Dressed in mourning black, she’d travel to the family grave site placing wreaths at the headstone marker of Father and my own. A stone without a body under the ice-cold earth, mumbling the prayers with Mama standing there with all the stoicism she had, watching as Miriam cried and never shedding a tear.
“You passed through the mist when you met me. Surely, there is a way through,” I argued, my own voice betraying me. “Please, I just want to see them for the Winter Solstice holiday. To let them know I am still alive, and they do not have to worry for me.” I took his hand, warm and soft within mine, squeezing reassuringly.
The regrets trembled on lips pressed softly by the one I had thought of as a villain. Much had changed, and there with it, a regret I needed to right before I could allow the final piece to fall for me. The vitriol I undeservedly said to Miriam, her face sunken at the idea I was lost—handed a death sentence at the time only to be revived. I had to let her know I was alive—I was no longer on death’s doorstep but instead was courted by him.
Cherished by him.
Loved by him.
My darkness would never touch the light of her purity, would never harbor the guilt of being the loved child. Would never shadow it again. I did not want her to move through her life with regrets or the singular thought that she was a terrible sister when it was, infact, me. I needed to see her to make amends as if for the last time.
Silas’s gaze shadowed the softness of the evening light, conflict and desire dancing across his face, a battle in which there was not an end. He scooted his chair back, coming to rest at my side, his thumb tracing the inner parts of my hand. Silas’s throat bobbed as if he were descending to the sinking depths of fear. I’d imagine it building, pressing against him at the weight of this request, the centuries stretching beyond him, alone and frightened as each day passed and more of him wore away.
Like a rock beaten against the raging storms.
His hand felt firm against my back, bringing me into a shared embrace, bodies melded in perfect unison as if to share a secret or a last rite. Releasing me, he took the ring from his finger. It was a band of dark tungsten set with bloodred rubies, pairing with my ring. It vibrated with power.
Silas pressed a kiss to my hand before sliding on the heavy ring opposite to his on my left.
I watched as the ring slid itself down onto my finger, the once thick band having turned thin, matching my own ring.
“This ring will assure you safe passage through the mist under the care of the full moon for the next three days. You will act in my stead on this solstice night as you pass over to Endovier and roam among them.” He kissed the ring and gazed up at me, gold irises flickering. Touching my cheek, he caressed it as if for the last time. “Try not to dally too long, Little Dove.”
Silas kissed me, tender passion igniting, carving us both until we were hollow.
I cradled his face in my hands, fingers tracing the lines of his scars.
Sorrow sat upon his gaze as it danced between fear and hope.
The weight of his ring heavy upon my finger. I needed to leave before I would decide against it. Before I let this man consume me, once and for all. Before I let him take my life in his. Life was short and death so permanent. Death does not discriminate among the rich or the poor, nor does it care about the prayer we heed. No amount of prayer can erase our transgression in the end.
With lips trembling, I lifted my head high, getting to my feet. “I should be back in time for supper tomorrow night.”
Silas grinned, sorrow lifting slightly. “I’ll let Ebony know to expect you.”
I strode to the door, heart accelerating with anticipation.
Silas followed, as did a small audience of resident ghosts, straining to get a look in front of the pale crowd. “The mist will take you to the outskirts and into a back alley of Endovier. Valeria, promise me—promise you will be safe.”
I nodded, not turning back.
I could not bear to see the worry knitting his brow. To see the crude thought play out on his lips as it trembled.
“Silas,” I said, opening the huge doors revealing the cloud filled night, the solstice moon greeting me. “I made a promise to help you find your name. I do not intend to break that promise. I will be back. Do not fret.”
I stepped into the night and down the road, drifting into the mist.
The streets bustled with activities, newsies slinging the current events into the faces of people trying to go about their business. Men in their best suits strutted the street, tipping their hats in greeting to young women. The ladies fluttered, absorbed in their conversation, bumping everyone within their path, berated harshly by the group.
I gripped the umbrella, knuckles straining as I wove in and out of the foot traffic. Snatching it from an unsuspecting shop had not been the brightest of ideas but as the rain poured, it soaked anything caught in it to the bone.
I made my first stop at the church. Its pristine stained glass work and towering spires were not at all different from Silas’s castle. Taking one granite step at a time, I entered the sanctuary in a flush of dead silence. Not a soul dared to utter a word, heads bowed in prayer in pews of oak.
In the corner of the sanctuary, a table of towering tea light candles offered solace to those who lit one for the dead. I sat next to a woman in prayer. She was pasther prime, gray hair giving way to white underneath, with wrinkles sunken into sharp cheeks. Shaky hands held a pewter stick of flame to the candles, lighting several one by one.
I took a stick, lighting it under a small taper candle and lit three. One for Cecilia, one for Silas, and one for me. I cited the old prayers, the ones I remembered the most and hope it’d bring solace to myself and to Cecilia and Silas stuck in a never-ending web of suffering.
“Valeria?” The gray woman lifted her gaze. It was Mama taking her place. The rueful scorn deepened her wrinkles, aging her ghastly. “How?”
