“I’ve lost most of my names over the centuries. The last one I used—before an impostor claimed it—was Count Cagliostro. That’s what you’d hear Emrys whisper in his nightmares when you share his bed.”
My cheeks flushed. “I’m a lady, and I have no intention of—”
He smiled, the firelight glinting off his cruel mouth.
“Of course you don’t. But I’ve seen more than one lady turn into a whore around him. I don’t care about your methods. Just get me the information. Your time is ticking, Lady Draymoore. You’d better go now.”
He was right. The faster I got out of here, the better. “How do I find you when… if I get it done?” I mumbled.
“Don’t worry, Daphne. We will find you.” Vexley grabbed my arm and dragged me toward the door. “Your carriage is ready.”
Moonlight filtered through the tattered clouds as we reached the unmarked carriage, pulled by two black horses at the entrance.
“Our people are watching the manor day and night, Daphne. Don’t try anything stupid. They’re instructed to shoot on sight. Nothing leaves Duskmere without my permission. And if you try anything foolish,” Vexley leaned close, his breath sour against my cheek, “you’ll find death at Emrys’s claws a mercy compared to what we’ll do.”
He shoved me onto the cold leather seat of the carriage and slammed the door shut.
My fingers brushed my right breast where the phantom pain of the Renegade’s mark still burned.
The wheels creaked into motion.
The asylum—those black, stained letters of St. Dismas—faded into the night.
Through the barred window, I saw a single face.
The tarot reader.
As soon as our eyes met, she crossed herself as if she had seen a dead woman walking—and then she faded into the gloom inside.
Daphne
Duskmere Manor
The thoughts raced through my head faster than the trees veiled by the mist outside.
My heart hammered against my ribcage, pain searing through my bruises with every jolt of the carriage. Trees flew past, their dead branches scraping against the carriage sides. The fog had swallowed the city lights. I knew we have left London, but where were we headed?
Cautiously, I reached for that door in my mind—the one I had kept carefully locked—and knocked on it.
No response.
The Unbidden remained silent.
I never thought I would miss the voice living inside my head since that dreadful night when my parents drowned, but here I was. The Unbidden stirred only near bodies of water—lakes, rivers, or God forbid, the sea. Its silence meant only one thing: I was nowhere near the Thames.
Sweet Lord, what nightmare awaited me at Duskmere Manor?
I urgently needed a plan, a story—anything—because if the monster suspected the truth, he would tear me apart.
I crossed my arms over my chest. Covered in bruises and scratches, with my hair hacked off above my shoulders, I’d hardly pass as a lady. A survivor of a pub brawl, more likely.
The night air grew colder, smelling of damp soil and rotting vegetation. The tunnel of trees swallowed the sounds of the horses’ hooves. Darkness slithered between the trunks, reaching for me.
Were they sending me on a mission—or was it all a trick? A diversion?
Maybe Arthur had finally decided to end me, and the hooded coachman would pull the reins, murder me in this godforsaken place, and dump my body in the woods.
For a heartbeat, I considered jumping from the carriage, but the unnatural stillness of the night outside was even more terrifying than the threat that might await me at the manor.
