Chapter 17 Wine and Shadows #2
Faking indifference, I spooned some buttery peas. If this madman decided to kill me, at least I’d go down with a full belly. The wine was also working its magic, and warmth crept to my face. “If I answer your question, will you answer one of mine?” I asked.
Emrys swirled the wine in his glass and finally drank, his gaze flashing behind the crystal glass like those of a predator. “You have a deal, Miss Daphne. Now tell me, how did you trap an undyne?”
This time, I choked on the wine. I slammed the glass and wiped the rivulet of wine running down my chin, probably looking a lot like blood. “An undyne?” I squealed. Did he mean a—
“An ancient water spirit. Not a friendly one. They love fooling with mortals but can get possessive. Vengeful. And the one in that pretty head of yours” — he reached out, but his fingers froze mid-air, then returned to the stem of his glass — “is particularly angry. And powerful.”
My thoughts ran around like horses in a burning stall. When I finally spoke the words I hadn’t dared to share with anyone since my parents perished that night, my whole body was trembling. “It’s a legend,” I scoffed, trying to sound dismissive. “An old tale of spirits and curses.”
“Yet you flinched,” he mused, swirling his wine. “Which means it’s more than legend, doesn’t it?”
I exhaled sharply, gripping my glass. “Fine. You want the truth?” My voice was hoarse. “That undyne wants a Draymoore child. For what reason, I do not know. And it found me.”
“Oh. Not sure if this counts as an answer, Miss Daphne.”
“All right, all right. One of my ancestors stole the heart of a water spirit centuries ago. He broke it. The creature swore vengeance on the family. We all thought it was just a legend until it killed my parents.”
Emrys was still, his eyes focused on me.
His usual arrogance—gone without a trace.
The hall had gotten quiet, the usual wind howl and screeching of wood gone.
The only sounds around us were the crackling of the fire and the ticking of an invisible clock somewhere.
“I went swimming in a lake one night. There was something in the water. It entered me. When they came to save me, it took them. Dragged them into the deep.” My voice broke, and I looked away, blinking away tears.
Years and years of blaming myself were about to come to the surface at the worst possible moment.
I clenched my fists and continued. “And somehow, it remained inside me. It says it wants me. The Draymoore child it was promised. What it intends to do with me, I hope I’ll never find out.
” To my surprise, Emrys didn’t laugh, didn’t mock me or declare me mad.
His eyes—the color of a winter morning—rested on me, some odd spark flashing.
Then he nodded. “All makes sense now, Miss Daphne. You’re a very resilient person—carrying such magic inside you and remaining human.
And I must say, quite the shock to the Lady in the Lake.
May she rest in peace now.” He lifted his glass in a toast. “Your turn to ask me a question now.”
The face of the ghost boy stared at me from the portrait above the fireplace, so I spat out the first thing that came to my mind. “What is this place?” I asked, gesturing around.
Emrys leaned back in the tall chair, his finger tapping the polished wood of the table.
“You’ve surely heard the rumors about Duskmere Manor.
Lord Valehurst meddled with forces beyond his control, encouraged by the Renegade and his pack.
” He followed my gaze, fixed on the family portrait over the fireplace.
“His firstborn son, sacrificed in what I heard was a horrible and pretty much useless ritual. His wife” — his fingers pointed at the gray-haired woman standing behind the lord — “hung herself when she found out. I believe you’re wearing her dress. His mistress you’ve already met.”
I licked my dry lips and forced myself to look away from the portrait. “And what is this place to you? Is this your prison?”
He chuckled, finally slicing a piece of meat. “You must have noticed by now—this manor does not keep others out. It keeps me in.” I blinked. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. I know you’ve been snooping, little thief. I can always tell when someone’s looking for a way out.”
“So you’re a prisoner.” I swallowed hard, not looking away from his eyes.
He watched me for a long moment before finally saying, “Is this what you think I am?” Taking a long swig of the wine, he smiled. “My turn to ask a question now.”
