Chapter 7
Deep green wallpaper guided her steps along the hallway, and Phaedra found herself pondering anew how such wonder could have previously escaped her attention to this extent.
She remembered briefly noting its general beauty along with that of other decor, yet the full force of its magnificence must have been lost on her whirling mind and the shadows of descending evening, hiding it from conscious view.
Her eyes followed the undulating pattern, her soft steps on the carpeted floor in tune with each dip, her breath coming with each rise, and she finally understood the play of circumstance that had put together the strange setting of her nightmare.
She let out a breath, the corners of her mouth tilting, and she peered around, curious to find whatever shadowed thing had implanted the seed of danger within her dream.
But as she came to the staircase, her thoughts were derailed by a sudden shift of atmosphere, as if the very air around her had been exchanged.
She could feel it, like a cool sheen settling on her skin, as if after countless hours lounging in the sun she had been immersed into icy gloom.
It came as unnervingly as it was unexpected, and it took her a moment to locate the source of the transformation.
In a way, she had not erred in her feelings of being cast in shade, yet the reality was far less poetic than what her mind had rushed to conjure.
While the hall behind her seemed to flourish under its lush verdant hue, the stairway felt almost somber with its dark paneling and umber wallpaper, the gold highlights only deepening the shadows.
Yet the change had been so abrupt, the difference so jarring, that Phaedra could not help but wonder if it had been intentional, or rather the product of some perhaps unavoidable circumstance.
An unexpected depletion of materials—or the time to make use of them.
Chills prickled over her skin as she started down the stairs, and she fought the urge to turn and search for specters that would linger to finish what their premature endings had deprived them of, forcing her mind instead onto practical matters.
The things she had, the things she still needed, and the various possibilities of what the day might hold.
She still had no concrete notions of what her assignment entailed, and her previous uncertainty returned, questioning whether she truly was the right person to fulfill these yet unstated expectations.
So when she did not find Nathaniel in the breakfast room—a servant relaying the message of his apology of being kept away by important correspondence—Phaedra decided to forgo her own meal and instead revisit the scene of their first meeting.
She did not know if it was out of pure curiosity or an imagined sense of impending failure that she wished to see the paintings again.
Whether the desire stemmed from a desperate urge to prepare, to study the strokes and compositions, the lights and shadows, so she might not disappoint.
Or from the very simple reason of wanting to get a grasp of what awaited her.
She found the drawing room at the end of a hallway, recognizing the large double doors from the previous day. But as she walked up to them, her steps halted, her hand going not for the handle, but to trace the delicate carvings decorating the surface of the dark wood.
She remembered acknowledging the beauty of the scenes depicted as she had been led through yesterday, and her fingers slid over the reliefs, traced the rising and falling swirls, the wood smooth and cool under her touch.
It was mesmerizing in a way only true masterpieces could be, and she wondered at the skill, at the time and effort needed to create something that could be so captivating, while also blending so seamlessly with their surroundings.
“The design is Eidonic,” a voice said behind her.
Phaedra turned, her fingers reluctant to leave the gleaming surface.
Nathaniel stood a few paces away, his dark suit in stark contrast to the paleness of his skin.
His light hair and green eyes looked almost luminous in the morning light.
There was a faint curl to his lips, and Phaedra had a notion that he had somehow anticipated that she would come here, and the smile indicated his pleasure at being proven correct.
She wondered why she had not heard him approach, indeed why his sudden appearance had not startled her. She had been so deep in her own mind, she should have at least felt the jolt of being torn away.
“Eidonic,” she said, turning back to the door. She tilted her head, the word sliding in amid her thoughts like a missing piece clicking into place. “Of course.”
She recognized it now, as if hearing its name had somehow unearthed memories that had been dormant before. She was familiar with the form, had even studied it briefly some time ago, and she wondered if it had been choice or chance that had made her move on. That had made her forget.
