Tears prick behind her eyes. “I was here when it burned. The fire had been raging for days, and St. Paul’s… it was supposed to be safe.” But St. Paul’s burned the same as the rest of London. “The roof melted and then the glass…” She brushes a tear from her cheek. She can’t bring herself to put the rest into words.
“I’m sorry,” Oliver says. He’s next to her now. When did that happen?
“It’s silly of me to cry over a building, isn’t it?”
“I don’t think it’s silly. You miss your home.”
“It wasn’t home,” Beatrix whispers. But her words are hollow.
“I won’t pretend I know how you feel, Bea. But I think I can understand.” His eyes are clouded now. “After my parents died, my brother left college to raise me. He was only nineteen. We stayed in the same house. He didn’t change a thing. But it wasn’t home anymore. I moved out as soon as I could.”
She takes his hand.
“I know Theo tried his best, but we aren’t as close as we were before, and I don’t know…” He slumps against the stone wall. “Sometimes it feels like I lost my brother, too.”
“I am so sorry,” Beatrix says. She understands the unique pain of losingsomeone while they are standing right in front of you. “If it makes you feel better, I wasn’t allowed to attend either of my sisters’ weddings.”
Oliver grimaces. “Ouch.”
Beatrix nods. It had hurt, even if she didn’t let Alice or Isabella see it.
“I’m sorry I didn’t get to visit old St. Paul’s with you,” Oliver says. He sounds disappointed. No. Defeated.
“I would have liked that,” she says. “But I’m sure you’ve seen more important things.”
“Maybe.” He doesn’t sound convinced.
“You can’t do everything,” Beatrix says.
“I know. That doesn’t keep me from wishing I could.” He shakes his head. “I guess I thought it would be easier to choose.”
“The choice is easy,” Beatrix says. “It’s what comes after that’s hard. Wondering if you should have done things differently. Wishing you could go back and change it.”
“Zoë would say regret is a waste of time,” Oliver says. “She’s a friend of mine. I think you’d like her.”
“I’m sure she’s right,” Beatrix says. Regretting a choice won’t change it. But like Oliver’s desire to do everything, knowing she can’t change her past doesn’t stop her from wishing she could. “Good thing I have loads of time to waste.”
A shadow passes over Oliver’s gaze. He rises to his feet and picks up her bag. He offers her his free hand. “Come on.”
“Where are we going?” she asks, even though she’s already placed her hand in his.
He pulls her to her feet. “To the nearest pub,” he says. “I want to hear all about the old St. Paul’s.”
Beatrix searches Oliver’s face. If he’s humoring her out of pity, he doesn’t show it.
“I told you, I want to know everything.”
She’s surprised that Oliver wants to hear her stories, and even more surprised to find herself eager to tell them. “So do I,” she says.
Oliver raises an eyebrow. “About?”
She smirks at him. “I want to know everything there is to know about Oliver Rhodes.”
May 7, 1824Vienna, Austria
It has taken Beatrix six days to get to Vienna. A thousand miles, jumping from freight car to freight car, through at least four different countries, after paying for passage on a ship from Dover to Calais. The ticket cost her a pretty penny, but the thought of stowing away on a ship—of being caught stowing away on a ship—made her break out in a cold sweat. She could survive a tumble from a train well enough, but if she was thrown into the sea?
She shudders, despite the fact that she is walking down a wide, paved street. She knows the extent of the faerie’s mercy. She would drown, she would live, and she would drown again, over and over, until she gave the faerie what she wanted.
