His words leave something sour in my mouth, and I watch the flickering bob of his candle grow smaller until a door slams somewhere beyond. I am left in total darkness.
What Erybrus has conceived with lust only births sin.My father’s words coat my lips like a film, and I wet them, hoping to wash the taste away.
“You must forgive Bertram, Ms. Thorn. Taken with idle gossip, that one. I am no gardener, like your mother was. Just someone who enjoys life, let’s say.” It’s Ransom’s voice. Descending.
“How do you know about my mother?” The words spill out before I can stop them. Silence follows, and so I open my mouth again. “I do not like being played with, Lord Black. Show your face.”
It is a bold thing to say to someone above my station, but this man has already seen me bleed black, and did not flinch. There are few ways to be closer than that. Heat blooms in my belly and pushes the thoughts away.
Laughter ripples from the darkness like liquid silver.
“No one said anything of play, Adelaide Thorn.”
There is a chill at my back, a slippery feeling that slicks the curve of my neck, drawing my skin to an edge.
“Though, if that is what you wish, I’m sure it could be arranged.”
Hands press into my waist.
I jerk away, stumbling over my own feet in the darkness. “Get away from me.”
Another slip of laughter, like ice water breaking over my skin. This is not the Ransom Black who met me on the banks of the River Thine. Here, in his own domain, he is another beast entirely.
I straighten my shoulders and grind my teeth down until I’m sure they’ll break from their roots and pool bloody in my mouth.
“What is it you want from me?”
His footsteps fade on the marble tile, the click of black heeled boots. Saliva puddles at the base of my throat—the honeyed kind.
“Show your face.” My voice trembles, and I clench my fists against the fear spreading wicked heat through my limbs.
Show me your damned face.
Then comes the sound of a match being struck, the pop of white light, smoke in the air. And I see him. He holds a candelabra, the light of it casting shadows along his cheekbones, hollowing out violet stains below his eyes. One eyebrow quirks, a distinct scar running through the fine hairs there I did not notice at our first meeting.
“You’re staring, Ms. Thorn.”
A blush heats my skin. “You materialized out of the darkness. What were you expecting of me?”
He flicks one finger through a flame. “Shock and awe.”
Frustration collects in a moan at the back of my throat. I take a step closer. “Enough with the theatrics, Lord Black. You brought me here for a reason. Tell me why.”
Ransom brushes past without so much as a glance, a scent rolling off him like drenched soil and distilled alcohol. Earthy and sharp. I follow the trace of flickering flame while he moves to the other end of the room and dips the candelabra toward something I cannot see. Within moments, the room floods with light, liquid hot and so bright my eyes sting.
Darkness vanishes. Replaced by the cloying chill of damp. The first thing I notice: a thick, dripping sound, like mud on reeds. The scent of tallow wax floods my nose, greasy and rank. I catch the flutter of cobwebs strung across a corner and try to ignore the continuing symbols on the wall. Some are drawn in a smooth and steady hand, while others seem the work of a madman, rushed and haphazard. Ransom sets the candelabra down on a table.
High above us, the ceiling weeps. A wound never fully healed. I fight the urge to gag, the scent of the place all rotten plaster, mold, and something like burnt hair. I bend, hands on my knees, trying to drag in some semblance of clean air. Above me, Ransom chuckles.
“Horrible, isn’t it? This inheritance of mine.”
I have no reply, the sick boiling in my belly answer enough.
“You get used to the smell,” Ransom continues. “Though out in the gardens, the scent is more palatable.”
“Gods below and above.” I choke. “Then, why are we standing here?”
His laughter comes again when he moves across the room toward me. “Does your father know you have the mouth of a sailor?”
