“What are you reading there?”
Silas lurked at the doorway, dressed down since the last few appearances and more importantly—not covered in blood. His simple blouse showed off the subtle tanned skin underneath the thin fabric, and midnight trousers accentuated his lean figure. Loose strands of his hair hung around his mask. The black straps tight around his head did little to hide the faint scar—and his annoyance.
It was broad daylight, and he wasn’t sleeping in a coffin. Just what was this man?
“I don’t think I told you that you could rifle through my possessions, Little Dove.”
“Since when did reading become a crime?” I retorted. I closed the book, cradling it into the crook of my arm. “You did give me free rein to explore unless you meant anywhere else but here.” I tookout another book, barely skimming the cover of it, and settled in with the collection of books in his chair.
I was surprised to see pictures of plants staring back at me.
“You decided to read up on plants, hm.” Silas leaned over me, amusement high upon his brow. He placed a hand onto my shoulder, jolting such fleeting images flashing in front of me.
Grass. A large oak tree. A boy with raven hair.
Don’t you wish you could be anyone else?
I shifted in the chair, images disappearing as fast as they had appeared. “I wanted to learn a few remedies.” I drew out the handkerchief, letting the tickle in my lungs die on the pristine cloth. I rubbed my chest, avoiding the scrutiny in his pale gaze.
Silas crossed the room, propping a leg up over the arm of the chair across from me.
“I am guessing you are stubborn and did not drink the vial I gave you,” he said.
I raised a brow, slinking down into the cushion with the book. “So, should I have drunk the mysterious liquid and died then—is that it?”
Since Ebony brought the vial, I had not looked at it since stashing it in the drawer. I don’t care if it guarantees me a cure to my illness because I did not trust him enough to consume it. For all I know, Castle Briar wanted to kill me, and I wouldn’t let it.
“What is it that you so graciously want to drink? Herbal medicine? Blood from a sacred cow? Perhaps a crushed up red beetle?” I asked.
“My, do we have quite the imagination.” He laughed. “No, it’s none of those.”
“Then, what is it? Why should I trust it?”
Silas’s smiled thinned. “I am death, as you have mentioned. Why should you trust death?”
Having enough of his lousy company, I gathered the books in one hand and my skirt with another, taking myself away from this man—and the impure thoughts plaguing me. Quick movements flashed beyond the course of my vision, and I collided with Silas, who blocked my path out.
“I’m trying to help. You should be grateful,” he said.
“I don’t need it,” I hissed.
I strode past him, ignoring my own body’s protest of the electrifying thrill and the unrelenting dread dancing upon my skin. Lungs grating from the dust, I buckled over, the metallic cough coming out of nowhere. Books scattered across the hallway, and I gasped for air and fumbled for my handkerchief.
Silas played coy. “Sounds like you have this handled, then.”
I glared back.
Silas leaned against the doorframe with a smirk, as if he was enjoying the show. The slow death I was consumed by.
I picked up the books, my gaze refocusing on the plant-covered one.
“Yes, no need for your remedy or whatever. I am perfectly able to find my own solution without the useof you. Thank you. Now, if you please, I’d like to read in peace.” I gathered my skirt and walked off.
When I reached my room, I spun to see Silas bowing to me. “Very well, your grace. Whatever suits your fancy, but sooner or later, herbs are only going to do so much to prevent your death.”
I spat, “I’d rather die than drink anything from you!” I slammed the door, tossing the books onto the bed, and sank into the soft mattress, groaning. Once the pain in my chest subsided and the heat upon my cheeks had cooled, I sat up and inventoried the books.
I propped an elbow and flipped through the herbalism book, soaking up the tiny paragraphs about various plants and their uses. The images of the hand-painted herbs along the yellow page appeared to be delicately done with fine detail. I shook my head, reading the same paragraph over and over as my vision blurred. I slammed it closed, another tickle in my throat creeping up, bubbling, then inflating into a cough.
