Twenty-one
Corabeth
The scarce light that the winter months doled out was fading fast, eaten away further by the dense woods. The heavy clouds were an oppressive force that threatened to take out their anger on the world below.
The people of Gravebook were distrustful of the dark, choosing the close their businesses earlier in the winter months. But Corabeth knew Ely had always been slower than the other mill workers. She’d heard them complain. He was often left behind to clean and close up.
She could see him now from the small window, blowing out the last of the candles. Safely tucked in the shadows between the buildings, she had been waiting for him long enough to feel the cold nipping at her.
At last, the heavy door fell shut. The silent jingle of keys rang out in the air. Then, she heard approaching steps. Corabeth stood between the mill and the neighboring house, quite near the line of trees behind the buildings. She would have but a moment to catch his attention.
Ely’s familiar figure, clad in a thick jacket, marched into view, head hung low. The heels of his heavy boots, hand-me-downs from his father or brother, Corabeth guessed, dragged against the frozen earth.
“Ely!” Corabeth called out, making her voice soft despite the churning she felt in her stomach upon seeing the man.
Ely walked past the narrow opening between the buildings, but Corabeth could hear that his steps had stopped. Slowly, he backed up and peered into the murky space between the buildings.
“Ely, hi!” Corabeth called again and waved, trying her best to seem glad upon seeing him.
Ely turned fully towards her now.
“Corabeth?” he asked, taking a few tentative steps closer to her. He blinked rapidly as if she were but a trick of the eye he could blink away.
“Yes,” Corabeth said with a smile.
“Where have you been?” Ely asked, walking closer to her more confidently now. Corabeth did her best to stand her ground, although her muscles were itching to back away. The memory of what he had done was still fresh on Corabeth’s mind. It was a wound that festered and tore open again.
“When my house burned down, I went to a neighboring town and found my great aunt. She took me in. She’s quite wealthy, you see,” Corabeth explained. She smoothed down her full skirts, dyed a luxurious red, and swayed from side to side, making the fabric swish around her to show it off, as if she were nothing but a silly girl.
“Really?” Ely asked, mouth agape, and watched the movement of the fabric. “Everyone thought the Beast took you.”
Corabeth laughed shrilly. “Of course not.”
When Ely looked her in the eyes again, there was a new emotion marring his features., something Corabeth had not seen on the face of a Fabel before—shame.
“Corabeth, what happened that day…” he said, “You must understand, Turner… And then my father…”
It was an apology that did not quite take the shape of one.
“It’s in the past,” Corabeth said, shaking her head, but she could not help looking away.
“Still…” Ely tried, but Corabeth did not let him finish.
“I have come back because of you,” she said. If she heard a proper admission of guilt or regret from Ely, she wasn’t sure she would be able to do what was necessary.
“Me?” Ely asked with a frown, the apology forgotten in a moment.
“Yes,” Corabeth said and downcast her eyes, much like a blushing bride. “No one has ever touched me the way you did. And I have not been able to stop thinking about it.” Her voice turned quite husky, although she felt bile at the back of her throat.
This was too much for poor Ely to understand. He reared back slightly, his frown deepening further.
“But I thought…” he said, slightly shaking his head in an attempt to get his thoughts in order.
Corabeth had had enough of standing in the cold. Each minute they spent there increased the chances of being spotted.
“Ely,” she breathed, her tone low, and gently bit her lip. She removed the hairpin that held her long, black hair in a bun and shook it loose. Then, she unbuttoned her cloak to reveal the low-cut dress she had worn just for this purpose. She knew she was being overly theatrical in her seduction attempts, but Ely had always been simple-minded, quick to do what others asked of him.
Ely went slack-jawed, eyes glued to her chest.
