Chapter 20 After the Ball
After a night spent in the Gravenmere infirmary, Celise woke up to the patter of rainwater dripping from the slanted roof outside her window.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
She cracked open her eyes and looked toward the gentle sound.
Next to her cot, a tall window revealed a dim, gray morning outside the infirmary.
Her eyes were met by a wall of swirling mist. She couldn’t see the castle's grounds below or the distant gardens—it seemed Gravenmere was enveloped in a fogbank.
On the other side of the infirmary, a cheery fire battled against the moist air of the castle. The flames did little to warm the room. Celise shivered under her blanket. It seemed the cold weather of Hallowsin had finally arrived. She already craved a cup of Mordwen’s apple-cinnamon tea.
Celise lay still for a moment in her bed, gazing at the white, featureless fog outside the window. She felt . . . calm. Serene. Empty. Her mind was like the placid waters of a lake.
Then, finally, after several minutes, a bit of memory stirred. With a terrible lurch, she recalled Lord Elias Blackwood dropping to one knee before her in the ballroom to propose. The flash of cameras. The gasp of the crowd.
“Before the stars, by dust and by death—I choose you.”
Celise felt her stomach twist, a strange flutter in her heart.
Lord Elias had proposed to her in front of the Forsynthian elite. The papers had been there—a photo was taken.
Was she to be the next duchess of Gravenmere?
No, she told herself. I won’t fall under the same spell as Katrina! I don’t want to be betrothed to a duke!
Yet, in the old shrine next to the pond, she had kissed him.
—his lips warm and teasing, his skilled mouth summoning an addictive heat to her body, his hands cupping her jaw. Her first taste of passion.
She had kissed the Mad Dog duke.
No, no, no, she thought. No, it was a mistake. The night was more of a fever dream than a reality.
But her troublesome heart quickened again, rising into her throat, as a pleasant warmth tickled her stomach.
What was this vulnerable feeling?
The sharp cadence of a female voice interrupted her revelry.
Oh no.
“I didn’t realize Gravenmere had an infirmary wing! I suppose that fits, considering the castle’s history. Bit of a maze in this place, isn’t it? Oh, here’s the door. We must collect her before our train leaves. I’m sure you understand our urgency, doctor.”
“Please lower your voice, Lady Dhastel. Your daughter might still be sleeping.”
“Lazeabout that she is, I hope she’s awake!”
Celise sat up in bed as the door blew open.
The mana doctor, Drandem Forrest, entered with Marcella on his heels.
Her stepsisters weren’t far behind. Her stepmother swooped into the room like a furious hawk, her eyes scanning the empty beds until they alighted on Celise.
The fine ladies were all dressed in modest daywear: square-cut necklines and fluffed-out petticoats beneath their pastel skirts.
Padded bustles lent form to the back of their dresses.
Their leisure clothes, fit for traveling on the train, were not as grand as their ballgowns from the night before.
Oh no, the train!
Celise watched her family approach with a sense of dread. They were supposed to depart from Gravenmere Castle today and begin the long journey back to Windhaven Estate. The fog outside the window made it difficult to gauge the time. She wasn’t sure when their train was supposed to depart.
Marcella bustled through the room to Celise’s bedside, her two daughters in tow. She didn’t see Lord Dhastel with Marcella. If Celise had to guess, her father had spent the night gaming with other members of Old Blackwood’s inner circle. Wherever he was now, he likely had a roaring hangover.
“There you are, Celise!” Marcella gasped and leaned over her bed, dragging back the covers from Celise’s body.
Thankfully, she still wore a medical gown, though she didn’t think Marcella would have cared if she were naked and humiliated in front of the room.
“There’s much yet to do this morning, and the train leaves this afternoon!
Do you know where your father has gone?”
“I don’t. Maybe the Gravenmere servants know?” Celise said groggily.
Marcella raised an arched eyebrow as though Celise had said something insulting. Then she turned to Dr. Forrest, who remained hovering by the door.
“Medic, did my husband not accompany Celise to the infirmary last night?”
“He did not,” Forrest’s tired voice reached them. “Lord Elias escorted her.”
“I see. So then, where is my husband?”
“I do not know, my lady.”
“Well, can’t you call for the steward and ask?”
“I’m afraid the steward is busy assisting His Grace with all the guests in attendance,” Forrest said politely. “But I can ring for a hall boy. They’re quite clever. I’m sure someone must know of your husband’s whereabouts.”
