The bath had been hot enough to sting, a heat that bit into my skin until every nerve sang. I remained in the tub long past comfort, long past sense, until the water dulled into lukewarm gray and the steam thinned and vanished. When at last I rose, my limbs felt boneless, my skin puckered, and a faint dizziness tugged at the edges of my sight.
Nelly fussed over me quietly as she laced me into a soft dove-gray gown, her fingers gentle, almost apologetic, as though she feared the fabric might bruise me. She brushed out my hair and murmured something about how pretty the color looked against the firelight, before directing me to the dining room. Then, she disappeared into the depths of the dimly lit manor, her footsteps swallowed quickly by distance.
The house was unnervingly quiet as I descended the staircase. The sconces along thecorridor burned low, small flickering islands fighting against the cavernous dark. Candlelight rippled over the marble floor, warping the oil-painted faces that lined the walls. Each portrait seemed to watch me pass, mouths poised as if holding back some whispered warning.
The dining doors stood open. I paused upon the threshold, breath held, as the immense room revealed itself. The ceiling arched high above, painted with faded murals of storm-tossed seas and winged figures. A table stretched nearly the entire length of the chamber, its polished surface gleaming with silver and crystal, arranged in solemn, ceremonial perfection.
But I wasn’t really looking at the table. I was looking forhim.
My eyes darted toward the rafters, the mantel, the dark corners where the shadows pooled. I half-expected the flash of a wing, a glint of an intelligent black eye.
“Don’t worry,” came Sylum’s voice, warm and amused from the head of the table.
I startled, turning toward him.
He rose, the faintest smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “He’s not here.”
I exhaled, embarrassed by my own suspicion. “Forgive me. I half-expected him to swoop down and start quoting lines from a poetry book.”
Sylum’s smile deepened, the lines around his eyes softening. “He’s in my study. I thought it best to confine himto his perch for the night, lest he terrorize my new bride again.”
“Bride,” I echoed, the word strange and tender in equal measure. I smiled.
He approached, pulling a chair out for me to his right with unhurried grace. “Please. Sit.”
As I did, the doors at the far end opened and two footmen entered bearing trays heavy with food. Roast pheasant, buttered potatoes, sugared carrots, and a tureen of soup, fragrant with herbs. I hadn’t seen such abundance since my father’s estate thrived.
Sylum waited until the servants had withdrawn before seating himself beside me at the head of the table. “Blackthorn’s kitchen hasn’t been this industrious in years,” he mused with a faint laugh. “The cook takes her duties very seriously.”
“It’s beautiful,” I admitted, though my voice was soft. “All of it. I hardly know where to begin.”
“Begin anywhere. There’s enough here to feed the village twice over.”
The fire in the great hearth crackled, spilling warm shadows across his features. The severe chill that often clung to him seemed softened tonight, replaced by something gentler, something that tugged painfully at an old, stubborn part of my heart.
“How long have you had Poe?” I ventured.
He tilted his head, considering. “My father had him before I was born. He was a great fan of a certain poet and Poe was his muse.”
I smiled faintly. “Edgar Allan Poe.”
“Precisely. He taught the bird to mimic his verses. My father adored the creature. I… learned to tolerate him.”
“Yet you kept him all these years.”
A shadow crossed his face, gone almost before I could place it. “Some things refuse to leave, no matter how much we wish them to.”
I looked down at my plate, the weight of his words sinking in.
“Does he speak to you often?” I inquired softly.
“Only when he wishes to remind me of something I’d rather forget,” Sylum admitted with a rueful smile.
I studied him closely for a moment, his vague words stirring something uneasy inside me. There were pieces of him I had once thought I knew intimately—pieces now jagged, mismatched, and unfamiliar.
“You never mentioned him… well… before I mean.”
He nodded slowly, his fork clinking against the porcelain as he mindlessly shifted his food from one spot to another, as if lost in those memories too.