She traced the parallel lines of undulating vines running up the edge of the decorative panel, the design so painfully familiar she could feel it thump against her mind with every beat of her heart.
“It is the same as the wallpaper,” she said finally, astonished by her own surprise. At how she had not seen it instantly. “In my room and in the hallway outside it.”
“Of that I am not aware,” Nathaniel said, stepping to her side. “But it is the same as the one inside the drawing room.”
Phaedra let out a breath, an awed smile tilting her lips.
Memories flooded her of hours spent poring over books describing the wonder now standing before her, the pages depicting but a mere fragment of its matchless splendor.
And how its history had been shrouded in romanticized shadow, the violence of its origin recreated in allegory and symbolism, until all that remained was the sheer essence of its beauty and the undeniable urge to possess it.
She could guess how such a treasure had ended up in this house, yet she could not stop her words as she peered up at the young man standing by her side. “These works are hard to come by.”
His eyes slid over the carved surface, his jaw tightening with what almost looked like disdain. As if he were entirely unaffected by the sight.
“They are,” he said. “But, as most of the world has come to know over the years, my father had quite a taste for all things… exceptional. And a way of always getting what he wanted.”
Phaedra averted her eyes, unsure how to respond, and her fingers lifted, as if summoned, once more to the door.
“It is very beautiful,” she offered.
A long breath escaped him, then Phaedra felt his eyes turn to her. They traced the lines of her profile, searching for things she could not fathom.
“Indeed,” he said finally.
There was something in the cadence of the word, the way his tone shifted from the one mere moments ago, that made her muscles stiffen. She dropped her hand to the handle.
“Oh, I’m afraid that’s locked,” Nathaniel said.
Phaedra blinked. “Locked?” She turned to him, brows knitting. “Why?”
He offered a rueful smile. “Because I suspected you would wish to go in again.”
Phaedra’s confusion only deepened. Was she simply imagining it or had his words not made any sense? Unless he thought…
The smile fell from his face as he beheld her expression, a pale rose tint flushing his cheeks as he too had finally understood what his words had insinuated.
“Please forgive me,” he said, his expression earnest in his mortification. “That is not at all what I meant to imply.”
Phaedra nodded, uncertain. “Then what is it you did mean?”
“I…” He stepped back, his fingers laced behind him, his teeth raking over his lower lip.
The movement caught her eye, and she watched this perfect display of distress take reign over his handsome features.
Something purred in the back of her mind, like some languid beast awakening to a most delectable feast.
“I do realize,” he began again, “that you are still very much in the dark regarding the details of the assignment. It is not intentional, or at least not entirely, and I apologize for the discomfort that may cause. But believe me, it is not because—” He paused, his chest rising and falling with a heavy sigh.
“All of this is still very new for me, and I feel… wary? The things we will discuss—the scenes you will paint—will be of a highly personal nature, and I find myself… reluctant to divulge anything concrete until I see you sitting before your easel.”
She nodded, his words sobering in their candor.
“But I do understand that you would require more,” he continued. “It is only fair. So allow me to start by saying that the paintings you will create will be of my family.”
“Your family?” she asked, her brows pulling together. She could not determine precisely what had made his statement so unexpected, and she could not deny the spark of curiosity igniting with its strangeness.
He nodded. “As you may remember, there are quite a few paintings of them in there.” He motioned to the door.
“Yes, but…” she started, his words losing sense once more. “Wouldn’t that be of help to me?”
“Yes,” he said. “And no.”
Phaedra opened her mouth, then closed it again.
“I promise, I am not mad,” Nathaniel said, a small smile moving over his face. “However my words may seem. It is only that— It is somewhat difficult to explain.”
“Try,” she said. But before she could even start to blanch at the unexpected authority of her tone, his smile widened.
“Come with me.”
He started back down the hall, Phaedra falling into step beside him. His stride was leisurely, unhurried, and she had to concentrate to keep hers in tandem, her mind already awhirl with a myriad of thoughts and possibilities.