“Yes,” she replied cheerfully, moving to draw back the curtains. The room flooded with light. “He said you needed rest after the journey. I didn’t have the heart to wake you.”
I stretched my arms, still feeling that dreamlike heaviness clinging to my limbs and the remnants of the strange visions that had haunted the night.
I thought of what I’d heard the night before. Sylum speaking to a woman, the voice, the crying in the walls, Mrs. Ashby, and the scream that had chased me into darkness.
But daylight has a talent for making the uncanny seem foolish.
Under the sun’s indifferent gaze, I could almost believe the night had been a trick of exhaustion, a tangle of nerves and wine, a mind still adjusting to strange walls and stranger history.
Just a dream perhaps.
“It seems I’ve slept a century,” I murmured, attempting a smile.
“Better a century than a single hour too few,” Nelly replied, moving to set out my gown for the day, a soft cream muslin with embroidered cuffs. “His Grace left you a note.”
I reached for it automatically, fingers brushing the smooth paper. The handwriting was unmistakably Sylum’s. Every line was precise. Every stroke was controlled. A man of perfect discipline.
I broke the seal with trembling fingers.
My dearest Lucy,
I hope you slept well. I thought you might like to take lunch in the solarium rather than the great hall. Come when you wake. I shall be waiting.
–S
The words were polite, almost formal, yet beneath them something gentle stirred like a careful attempt at tenderness.
“He’s very thoughtful,” Nelly commented, perhaps noting my expression. “Would you like me to prepare your hair?”
I nodded, still reading and rereading the note, tracing my finger over the slight indentation where his pen had pressed too hard on the paper. Ismiled faintly despite the lingering memory playing over and over like a warning from the night before.
What had he been doing up so late? And who had he been talking to?
Was it even real?
As Nelly worked, I found myself watching the way the light shifted over the wallpaper, soft golden patterns rippling like the reflection of water. The dark corners of the night were now awash in gentle brightness.
Still, when I glanced toward the wardrobe, I could have sworn the door moved slightly—a slow, almost imperceptible sway, as though something were watching from inside.
“Did you say something, Your Grace?”
“No,” I murmured, turning my face back to the mirror. “Nothing at all.”
“I’m glad you slept well,” Nelly commented lightly as she pinned my unruly hair. “When I first arrived here, I had such a hard time adjusting to the sheer size of the place.”
I nodded, careful not to disturb her work. “It is quite an adjustment.”
She stared at my reflection in the mirror for a moment, a gentle smile touching her lips. “You’ll get used to the sounds.”
I stared back at her, ignoring the way my spine stiffened. “The sounds?”
Nelly shrugged as if I should be unbothered by the thought. “Creaks and such. The wind moving through the cracks in the stones can sometimes sound like crying.”
I swallowed, my pulse quickening beneath my skin. “Crying?”
She nodded, leaning over my shoulder almost conspiratorially. “That’s what Mrs. Ashby says anyway, but I’m not so sure.”
“Mrs. Ashby?” I repeated, finding it difficult to produce my own words suddenly.
