Emrys leaned back in his chair, one arm draped over the carved armrest, fingers tapping idly against the polished wood. “I’m enjoying the company instead.”
My pulse kicked against my ribs. His voice was smooth, velvet and dark, curling through the quiet like smoke. In this manor full of ghosts and terrible memories, he was still the most dangerous thing.
“Why did you invite me here?” I laid the linen napkin on my lap, not daring to look away from him.
“To see another face. Talking only to Liang and that bat could be quite boring after a couple of decades, you know. And Vexley’s assassins were not the talkative type. You thieves are much better.”
I took another bite, letting the seasoning melt on my palate, then flushed it down with some wine. I hadn’t eaten such a meal in years.
“So tell me, Miss Daphne, how did you end up in St. Dismas? Did you cross the wrong people? Have you mentioned the little voice in your head to anyone?” He smirked, tapping the edge of his plate with a finger. I nearly choked on a roasted fig. How could he know? What did he see at the lake?
I wiped the corners of my lips to win some time. “I… I don’t understand what you’re talking about. My brother locked me away for disobeying him.”
A dark brow climbed up. “I knew there was more to you than meets the eye. You’re like a Christmas morning for a child, Miss Daphne. Full of mysteries and stories. Now tell me, little thief.” His voice dropped as he leaned forward, his face dangerously close, as if the table had shrunk on his command.” Was it the Lady in the Lake you expected when you ended up in the water? Or was it something else that made you swim to the shore as if the devil was on your heels?” That cursed smirk that pulled on the right corner of his full lip. Arrogant and irritating. Challenging me. Something bold and rebellious reared its head, probably encouraged by the wine. “You’re not alone in that pretty little head of yours, are you,Daphne? Did it whisper to you? Did it help you breathe?” He tilted his head.
He thought he can play games? Well, I could do that, too.
Faking indifference, I spooned some buttery peas. If this madman decided to kill me, at least I’d go down with a full belly. The wine was also working its magic, and warmth crept to my face. “If I answer your question, will you answer one of mine?” I asked.
Emrys swirled the wine in his glass and finally drank, his gaze flashing behind the crystal glass like those of a predator. “You have a deal, Miss Daphne. Now tell me, how did you trap an undyne?”
This time, I choked on the wine. I slammed the glass and wiped the rivulet of wine running down my chin, probably looking a lot like blood. “An undyne?” I squealed. Did he mean a—
“An ancient water spirit. Not a friendly one. They love fooling with mortals but can get possessive. Vengeful. And the one in that pretty head of yours” — he reached out, but his fingers froze mid-air, then returned to the stem of his glass — “is particularly angry. And powerful.”
My thoughts ran around like horses in a burning stall. When I finally spoke the words I hadn’t dared to share with anyone since my parents perished that night, my whole body was trembling. “It’s a legend,” I scoffed, trying to sound dismissive. “An old tale of spirits and curses.”
“Yet you flinched,” he mused, swirling his wine. “Which means it’s more than legend, doesn’t it?”
I exhaled sharply, gripping my glass. “Fine. You want the truth?” My voice was hoarse. “That undyne wants a Draymoore child. For what reason, I do not know. And it found me.”
“Oh. Not sure if this counts as an answer, Miss Daphne.”
“All right, all right. One of my ancestors stole the heart of a water spirit centuries ago. He broke it. The creature swore vengeance on the family. We all thought it was just a legend until it killed my parents.”
Emrys was still, his eyes focused on me. His usual arrogance—gone without a trace. The hall had gotten quiet, the usual wind howl and screeching of wood gone. The only sounds around us were the crackling of the fire and the ticking of an invisible clock somewhere. “I went swimming in a lake one night. There was something in the water. It entered me. When they came to save me, it took them. Dragged them into the deep.” My voice broke, and I looked away, blinking away tears. Years and years of blaming myself were about to come to the surface at the worst possible moment. I clenched my fists and continued. “And somehow, it remained inside me. It says it wants me. The Draymoore child it was promised. What it intends to do with me, I hope I’ll never find out.” To my surprise, Emrys didn’t laugh, didn’t mock me or declare me mad. His eyes—the color of a winter morning—rested on me, some odd spark flashing. Then he nodded. “All makes sense now, Miss Daphne. You’re a very resilient person—carrying such magic inside you and remaining human. And I must say, quite the shock to the Lady in the Lake. May she rest in peacenow.” He lifted his glass in a toast. “Your turn to ask me a question now.”
The face of the ghost boy stared at me from the portrait above the fireplace, so I spat out the first thing that came to my mind. “What is this place?” I asked, gesturing around.
Emrys leaned back in the tall chair, his finger tapping the polished wood of the table. “You’ve surely heard the rumors about Duskmere Manor. Lord Valehurst meddled with forces beyond his control, encouraged by the Renegade and his pack.” He followed my gaze, fixed on the family portrait over the fireplace. “His firstborn son, sacrificed in what I heard was a horrible and pretty much useless ritual. His wife” — his fingers pointed at the gray-haired woman standing behind the lord — “hung herself when she found out. I believe you’re wearing her dress. His mistress you’ve already met.”
I licked my dry lips and forced myself to look away from the portrait. “And what is this place to you? Is this your prison?”
He chuckled, finally slicing a piece of meat. “You must have noticed by now—this manor does not keep others out. It keeps me in.” I blinked. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. I know you’ve been snooping, little thief. I can always tell when someone’s looking for a way out.”
“So you’re a prisoner.” I swallowed hard, not looking away from his eyes.
He watched me for a long moment before finally saying, “Is this what you think I am?” Taking a long swig of the wine, he smiled. “My turn to ask a question now.”
I nodded. This dinner, this game had awakened something inside me. That part of me that Arthur called “your devils” and punished mercilessly. That part that made me climb down the ivy and go see an opera dressed as a man.
That part of me that made me feel alive.
“Ask,” I said, taking another sip of wine. Pleasant warmth spread through my body, and for a moment, I wondered if it was the fine food, the exquisite wine, or the way he looked at me.
His pupils were wide, his gray irises nearly swallowed as his gaze raked over my bare shoulders—then stopped at the dark bruises Arthur and the nurses had left behind. I cursed silently. The shawl I’d draped to ward off the evening chill had slipped.
“You have a talent for collecting wounds, Miss Daphne,” he noted. Then, without a word, he reached across the table.
