The precision of his deduction strips away the last of my armour. I bite my lip, nodding. Admit it. Eric nods once before speaking again, “When did you last hear that song, Francesca?”
The answer tastes like brackish water. “Fifteen years ago. The day the lake ate the boat.”
And the ghosts give a long, satisfied exhale.
His throat flexes. Eyes, dark as a tempest, intensify. “Let’s pretend I’m stupid. Upon arrival, you treat me to ghost stories and veiled threats.” Another step. “Last night you sent Philip a message he never received. This morning,thatsong is on the radio. And then the woods start singing along. Help me connect those dots, Francesca.”
“Thereareno dots,” I respond, trying to convince myself more than him. “Sheffolk doesn’t deal in conspiracies. If you’re searching for logic, you’re trapped in the wrong duchy.”
“Oh, but it deals in ghost stories to frighten guests?” His smile is unkind, laughter low. “Curious, considering that a few days ago you weaponised those same stories to unsettle me. What, the game becomes sincere, and you no longer want to play?”
Heat stains my cheeks. “What’s your point?”
“My point is something strange is going on here. You know that too, don’t you?” His steady tone almost begs me to admit what he’s already noticed. “Tell me,” he exhales the words.
I’m thinking about the locket, how I dug it from the mud, how it vibrates against me, echoing my heartbeat. I’m thinking about the song, about the fact that I’ve confirmed the prank for what it was. That Godwyn wanted that hope to bloom, wanted me to have this small victory before he slit my throat with the song in the trees. And I’m thinking about the scream, the one I’ve never let out. About the paranoid girl I was at fourteen, fearing her hunter, only to realise he’s more patient than she ever could’ve imagined.
Cruelly, I’m thinking about how tightly I can cling to Eric before his ancestor peels me from him like a lemon. Would it be madness to put my faith in him, or madness not to? He’s already been digging for a key… Should I unbolt the door for him? Should I just stoop and pick him up, this golden coin at my feet?
Eric seems to read my mind and see my predicament. “Shower, duchess.” He tips his head to the side. Though he doesn’t touch me, his voice does. That stare holds me in place. “Once you’re done, come to me.”
He doesn’t stay to see if I obey; he just leaves the cottage without even taking his coat. I stand rooted for about three minutes, ghosts reaching for the scent of him.
And then I obey.
20
FOLLOW THE LODESTAR
FRANCESCA
Lydia will tut at me like a mother hen, but I toss all the muddy clothes into my hamper. I make a home for the pin on my cluttered desk filled with childhood trinkets I’ve never had the strength to move. Eric’s handkerchief, on the other hand, I can’t bring myself to put it down. Not yet. It’s still damp from where he pressed it to my face. My fingers pause at the edges of the stained cloth, thumbing over the initials.
E.P.H.A.
It gleams in braided gold thread, and it’s the third letter that really catches my attention: Hyperion, the sun-bearing titan, father of dawn and radiance. Imagine that, a sun god’s moniker stitched into the starkest man I’ve ever met. Yet, back in the woods, when that song unravelled me, the fool became a lodestar.Every note that came fromGod-knows-wheredeep in the trees filled my lungs with water, replaying the exact moment the lake tried to drink me whole. Eric stood there, a fixed thing, a compass I didn’t ask for. Here I am, blushing like a madwoman thinking about the man who had to physically carry her out of her own hell.
Probably the sickest joke Redford could play.
Still, my thumb circles the H, and I admit silently to myself how much I needed him in that moment. Gratitude settles low in my chest once I fold the fabric and place it aside.
The cold air scrapes at me once I’m naked and reaching for the shower knob. This time I wait until the water is positively scalding before I climb in. I imagine my skin sizzling as each droplet hits it, but I savour the burn. The cloth bristles against me with how hard I scrub, trying to wash away years of memories that are trying to claw their way to the surface. The shower doesn’t work. I’m still wearing the lake, and I suspect I always will.
Not wanting to bother Lydia, I throw my hair up into a towel and grab my underwear from the counter on the way out of the bathroom. A cotton pair of ribbed briefs slides over my still damp hips, followed by a bra and my favourite green robe. The sash sighs when I cinch it tightly around my waist. Soon after, I make my way to the kitchen, where I put on a kettle of water. Steam curls around my wrists when I’m too impatient to do something else, already waiting for it to finish.
I’ve got my mug set up, a rooibos tea bag already positioned with three teaspoons of sugar. I stare fondly at the orange box, unwilling to put it away just yet.Five Roses. Imported directly from South Africa. If this test kills me, bury me with my rooibos teabags. I switch off the stove and rummage through the cupboard for a bottle of honey when the door latch clicks.
The sound makes gooseflesh rise on my skin. It’s foolish of me to hope it’s Tommy, but I suspect I won’t be hearing from her until she’s paid for her sins to Godwyn. The thought almost makes me gag, recalling the way she screamed as the flames engulfed her?—
“Chess?” Edmund’s voice.
My heart returns to a normal speed, and I pivot to see him lean partly into the kitchen. His collar is undone, his pantsare wrinkled and there’s swelling around his eyes from having recently woken up. Did hedriveall the way back from the city? Were I to roll back time, we’d be standing over Gabriel’s body, and I find myself, briefly—so very briefly—wondering whether I’d do things differently.
Should’ve shouldered it alone.
All I did was drag him into the fire because I was too afraid to burn alone in the aftermath of it all. I made him an accomplice instead of a cousin.
“Francesca,” he says my name again on an exhale, and the heaviness to it has guilt slithering around my heart. His hands are shaking as he moves to grip my forearms, checking to see whether I’m real. “Father told me about that rubbish prank. Are you alright?”
