Chapter 37 Detritus Poison
Leena’s eyes remained fixed on the lake, but Lord Kilworth did not rise.
A sudden nausea gripped her, so strong that she bent down and vomited forcefully. After a moment, she rose up shakily and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
“It is done,” Leena stated hollowly. She didn’t know if she wanted comfort from the other woman or confirmation.
Mrs. Van responded evenly. “Aye, but it had to be done.”
Leena turned away from Mrs. Van, beginning to walk back the way they’d come.
Several weeks ago, Leena had been in a starkly similar position: both times pointing a pistol at a man. She was so heartily glad that she’d lowered the gun during that first episode, that she’d spared St. Silas’s life, just as she was glad she’d had the nerve to fire this time.
As St. Silas had once told her: Survival is a sordid business.
Kilworth had his burial—just not underneath the ground.
May your soul no longer crave the soil.
The grazes on her feet began to ache, but she ignored them. Mrs. Van followed her, and for a long while the only sounds that echoed were their own footfalls.
Leena finally broke the silence, turning to Mrs. Van. “What is the Limitless Vessel?”
She remembered Lord Hargreaves had also mentioned the Limitless Vessel on the day he’d killed Lord Avon in Lady Hargreaves’s recollection—that it was the reason he’d murdered his oldest friend.
“I do not know,” Mrs. Van replied slowly, as if she was deep in thought. “But we must tell the master of Kilworth’s last words. We must tell him soon.”
It took some time before they emerged from the wine cellar into the morning light. Leena had been too blind with worry to take note of the passages as they ran from Kilworth, but Mrs. Van’s mind was sharp, and she’d had enough foresight to memorize their exact route and lead them back.
Leena was surprised that it was still early daylight. Surely years must’ve passed since Mrs. Van had come into her room that morning?
She searched for Rami and St. Silas in the emptiness of the halls, but even the servants seemed to be gone. They made their way toward the grand entrance, stopping in front of the door that opened to the outside world.
They were not there.
Leena’s heart sank, St. Silas’s clear instructions ringing in her ears. If he was not back shortly after dawn, Mrs. Van and Leena were to make their way back to Golborne directly—without him. Rami, she knew, was still locked away.
St. Silas did not realize that Leena had never had any intentions of leaving without him.
She glanced at the grandfather clock. Distantly, her mind absorbed the fact that it was another three hours before Lord Avon was due to appear.
Not that this mattered anymore. She felt a crushing despair at just how close they had come to finding Lord Avon’s ghost.
But there was no time for that now.
Leena turned to Mrs. Van urgently, knowing that there would be consequences from her sudden change of plans. “We must ready the carriage and go find Mr. St. Silas and Rami before making our way back to Golborne.”
Mrs. Van shook her head, gripping Leena’s arm. “That is not what the master instructed.”
Leena pulled her arm back. “I am well aware of Mr. St. Silas’s plans. However, he is not here to enforce them, and we are not leaving without them.”
The tiniest flickering of a smile appeared on Mrs. Van’s lips before the older woman’s face turned blank once more. “First, shoes.”
It took them less than five minutes to collect their necessary belongings. Mrs. Van had found for her a small leather satchel, and Leena packed A Guide to Botany and the old housekeeper’s timepiece. Then they made their way down the steps of Weavingshaw’s grand staircase.
Once more, Leena felt a stirring of foreboding at the emptiness of the house.
“Where are all the servants?” she asked Mrs. Van as they left the house, the crisp air like a knife to Leena’s lungs.
The snow had reached her ankles as she bounded down the curved driveway, heading toward the stables where they would hopefully find a carriage ready.
“At the miners’—” Before Mrs. Van could finish her sentence, they heard the rattle of wheels on the drive.
They froze. Leena’s pulse thrashed in her ears.
A gilded carriage came from the forest at breakneck speed, the horses shooting dangerously across the path. Whoever held the reins was an unsteady driver, the entire vehicle jostling up and down.
Leena and Mrs. Van lurched toward the banks of snow on the side of the road, missing the iron of the horses’ hooves by seconds. Just as the vehicle passed, Leena saw a familiar figure on the box seat, back hunched over in concentration. She heard the figure shouting her name.
“Rami!” she yelled, racing after the carriage, nearly slipping on the ice in the process.
Rami’s lip was split and fiery contusions spread across his cheek. “Leena!” he called back, and tugged on the reins with a hard wrench, forcing the horses to halt. “Where’s Kilworth?”