I nodded. This dinner, this game had awakened something inside me. That part of me that Arthur called “your devils” and punished mercilessly. That part that made me climb down the ivy and go see an opera dressed as a man.
That part of me that made me feel alive.
“Ask,” I said, taking another sip of wine. Pleasant warmth spread through my body, and for a moment, I wondered if it was the fine food, the exquisite wine, or the way he looked at me.
His pupils were wide, his gray irises nearly swallowed as his gaze raked over my bare shoulders—then stopped at the dark bruises Arthur and the nurses had left behind. I cursed silently. The shawl I’d draped to ward off the evening chill had slipped.
“You have a talent for collecting wounds, Miss Daphne,” he noted. Then, without a word, he reached across the table.
His fingertips brushed against the sensitive skin of my forearm. Just the lightest touch, but it was enough. Enough to send a jolt of awareness through me. Enough to make me flinch.
“Someone hurt you,” he said. Not a question. A simple, cool observation. But there was something beneath it, something heavy and unreadable.
“It’s nothing,” I said too quickly, pulling away before I could think better of it.
He scoffed. “Nothing doesn’t leave marks.”
I exhaled through my nose, gripping the stem of my wine glass. Careful now. Don’t let this turn into something dangerous.
“Neither does a corset, yet it still strangles,” I muttered, taking a sip.
He tilted his head, watching me like I was a puzzle he had all the time in the world to solve. “That’s deflection.”
“That’s practicality,” I corrected. “We all live under restraints, one way or another.”
His fingers drummed against the table. “Some restraints leave bruises.”
A cold knot twisted in my stomach. His curiosity was sharpening. It was becoming lethal.
I should have shut him out. Should have redirected the conversation, made some cutting remark, and turned his interest into something harmless.
Maybe it was the wine, or the warmth of the fire, or the way his attention felt different—not like a trap, not like a test, but like something else.
And maybe I was tired of being handled, used, dismissed, broken.
So I let it slip.
“I had the misfortune of living under the care of a monster.”
Silence.
I shouldn’t have said it.
“The brother who sent you to St. Dismas,” he said.
I kept my eyes on my plate, waiting for him to move on, to scoff or smirk or let the conversation drift somewhere else.
But he didn’t.
“You were not under his care,” he murmured. “Under his control.”
I stilled.
“Same thing, in the end.”
I expected him to agree, to brush it aside. But something flickered across his expression—not amusement, not mockery.
Something that sent a shiver down my spine.
Nobody had ever stood up for me after my parents were gone. Tilly tried it once. She never spoke of it, but she had a talk with Arthur about it, and she never did it again.
“Not always,” he said.
His voice was low, almost absentminded, but the weight of it settled deep in my chest.
Not always.
I swallowed hard.
“One day, these wards will fall. And when they do, Miss Daphne, and I am once again free, your brother will learn how it feels to be truly powerless.” He leaned closer, his voice dripping dark promises. “And then he’d regret that the undyne didn’t get him first.”
Nobody had ever talked to me like that. Like I… mattered. “My turn to ask.” My voice was hoarse. He leaned back into the tall chair with a smile, but the furrow between his dark brows remained.
“Then ask.”
“What are you, Emrys? What is the Renegade? Are you…similar? And what does this terrible snake made of spines and the skull mean?” There it was. I said it.
He lifted his glass and emptied it in one go.
His eyes landed on me again, his pupils oddly feline in the candlelight.
“Those were four questions, Miss Daphne. And I’m rather tired of this game.
But if you’d take my advice, listen carefully.
If you see the sign of the Renegade and his followers—that snake and the skull you’re talking about—do one thing, Daphne. ”
“What?”
“Run. Run as fast as you can, and don’t look back. Now, tell me, do you like music?”
He didn’t miss the way my eyes glowed up.
“Very well. Please follow me. The night is young, and we’ve dwelled in the shadows for too long. It’s time for something joyful.”