavy tapestries lined the walls, their faded figures half-forgotten.
A great fireplace blazed at the far end, but its glow barely touched the cold that clung to the stones.
Above it hung a familiar face. An old family portrait: a stern father, a gray-haired mother, and a boy—
I flinched. The boy from the piano room. His face was frozen in a shy smile as if asking me to enter. The similarity between him and the man in the portrait was undeniable. So this was the power-hungry lord who sacrificed his own child. Terrible as it was, I found some relief in this revelation.
This was one murder Emrys was not guilty of.
My steps were a little lighter as I approached the table. It stretched far too long, an expanse of polished ebony disappearing into the dimly lit space. Only two chairs, facing each other. Disturbingly close. It seemed… deliberate. A silent invitation, a game waiting to be played.
I hesitated, smoothing the creases of my borrowed gown.
The amber light from the chandeliers reflected in the glassware, their edges catching and fracturing the glow like tiny rainbows.
The scent of roasted duck glazed with honey, spiced pears, and freshly baked bread curled through the air.
But underneath it all, something colder lingered—dust and old stone, the ghosts of a house that had not truly lived for a long, long time.
Then my eyes landed on him. Emrys sat at the far end of the table, one hand resting on the high back of his chair.
The firelight cast deep shadows beneath the sharp cut of his cheekbones.
His hair was still damp, dark strands curling to his shoulders, the faintest scent of black sage and clove reaching me as I stepped closer.
He had dressed for the occasion but carelessly—his black cravat hung untied, his shirt unbuttoned just enough to reveal the powerful line of his collarbone.
The sight of it sent heat crawling down my spine, and I looked around, desperately searching for something else to focus on.
He moved with lazy elegance, his sleeves rolled to his forearms, his golden skin catching the firelight. I shouldn’t find him beautiful. He was a monster. He saw me nearly drown without doing anything to help.
His expression quickly shifted to bored arrogance when our eyes met, and I wondered if he wore that as a mask. No doubt there was a flicker of curiosity and maybe a tiny bit of excitement when he saw me approach.
“You came,” he said simply.
I lifted my chin, forcing myself to hold his gaze. “You invited me,” I said, stepping forward.
“That I did.”
He gestured toward the seat across from him, and for a fleeting moment, amusement flashed in his silver-gray eyes. Like he knew the effect he had on me.
I refused to give him the satisfaction.
Sinking into the cushioned chair, I reached for the delicate crystal glass in front of me. The wine inside was deep and dark, the color of garnets. Or blood.
His hand rested lightly on the stem of his glass. Not drinking. Just watching.
A decadent meal awaited—too extravagant for just the two of us. My stomach tightened.
“I’m sure you’d appreciate Liang’s cooking skills. Definitely an improvement compared to Vexley’s canteen, I guess,” he said, filling his plate.
I grabbed the knife and sliced through the tender meat. Took a bite and barely suppressed a moan. It was delicious, rich and perfectly spiced.
And still, he hadn’t touched his food.
“You’re not eating,” I said, setting down my fork.
Emrys leaned back in his chair, one arm draped over the carved armrest, fingers tapping idly against the polished wood. “I’m enjoying the company instead.”
My pulse kicked against my ribs. His voice was smooth, velvet and dark, curling through the quiet like smoke. In this manor full of ghosts and terrible memories, he was still the most dangerous thing.
“Why did you invite me here?” I laid the linen napkin on my lap, not daring to look away from him.
“To see another face. Talking only to Liang and that bat could be quite boring after a couple of decades, you know. And Vexley’s assassins were not the talkative type. You thieves are much better.”
I took another bite, letting the seasoning melt on my palate, then flushed it down with some wine. I hadn’t eaten such a meal in years.
“So tell me, Miss Daphne, how did you end up in St. Dismas? Did you cross the wrong people? Have you mentioned the little voice in your head to anyone?” He smirked, tapping the edge of his plate with a finger. I nearly choked on a roasted fig. How could he know? What did he see at the lake?
I wiped the corners of my lips to win some time. “I… I don’t understand what you’re talking about. My brother locked me away for disobeying him.”
A dark brow climbed up. “I knew there was more to you than meets the eye. You’re like a Christmas morning for a child, Miss Daphne.
Full of mysteries and stories. Now tell me, little thief.
” His voice dropped as he leaned forward, his face dangerously close, as if the table had shrunk on his command.
” Was it the Lady in the Lake you expected when you ended up in the water?
Or was it something else that made you swim to the shore as if the devil was on your heels?
” That cursed smirk that pulled on the right corner of his full lip.
Arrogant and irritating. Challenging me.
Something bold and rebellious reared its head, probably encouraged by the wine.
“You’re not alone in that pretty little head of yours, are you, Daphne?
Did it whisper to you? Did it help you breathe? ” He tilted his head.
He thought he can play games? Well, I could do that, too.