“Dead.” It was Mrs. Van who replied before Leena could.
“Where is St. Silas?” Leena countered.
“He’s inside the carriage. Get in quickly; we are being pursued.” Rami’s eyes were hectic, peering wildly at the road behind them. “The Black Coats are not far behind. We must make a head start before they arrive.”
What on earth were the Black Coats doing this far north?
Mrs. Van was faster than Leena in following these instructions, jumping to sit beside Rami on the driver’s seat. She took the reins from Rami, who was struggling to control the two horses singlehandedly.
Leena barreled inside the carriage, her shoes slipping on the icy step. Mrs. Van set the horses flying before Leena had even shut the door.
It took a moment for Leena’s eyes to adjust from the blazing brightness outside to the dimness within. Eventually, she was able to focus her vision enough to see St. Silas sprawled across the seat, a pool of crimson spreading beneath him.
As Leena’s eyes frantically assessed him, St. Silas returned her searing appraisal with one of his own.
“Is that all yours?” she demanded, moving closer to inspect him in the flickering sunlight.
“Are you well?” he interrupted. His eyes were steel. “Did he hurt you?”
Leena’s eyes widened in shock. How had St. Silas known of what had so recently transpired between her and Kilworth? “I am unhurt.”
Her gaze raked him again, focusing on the blood. She reached to unbutton his waistcoat, but he stopped her, covering her hand with his own, holding it just over his heart. She could feel the drumming of his heartbeat against her palm. “Where’s Kilworth?”
Leena kept her tone brusque, although memories made her stomach knot and her throat constrict. “I shot him dead with your pistol.”
“There’s a girl,” he whispered softly—the words an echo of the first time he’d said them to her, what felt like centuries ago. “Fearless Leena Al-Sayer.”
Leena did not look at him, but her fingers shook as she continued to unbutton his waistcoat. The burden of Kilworth’s death lay like a stone on her heart, and yet St. Silas’s words were like an ax shattering that stone.
“Is this blood all yours?” she asked again.
“Afraid it is,” St. Silas said, almost apologetically, trying to catch her eye. “I’d be much obliged if you kissed it better.”
Leena paused in her attempts to remove the layers of his clothes and glanced up at him drily. “If you are well enough to jest, then surely there is no cause for concern.”
“Who said anything about jesting?” His eyes ricocheted between pain and laughter.
The carriage swerved through the uneven terrain, jolting Leena against St. Silas’s wound, causing him to inhale sharply.
The white shirt beneath had already adhered to the wound. Grimly, and without giving him a chance to realize what she was about to do, she ripped the fabric that clung to the gash in one fluid motion. The clenching of his knuckles was his only reaction to the pain.
Leena blanched at the sight of the wound, which scored between his ribs and his hip on the left side.
It was horrific.
The blood streaming from the severed skin seemed endless.
More gruesome still were the spidery black lines that emerged from the center of the wound, spreading outward. Leena had never seen such markings in her life.
St. Silas watched her face carefully, his eyes half-lidded. “Demon poison.”
Leena wrenched her gaze to meet his. “Demon poison?” she cried, fear racing down her spine. “What is the treatment? This does not look—” Her tone faltered, mind racing.
“Easily procurable in Golborne,” he replied without hesitation.
Golborne—that was five days’ carriage ride away. “Will we have enough time?” she asked frantically.
“You worry too much.”
Leena ignored his attempt at lightheartedness. “How did you get injured with demon poison?” She wasted no time in tearing thick pieces of fabric from the hem of her dress to create bandages. The wound needed pressure immediately to stem the bleeding.
Leena heard Rami curse just as the carriage jostled precariously on the ice, tipping them leftward before righting itself once more and continuing forward.
St. Silas could not immediately answer as she began to swiftly wrap the gauze around his abdominal muscles. His eyes tightened briefly with every pressure she exerted on the wound, but he said nothing to stop her.
“We have Hargreaves to thank for this,” St. Silas finally responded after he had caught his breath. Though it obviously caused him pain, he moved slowly to pull back the curtains and look out the window. “We are not moving fast enough.”
“Hargreaves?” Leena echoed, her mind reeling back to the memories that Lady Hargreaves had left. A missing child—who was not missing at all, but a man now, bleeding in front of her. “Why was Hargreaves at the duel?”
Another perilous lurch. This time, Leena was more prepared, holding on to the cushioned seat tightly.