“A hall boy? No, I demand a valet!” Marcella began fussing with Forrest, insisting he call for a higher-ranking servant to find her husband, while Forrest tried to convince her that none were available.
Celise tried to ignore her stepmother’s high-pitched, grating voice.
She was still a bit groggy from the long night.
She glanced down at her arm, noticing that someone had removed the shined circlet from her wrist. Her forearm was wrapped in soft linen bandages where the daemon’s poison had burned her.
She stretched it out experimentally. It felt alright, though a bit sore.
Then more shocking memories of the night before struck her like tiny lightning bolts. Forrest’s words echoed in her mind: “I’ve never encountered a case like yours, not in twenty years of practice.”
Celise sucked in a quick gasp.
She was born a Luminary.
A wave of strange grief mingled with repressed hope swelled through her heart.
Part of her floatiness, she was sure, came from the influence of the mana-infused discs she had slept with the night before.
She searched the bed for them, but it seemed the discs had been removed and put away.
Then she ran her hands down her torso, inspecting her body.
She glanced over her arms and legs but saw no visible difference.
She tried not to feel disappointed. Dr. Forrest had said her mana channels likely wouldn’t recover.
With a frown of concentration on her face, she tried to sense anything different about her body—some spark of latent energy—but she felt the same as always. Just a normal, unspectacular dunslug.
Her eyes returned to Marcella’s face. She watched the scowl form on her stepmother’s features as she argued with Dr. Forrest about her husband’s whereabouts.
Celise felt a growing sense of suspicion.
Did Marcella know about her clipped channels?
Would her stepmother do such a thing on purpose?
She caught her lower lip between her teeth and bit down softly in thought.
No, despite Marcella’s abuse, she didn’t think her stepmother knew anything about her condition.
According to Forrest, her channels had been clipped during infancy, which implicated the midwife, or . . . her father.
Would her father do such a thing? Why?
Her brow darkened further.
Why would he turn her into a dunslug on purpose? Or was it a terrible accident? A taste of uncertainty entered her thoughts. Was that the reason for her father’s feigned indifference toward her? Perhaps he felt so guilty he couldn’t even look her in the eye.
Was it a conspiracy? A cover-up? An assassination attempt gone wrong?
Celise shook her head at herself. No, that seemed like far too much intrigue for her boring, sad life.
Other than her father, Mordwen was the only person on the manor staff who would remember the midwife and the days that followed Celise’s disastrous birth.
Most of the staff had turned over since then, especially with Marcella’s pickiness.
Only Mordwen would remember what might have happened, and perhaps Mr. Talisworth, though he was hired on a few years later.
She had never thought to ask him about his history at the ranch—he seemed like a fixture around the property, although he was not very old yet.
Interrupting her thoughts, Marcella threw up her arms. “I suppose I’ll have to go look for my husband myself!
” she exclaimed, casting a glare at Dr. Forrest. “Since you refuse to be of any help, I’ll go fetch my own servant, Dasha, and waste even more time crossing the grounds back and forth from the Moongazer Tower.
Ridiculous. I will most certainly mention this to Cornelius when I see him. ”
Celise noticed how her stepmother used Old Blackwood’s first name as though they were good friends. But the doctor didn’t seem concerned. Forrest tilted his head, a sign of modest respect, or perhaps a mocking sort of apology.
“Please be sure to express any complaints you might have, my lady,” he said.
“I will!” Marcella snapped. Then over her shoulder, she said, “You girls stay here. I’ll be back as soon as I find your father.”
Lady Dhastel bustled out of the room with her nose in the air and cheeks flushed with anger. Celise wondered if she would slam the door behind her—as she would have at the manor—but Marcella restrained herself. At least at the castle, she was still attempting to comport herself with some class.
After her dramatic exit, Dr. Forrest quietly crossed the room to stand at the foot of Celise’s bed.
The doctor was dressed in the same white jacket as the night before, though his crooked buttons were fixed.
The only marking on his jacket denoting his station was a blue medical insignia on his shoulder.
He looked tired, and a bit of redness tinged his eyes.
Despite his obvious exhaustion, he gave her a kindly look that put her at ease.
“Good morning, Lady Celise. How are you feeling today?”
“Much better, thank you.”