“But—”
“Lucy.” His thumbs brushed the dampness from beneath my eyes. “You saw things that weren’t real. You said yourself that your memories are twisted. Half-dreams. Nightmares.” He swallowed hard. “I know you’re frightened, but you must trust me on this.”
Trust.
Such a small word. Such an impossible request.
My breath quivered as I searched his face—his earnest expression, his steady hands, the warmth in his voice that didn’t match the cold suspicion gnawing at me.
He sensed my hesitation, felt it like a shift in the air between us.
His voice softened. “I would tell you the truth, even if it broke you. I would tell you because I love you.” His jaw clenched. “And you didn’t kill her.”
The words soothed something jagged inside me, but not enough. Not nearly enough. Because beneath the soft reassurance… another thought lurked.
If that had been real, then what else might be?
The room began to slant slightly, a pounding pulse rang faintly in my ears.
I closed my eyes, willing it away.
His hands slid down my arms, then fell away entirely.
“I’ll let you rest,” he said finally.
When I opened my eyes again, he was already slipping out the door.
Chapter 25
I moved soundlessly into the dining room, my palms damp despite the coolness of the hall. The long table was dressed in silver and crystal. Candles burned low in their sconces, their flames bowing to some invisible draft. The scent of roasted duck and spiced wine lingered heavily in the air.
Sylum stood the moment he saw me.
His surprise was fleeting, visible only in the hitch of his breath, before his expression softened, smoothing into a warm, composed smile.
“Lucy…” he murmured, his chair scraping softly against the polished floor as he stood. “I didn’t expect you would join me.”
I hadn’t expected it either. But doubts, left unwatched, tended to ferment into something poisonous.
“I’m feeling much better,” I lied, unsure whether the falsehood was meant for him or myself.
He pulled out the chair to his left, his fingers brushing the carved wood. Once I was seated, Sylum resumed his once more, watching me with that searching tenderness that made my skin prickle.
For several minutes, only the quiet scrape of cutlery filled the room as we ate our meal.
Every now and then, I felt his gaze on me as though afraid too sudden a movement might cause me to vanish… or shatter.
At last, when the weight of unsaid words grew impossible to bear, I cleared my throat.
“That night…” I began in barely more than a whisper. “Before I was dra—” I swallowed, correcting myself. “Before I found my way to the south wing… I went into Lydia’s room.”
Sylum’s wine glass paused mid-lift. The dark red wine trembled, catching the candlelight like a drop of blood before he finally took a deliberate sip.
“I found a locket,” I continued, keeping my tone casual, almost conversational. “At least I think I did. It was dark… and my mind was not entirely steady.”
I forced a faint smile. “But I remember a lock of hair inside. Black. Curled slightly at the ends. Did you know of such a piece?”
His eyes snapped to mine, sharp and searching.
