I frowned, my pulse quickening until I found it hard to catch my breath.
Before I could speak, he launched into the rafters with a thunderous sweep of wings, disappearing into the darkness above. A cascade of dust spiraled down in his wake.
Silence reclaimed the corridor.
I stood there for a long time, staring at the door, my heart thrumming painfully in my chest. Finally, I turned and fled down thestairs, too afraid to look back.
From the diary of Lucy Deveroux, Duchess of Blackthorn:
Dearest companion,
I cannot tell whether Poe is a comfort or a curse. He speaks as if from some deeper knowledge, though his words come cloaked in verse and madness. Earlier, he knocked three times, slow and patient, as if to summon me toward the one place I had been forbidden to go. I tell myself it was only a coincidence. But what if it wasn’t?
What if something behind that door wishes to be found?
What if they are hiding something there?
I cannot help but feel it calls to me the way the sea might call to a drowning soul.
I will not write more tonight. The candle burns low, and I think I hear footsteps in the corridor again. Sylum is expecting me for supper.
If anyone should read these words, remember this: Something strange is happening at Blackthorn Manor. Perhaps it is only my imagination or the unease of being thrust beneath an unfamiliar roof. I admit, it is a feeling more than fact, but believe me. I cannot prove this just yet, but I will. —L
Chapter 9
I dressed for supper in a gown of pale green silk that shimmered like cool mist over a lake. My hands trembled as Nelly fastened the tiny pearl buttons along my spine.
Nelly chattered as she worked, her voice a gentle stream in the dimming light—details of the household routine, dinner hours, the cook’s moods, and the gardener’s reverence for his roses.
I answered with murmured sounds, too distracted, too tired, the weight of the day pooling behind my ribs.
“Mrs. Ashby says His Grace returned not half an hour ago,” Nelly added as she smoothed the skirt over my hips. “He asked that supper be served in the small dining room tonight. Said you might prefer something more… intimate.”
Intimate. The word made my heart thrum with anticipation.
“Thank you, Nelly,” I said, dismissing her with a weak smile.
When I descended to the small dining room, the table was already laid for two, a single candelabra twinkling between silver platters and cut crystal. The scent of roasted herbs hung in the air.
Sylum stood near the hearth, hands clasped behind his back, head bowed as if lost in deep thought. He turned at my approach, his expression softening as his gaze swept the length of me, coming to rest back on my face.
He was so severely handsome that it seemed almost unfair. Even after riding all day, his wind swept hair and sun-kissed skin only added to his air of perfection.
He smiled, that devil-may-care half grin that made my heart race.
“You look lovely,” he said, voice warm and deep.
“Thank you…you as well…that is… you look very handsome.”
He stepped closer, the firelight catching the edges of his dark hair, and for a moment I saw something unguarded in his gaze, something that almost looked like concern.
“How was your tour?”
“It was…a lot,” I answered honestly.
He smiled faintly, guiding me to my seat. “I promise you’ll get used to it.”
The meal began in quiet harmony. Silver cutlery clinked softly and the wind murmured gently against the glass panes. It could have been peaceful if not for the memory of the east wing pressing at the edges of my mind.
