‘See, we can get on if we try,’ he murmurs.
‘What?’ His lips are so close to my ear. I’m acutely aware of his body against mine, the cool hardness. I struggle to focus.
Our spinning slows, his head moving closer to mine. ‘I think we could be friends. If you want. Or even more.’ His hand at my waist slides lower, his other arm wrapping around me.
My heart is pounding, but I can’t control it. Can’t control anything, including my response to him.
There’s a clapping sound and I jump. Kyle lets me go, stepping back. I stagger, but manage to right myself, feeling as though I’m on fire.
‘Emelia! And Kyle. Just who I’ve been looking for.’
My mother comes towards us, her long skirts trailing like flickers of flame. She’s smiling, her arms held out, red velvet sleeves tapering to points over her delicate fingers. I avoid her embrace, hoping she won’t notice how flushed I am, how rapid my breathing.
‘My lady.’ Kyle bows neatly from the waist.
‘Kyle.’ My mother nods. ‘I thought you were to bring Emelia to us this evening.’
‘I am, my lady. However, she wanted to come here on the way and?—’
‘Of course,’ she says. ‘Emelia’s wishes, and her safety, are of paramount importance.’
Except my wish to not be Raven, of course. The thought cools my rushing head and heart, dampens the fire in my veins.
Kyle undoes the cloak, going to drape it carefully back on the mannequin where he found it.
My mother tilts her head. ‘That belonged to my father,’ she says. ‘He used to wear it to dances. Probably not his style these days.’
‘My lady, I apologise if?—’
‘That’s not what I meant. It’s nice to see it being worn again.’ She smiles at him, then at me. ‘That red is lovely on you, Emelia.’
‘Oh!’ I pull at the scarf, trying not to damage the delicate fabric. My mother stops me, her hands soft on mine.
‘You should keep it. I used to love wearing it.’ She embraces me. ‘Now, come,’ she says. ‘Let us go to your father. Kyle, report to Bertrand. He may need you elsewhere on the estate, and Emelia can stay with me.’
‘My lady.’ Kyle bows, then heads to the door. I go to follow him, as though we’re connected by an invisible string.
My mother stops me. Her grip is gentle, though she’s strong as iron. ‘So,’ she says once Kyle is gone, a smile in her voice. ‘You’re getting along well with the new guard?’
I blush. ‘I suppose,’ I say, not looking at her.
‘He’s nice to you?’
‘Nice enough,’ I say.
‘That is good,’ my mother says, though the softness has gone from her tone. ‘You do, however, need to remember who you are.’
I look at her. Then around the room with its layers of history, its weight of robes and responsibility that I have to carry. ‘How can I forget,’ I say.
It’s not a question.
ChapterEight
BLOOD MOON
‘Emelia, the silver garland, please.’
My mother is at the top of a ladder. She could get someone else to do this, of course, but it’s important to her to get every detail right. The great Halloween tree stretches to the ceiling of the main foyer, twisted branches devoid of leaves, blackened with age. It’s been in our family for centuries, once a living tree upon the estate. Now it lives again each Halloween, garlanded with lights and sparkling streamers, cloudy cobwebs and glittering jet spiders.
