Elswyth thought for a moment. She shook her head. “I will not abandon her. Not now. I need to see this through. I need justice.”
“Elswyth… he is the crown prince. The heir of empire,” Percival said gently. “Perhaps he was involved. But he has all the power of Britain behind him. There is no justice, not for a man like him.”
Elswyth turned on her heel to face him. Her scar burned as blood ran to her face. “Then what, Uncle? I am just to return home and let this man get away with murdering my sister? Marry some man and let the prince live out his days, all the while knowing what he did? While theyallknew what he did?”
“You mean to kill him, then? Because that is the only justice I can think of.”
Elswyth paused. “He would deserve it.”
Percival looked strangely at Elswyth. “Perhaps he would. But is that what you deserve, Elswyth? To become a murderer?”
She turned to Kehinde. “And what of you? Why train me to kill if I cannot avenge my sister?”
Percival looked to Kehinde again, the betrayal in his eyes becoming anger. “You’ve been training her? We decided you would protect her, not turn her into an assassin.”
Kehinde’s face was grim. “And teaching her how to protect herself was the only way to ensure she was never without protection.” He met Percival’s eyes, and something charged passed between them. Then he turned back to her. “But, Elswyth, your uncle is right. Even if killing the prince is just, there are far too many risks. What if you are caught? There would be grave consequences for all of us.”
“This is madness. I will hear nothing more of it,” Percival said.
Elswyth lowered her voice and stared at him.
“Look me in the eye, Uncle, and tell me that the great hunter Percival Devereux has never killed a man,” she said.
His eyes widened, and she could tell that she had wounded him. He slumped a little lower in his seat, closing his eyes. “If I am a hypocrite, Elswyth, it is only because I have seen where killing takes you. Violence is not a cure for violence. It is more of the disease.”
The room was silent. The only sounds came from the clock on the wall and the rustle of leaves outside. All around them, the glass eyes of Percival’s trophies stared down, judging, waiting.
Mrs. Rose took this moment to step in. “Perhaps it is time to retire, Miss Elderwood. It is getting late.”
Elswyth nodded. “In a moment, Mrs. Rose. I would speak with my uncle.”
“I shall draw you a bath, then,” she said. She moved warily to the door and then slipped out of the room and into the hall. Kehinde, chin high despite Percival’s withering gaze, followed her.
Elswyth sat alone with Percival. “I am not giving up,” she said.
“The season is almost over. Mrs. Rose is right. If you cannot find a husband here, then you will return and wed Mr. Ficus,” he said.
“This is the first real progress I’ve made in months—”
“And it is a dead end. If you are right, then the Crown will stop at nothing to cover it up. They will erase the Elderwood name from history to ensure this never sees the light of day. You are in danger, Elswyth. The sooner you leave this city, the safer you shall be.”
“But Uncle—”
“There is nothing we can do. You will return home at once. Marry Cousin Ficus or do not, I do not care. I do not care if you continue on the bloodline or if you mope in your bedroom for the next fifty years. I only want you to be safe, Elswyth. Safe, far away from here.”
Her uncle stood slowly, rising from his chair with a pained expression. “I am sorry, my dear. I would remove this from your mind. Soon, this will all be but a distant memory.”
With that, Percival left the room, and she was alone.
Elswyth woke with a start, the sheets tangled between her legs, the fabric of her nightgown soaked through with sweat. She’d been dreaming again—horrible dreams, as always, but this one felt more real than the rest. She dreamed of Persephone, reaching out to her from the darkness, screaming her name. Of asphodel eyes, and mushrooms growing from an open mouth. Of a shadowgiant wearing a crown of branches, blown away into ten thousand leaves.
She breathed heavily for a moment, trying to calm herself. The room around her was bathed in moonlight, like it was underwater. White curtains billowed around the balcony doors, which were open to the night air.
She could have sworn they were closed when she went to sleep. Yes—it had been raining, and she’d latched them so as not to let the water in. They must have blown open during the storm.
Elswyth tried to stand, but her body didn’t move.
She tried again, commanding her hands to untangle themselves from the sheets, commanding her legs to swing over the side of the bed. Her fingers twitched, but the rest of her stayed perfectly still.
