She offered a stiff bob of a curtsy and marched off toward the kitchens, muttering about policing the silverware.
I shook my head. “The house is rearranging the linen.”
“It has preferences,” Lysa said, stepping out of her boots.
As we walked down the corridor towards the library, the Manor decided to substantiate Mrs. Crane’s claims. As we passed the Solaris Parlour, a room I hadn’t set foot in for six years due to a draft that could freeze whisky in the glass, the double doors swung open with a theatricalwhoosh. Sunlight spilled out, hitting the opposite wall in a rectangle. The dust motes danced, as if staged.
“Oh,” Lysa stopped. “Look at the light on the river bend.”
I glared at the hinges. “Yes, very impressive. Close the door, you draughty menace.”
The doors remained stubbornly wide open. If a building could look smug, the doorframe did.
“It wants you to see it,” Lysa said, tugging my hand. “It’s proud.”
We continued to the small study. I reached for the matches on the mantle, intending to chase away the cliffside chill, but before my fingers even grazed the box, the logs in the grate roared to life. A crackling fire erupted, throwing light across the plush rug.
I withdrew my hand. “I see.”
“Helpful,” Lysa said, dropping into the armchair that had, I suspected, nudged itself three inches closer to the hearth.
“Meddlesome,” I said.
After a dinner where the chandelier had dimmed itself to a candlelight glow, we climbed the stairs. My intent was to retrieve a journal from my private study before retiring.
I turned left at the landing.
Clack.
The hallway door leading to the west wing, where my study lay, locked itself. I didn’t even need to try the handle; the sound was definitive.
“Alright,” I said to the wall. “I’ll fetch it in the morning.”
I turned right, thinking to check the music room. I had arranged some roses for Lysa to find on the piano. As we approached the narrow passage leading to it, a heavy tapestry ‘accidentally’ unhooked itself from one side, draping across the opening.
There was only one corridor left unobscured. The wide, carpeted path leading straight to the master suite. At the end of it, the double doors stood ajar, spilling amber light into the hallway. The scent of lavender and heated stone wafted toward us. I stopped, looking up at the vaulted ceiling where the shadows played. The house hummed under my feet. It was effectively herding us to bed like prize cattle.
“Subtle as a brick,” I muttered affectionately.
Lysa laughed. She leaned into my side, wrapping her arm around my waist. “Well, it knows what it wants. And it suspects it knows what we want, too.”
“It is entirely too confident.” I let her steer me toward the only open door. “Remind me to criticize its brickwork tomorrow.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” she said. “You love this place.”
“I love the people in it,” I corrected, crossing the threshold into the room the house had so perfectly prepared. “The masonry is on thin ice.”
The click of the lock sliding home was audible the moment we crossed the threshold. The house, it seemed, wasn’t taking any chances on our escape.
I braced my hands on the wood on either side of Lysa’s head, caging her. The scent of her, rain, wild herbs, and the faint, sweet smoke of her magic, filled my senses. “I have some matters to discuss before we indulge the architecture’s voyeurism.”
She reached up, her fingers toying with the top button of my shirt. “Oh? Governance again?”
“Mrs. Crane has been dropping hints heavy enough to crack the floorboards. And Briony,” I caught her hand, pressing a kiss to her ink-stained palm, “has been leaving catalogues of floral arrangements on my desk.”
“They want a party, Fenrik. They want to see the beast of Abberwyn dance with its bride.”
“People we love have been ‘asking’ for a proper ceremony,” I said. “Not that we need one legally, since our bargain was real enough. But I thought... perhaps you’d want to celebrate. To choose this in front of everyone, not just signed in a dark room.”
