I don’t want to hurt her.
She may have been born my enemy, but she didn’t choose to be. Before today, she didn’t even know who she was.
Yet hurt her I must.
Hurt her Iwill.
Otherwise, everything my family fought for will be for naught.
Forcing my true feelings, my hidden darkness, to the shadowed places within, I feign the open curiosity I once had. Gesturing toward the stage, I ask, “What ballet is this?”
Her expression softens. “I’ve told you before, in another dream.”
Yes, she has.
“But I’ll tell you again. I love this ballet. I could talk about it for hours.” She starts her tale about her trip to Lumenas, her first visit to the ballet, and the fascination with dancing it sparked thereafter.
I watch her animated gestures, her growing smile, knowing that soon I’ll see that joy slip from her face for good. It’s a prospect that fills me with far less satisfaction than I like.
I was born to do this, I remind myself.
I was named for vengeance.
My beautiful nemesis must lose everything I’ve already lost.
9
BRIONY
My eyelids flutter open, my mind heavy with dreams. The more I wake, the hazier the dreams become. However, I distinctly recall one that involved Thorne, which was followed by several less-memorable ones, none of which Mr. Blackwood paid any visits to. Still, even the easy-to-forget dreams leave my brain fuzzy, and for a moment I don’t remember where I am. I blink at my surroundings and recognize the dark interior of the coach.
Ah, right. Now I recall.
I’m not sure how long I dozed off for, but it must have been long indeed for night has now fallen, as told by the open curtains and the inky sky beyond the coach’s windows. I’m surprised to see the curtains open at all, for Mr. Blackwood insisted on keeping them shut for discretion’s sake when we first began our journey. I suppose the veil of night can serve the same purpose the curtains did during the day.
I cast a glance at where my head had been propped against the interior wall. How did I manage to nap in such an uncomfortable position for so long? Then I note the dark fabric clinging to my shoulder. I smooth it out, assessing it. It’s a jacket, and not one of my own. All my excess clothing is packed away and stored on the luggage rack. My gaze moves to my traveling companion, hidden once again behind the wide expanse of his broadsheets. The view is enough to reveal he’s no longer wearing his jacket. His forearms are bare, his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows.
I frown down at the article of clothing in my hands. Did he…prop this beside my face and neck so I could more comfortably doze?
He must have heard me stir, for he lifts his eyes above his paper.
I grin at him, an automatic response, but it’s a gesture I regret as he pointedly ignores it and goes right back to reading.
With a roll of my eyes, I remind myself he isn’t the man I spent my dream talking to. Dream-Thorne let me prattle on and on about the ballet I so greatly adore, watching me with rapt attention. A mental construct indeed. Though I recall he seemed far more Thorne-like when the dream began, which I’m sure is due to me having met him in real life. What a shame reality must color what was once a lovely fantasy.
But I shouldn’t dream of him anymore. I never should have in the first place. While I have more control over my daydreams than I do over what happens in my mind when I’m asleep, I must find a way to rid myself of dream-Thorne. It was one thing to fancy a figment of my imagination based on a man I thought I’d never see again. It’s another to maintain the charade when the real person has entered my life. And if he’s truly such good friends with my fiancé, he may be a fixture in my life for good.
Stars, what a nuisance that will be. I hope his demeanor isn’t telling of the company he keeps. If my fiancé ignores me this much, I may have to flee before my wedding day. I scowl at Thorne’s broadsheets and am startled when they suddenly come down. He catches my glare before I can hide it and gives me a pointed look.
“I can practically hear you thinking,” he says through his teeth. “You don’t like my silence.”
I lift my chin and avert my gaze to the window, grateful it’s too dark for him to see the blush that rises to my cheeks. “I don’t like being bored.”
“Well, I do. I like boredom and peace and quiet.”
“You must live a rather uneventful life,” I mutter.
“An uneventful life may sound dull to you, but for some, it’s a luxury. Now, let me save us both from another one of your veiled threats and simply tell you what you want to know. We’re almost to Nocturnus Palace. We’ll reach the gates within minutes.”
