Chapter 21 The Train Home #2
The carriage bumped along a dirt country road toward Bloomheather Crossing, where the rail line would carry them eastward to the Dhastel estate.
Despite the possible threat of daemons, the ride to the train station was uneventful.
To one side of Celise’s carriage, rolling hills interrupted by pockets of forest moved slowly past the window.
On the other side, a wide expanse of wild grass and meandering vineyards stretched across the valley.
Little brown swallows darted back and forth across the road, chasing after the carriage and twittering at the horses.
Butterflies fluttered through the wildflowers amidst fields of tall grass, frolicking from dainty bluebells to yellow buttercups to patches of white clover.
Lazy dragonflies hovered in the shadows beneath the oak trees that grew sporadically along the road.
In early Duskwane, just before the leaves changed color and harvest began, the warm afternoons were languid and peaceful.
Celise pressed her fingers gently to the glass window.
Outside, riding alongside the carriage at a steady pace, was Elias.
At times his majestic horse, Tempest, trotted parallel to her window. At times Tempest dropped back or strode forward. But Elias remained close to her carriage the entire way.
Golden afternoon sunlight softened the hard angles of the duke’s face: sharp cheekbones, a firm chin and a wide mouth pressed into a solemn line.
Dark hair fell elegantly to the side of his face.
On horseback, he looked more rugged and less princely than he had the night before; his clothes were plain and unadorned, the garb of a military man, not a rich noble.
It suited him. His gaze remained trained on their surroundings, scanning the fields and hills for any sign of trouble.
Performing his duty. A concerned soldier, nothing more.
Then he glanced toward her window.
Their eyes met. Just a flicker.
Celise flushed and sat back, hoping her sisters hadn’t noticed. Katrina’s solemn silence was like a gray cloud over the whole carriage. The inside of the cab was tense and quiet, despite the beautiful day outside.
Dasha unpacked their lunch basket provided by Gravenmere’s kitchens: a cold buffet of soft cheese, crackers, fruit and generous slices of smoked sausage. Celise ate quietly while Heather pointed to landmarks outside the window, sharing what she knew of the geography.
Their meal finished, Dasha dozed beside Celise, her head cushioned by a soft shawl. Heather gave up her geography lesson and cracked open a book of poetry. Katrina stewed as she nibbled on the last few grapes from the basket and picked at her nails.
Celise chanced another look outside the window, admiring the pale dun markings on Tempest’s powerful flanks.
The dun gene was more apparent in the afternoon light.
Under the cover of darkness, the large stallion had appeared perfectly black with only the slightest shimmer of a dun pattern beneath his coat.
Now she saw how Tempest’s legs were a deeper black—as though dipped in ink—than his smoky body.
The opaque, almost cheetah-patterned dun markings along his flanks and hips lent a silvery buff to the stallion’s coat, like faded charcoal against black ink.
She had never seen anything quite like it.
The stallion was remarkably beautiful, stocky and muscular like a draft horse, though of smaller build overall, making it more manageable for a single rider.
She could imagine the stallion fighting a daemon—its thick legs and sharp hooves looked capable of crushing bones.
Elias handled the large horse with skill, one hand holding the reins, the other propped up on his leg, completely at ease, as though he were born in the saddle. Against his hip, she saw a long, narrow sheath.
It must be a ghost blade, she reasoned.
She wondered what it would be like to go on a ride with the duke.
The thought filled her with a burst of exhilaration.
She recalled her brief flight through the forest on Tempest’s back.
The Hellion was utterly fearless—and impossible to control, unless he went along with you.
She had barely managed to stay in the saddle.
She wondered if she would ever ride Tempest again—if she had the courage to win over such a horse.
She thought, perhaps, she did.
She wondered what would happen after she returned home.
The duke hadn’t given any indication that he meant to court her like a proper lady.
Marcella wouldn’t allow it; she already knew.
Her stepmother would do anything to stop this marriage from taking place.
Katrina was her favorite—only Katrina deserved to become a duchess.
Once they returned to the Dhastel estate, it wouldn’t take long for Marcella to punish her for stealing away Katrina’s destiny.
Celise’s gaze out the window became decidedly less happy. Elias had no idea about her life. She supposed she was grateful for his protection, as impersonal as it seemed.
Then Elias dropped back out of sight, responding to one of the voices of his men.
Celise’s gaze returned to the empty fields at the side of the road, watching white butterflies flit about the wildflowers.
Her fingers curled around the edge of her seat as her mind traveled back to the night before.
She could still see the glow of Elias’s ghost sword, crackling with silver and blue power, as he battled the daemon.
Could still feel the brush of stubble against her cheek as his lips met hers in the darkness.
She wondered what the next leg of their journey might entail.
Bloomheather Crossing was a quiet jewel of a town nestled among three different vineyards.
Neat rows of twisting grapevines covered the hills around the town like a woven basket.
Harvest had just begun, and Celise saw ox-drawn wagons filled with crates and tools parked along the rows of espaliered grapes.
The sun was setting, and the farmhands were just finishing their work for the day.
Although Bloomheather Crossing was merely a small burg—no more than a few intersections of cobbled streets and gabled rooftops—it thrived with a self-assured charm. Ditches next to the road overflowed with blue-petaled bloomheather, the town’s namesake. Its crisp, clean scent lingered in the air.
As the sun began its descent across the deep, cool sky, the streets remained crowded with people.
Celise’s carriage struggled to make it through the handful of intersections to reach the train platform, where they would continue their journey to Castleberry City.
Elias and his soldiers intervened several times, forcing pedestrians to wait for their carriages to pass.
The train platform was a slate-stone affair with ornate lanterns and a modest, wrought-iron clock tower that struck the hours of the day with a deep, melodic chime.
Heavy burlap canvases covered the platform where passengers could wait in the shade.
It was more crowded than Celise expected, and she saw a dozen carriages lining the street across from the train tracks.
She recognized a crowd of upper-class passengers already gathered beneath the awnings, dressed in bright silks and tailored finery.
It looked like the Dhastel family weren’t the only Blackwood guests with first-class tickets on the train.
Perhaps because of this, Elias directed their carriage to the very end of the platform, which was more private, and sent off his men to wait at a tavern across the street.
The clock began to chime, marking five o’clock in the evening, as Celise’s carriage came to a halt.
Their train would be arriving in just a few minutes.
As the driver untied their luggage and placed it on the ground, she battled her way out of the cramped carriage box.
She pushed past her sisters to take a bit of space and fresh air.
The last hour of their journey had been stiflingly dull, the carriage humid and unpleasant, and Katrina’s mood increasingly foul.
Celise didn’t know how she was going to endure another two days of forced proximity with her siblings.
She yearned for the comfort of the Dhastel stables.
Even the smell of horse dung seemed preferable to another two days of choking on Katrina’s perfume.
Celise spotted her stepmother and father climbing out of the carriage behind them. Marcella’s high-pitched voice was already carrying across the train platform: “Do you have our tickets? Why can’t you answer me? I told you to keep them on hand. Didn’t you put them in your wallet?”
Celise watched her father check the pockets of his vest and coat. “I recall placing them just here. . . .”
Celise walked in the opposite direction, away from Marcella, before her stepmother could notice her.
She scanned the platform for Elias, trying to quell the desperate squeeze in her stomach.
She told herself she needed a few minutes of peace and quiet before enduring the next leg of her journey, but she yearned to stand in his presence again.
For the moment, she didn’t see him anywhere nearby.
“A basket of moonberries or a jar of lemon preserves, my lady?” a merchant called to her from the edge of the platform.
The young man stood before a wooden stall filled with fruit baskets, baked goods, and crates of mason jars full of preserves.
“May I interest you in a sweet treat for your train ride? Or perhaps a gift for a lover back home?”
“Oh . . . I . . . .” Celise’s cheeks turned pink.
“She won’t be sending home any gifts to a lover,” a deep, raspy voice came from her side. “But I will send her off with a basket of moonberries and a bag of honeyed biscuits.”
The merchant ducked into a deep bow, almost hitting his head on the table.
“Yes, of course, Your Grace! Thank you for your patronage.”