I squeeze his shoulder and move closer to her side. “Oh my dear friend,” I say, and then I must pause for my words are mangled on a sob. “I haven’t had the privilege of knowing you long, but you brightened my life so very much in that short time. Your soul is too much for your fragile body to ever contain, and I know that you will find more happiness in the next life, unbound by sickness or pain.”
Her shortness of breath seems to worsen, then, her gasps becoming more desperate as her body tries to give oxygen to her drowned lungs. Sir Thornby wraps an arm around me as we watch in pained silence, so helpless to give her any relief.
A soft noise comes from the doorway, and I turn to find Grandmother there, so lovely and otherworldly even in her modern gown. “May I be of any assistance?” she asks softly, her eyes full of sympathy for Rose.
Sir Thornby can hardly tear his eyes away from his daughter, who even now coughs and gasps and grabs hold of his hand.
I’m about to tell Grandmother that I’m not sure how she can help, but I can no longer speak. The tears fall unchecked now as I watch my dear friend struggle desperately for every breath, her face ashen.
Grandmother moves forward and places her hand on Rose’s forehead. Instantly, Rose calms, her breathing slowing, her body relaxing. Rose’s eyes flutter closed. Sir Thornby is weeping now so powerfully that I think he does not realize what Grandmother is doing, for in truth, I’m not sure I do either.
Peaceful now, no clawing or fighting or gasping for breath. The worry lines of her face have smoothed, and she almost appears to be sleeping, if not for her terrible complexion.
“She deserves a peaceful death,” Grandmother says quietly. “I can give her that—an escape for her mind from the trappings of her body in its final moments.”
I watch as Rose’s thin chest rises once and then exhales. Seconds go by, and her chest finally rises again shallowly. Once more, and then she breathes her last.
“May you finally have rest, my dear friend,” I say, and Grandmother wraps her arm around me as I give in to my grief.
THIRTY
THE night of Rose’s death, after checking on Alexander and seeing him to be recovering well, I spend the rest of the night in my room sobbing until I feel as though I am nothing but an empty husk, dried up and hollow. So when the first rays of morning light peek through my window, I’m desperate to feel the sun on my skin and be rejuvenated—at least enough to face the day.
The whole house is shadowed by death—the late night spent tending to Rose in her final hours and grieving her loss has resulted in a heavy veil of silence come morning. Everyone seems to still be abed, including the servants. Wren, in all her thoughtfulness, most assuredly told them to sleep another hour or two.
I tread quietly down the hall, pausing only when I get to Rose’s door. I think of her father, his face awash with grief, still refusing to leave her side. I expect he slept there, and the thought sends another stab in my heart. He is without wife or daughter now, but I shall adopt him into my family. In no way can I replace his Rose, but perhaps I can ease his lonely grieving.
Once downstairs, I linger for a moment in the foyer, undecided. If I were in London, I’d go straight to the small garden there, but here, I don’t have that option. However, just outside is a lovely park—not one hundred feet from the front steps of the townhouse. Just a moment spent on a bench there will go a long way toward rejuvenating me.
There is still so much I must face this day: showing my family the truth about Alexander and what happened with the Order, Rose’s funeral plans … James. I touch the inside of my jacket where I’ve hidden the dagger he gave me.
Strangely, when I think of what I’m dreading the most, it’s facing James. I wince as I close the door behind me, imagining the look on his face when he sees the truth laid out before him in Grandmother’s clear, moving images. As the crunching gravel under my feet turns to springy grass, I touch the tips of my fingers to my lips. Twice he’s kissed me now—both times just before we were to be separated. Dare I hope it didn’t mean anything to him? The thought of wounding him as he once did me brings me no pleasure. I may not love him as I do Alexander, but I still care for him as a dear friend and the brother of my sister’s husband.
I sit heavily on the bench, my sorrow and worry weighing my shoulders down like a yoke. Just as my mind turns to thoughts of Rose again, the clouds part, and sunshine splashes onto my face. I close my eyes for a moment and drink it in. After spending so much time without it in Sylvania, it feels as rejuvenating as a cup of tea after a day spent outside.
Much of the weariness I’ve been carrying melts away, leaving me refreshed, and I stretch languidly and open my eyes. A few puffy clouds cross over the sun, dimming its rays momentarily. Innocuous as it is, it raises the hairs on the nape of my neck. Feeling rather silly, I scan my surroundings for anything out of the ordinary.
Just a few more minutes, I think, and then I shall face the day.
With my face tipped up to the sun, I let my eyes fall closed again even as my mind keeps worrying at a teasing question: what was it I sensed just now? Why should I be afraid?
A shadow passes over me, then, like a cloud suddenly hiding the sun from view, and I open my eyes.
My scream is strangled instantly by a thick hand.
Too late, I remember: Lord Tyrell had not been the only threat.
There is also Lord Wallace.
ALEXANDER awakes to a strange bed and a strange room, though as his vision clears and he takes a second look, he realizes he’s been here before. Rob’s room at the Thornewood townhouse in Bath.
He carefully lowers his shaky legs to the floor and holds on to one of the bed posts to stand. Across from him, morning sunlight streams in from a window, and he walks over to it slowly. After fighting with the jammed frame for a moment, he finally wrenches it open. Warm sunlight kisses his skin, and he rolls up his sleeves to admit more of it.
He can feel the sunlight’s effects almost instantly, and, combined with his deep, restorative sleep from the previous night, he finally feels restored—at least enough to go seek out Lucy. The velvet rope that Rob pulled to summon his valet hangs a few feet away, but Alexander decides against it. Relying on servants is still too much of a foreign concept to him—he would feel far too uncomfortable doing it in another gentleman’s home. With a passing frown at his rumpled appearance in the mirror, and consequently a minute or two spent making adjustments until his gray suit is a bit more presentable, he walks into the hallway.
The first thing that strikes him is the complete silence of the house. As he moves past the other doors toward the stairs, he senses the spiritual power of the people behind them—all except for two rooms: one that he knows belongs to Rose, and another that seems to be empty. The more he reaches out, the more he begins to suspect neither Rose nor Lucy seem to be here at all.
And suddenly, he realizes Rose must have succumbed to her pneumonia—perhaps even the night they arrived. Though he hopes he’s wrong. He hopes she made a miraculous recovery and is out with Lucy at this very moment.
He comes to a halt in the hallway, his heart hammering in his chest. Is Lucy out of the house? With all that happened with Lord Tyrell and Lord Titus, they’d both forgotten the other threat—the one that chased them from this realm in the first place.
Lord Wallace.
Striding purposefully now, Alexander pounds down the stairs, his own fear nipping at his heels. When he reaches the bottom, he finds the queen standing in the foyer, watching him with concern.
“Where is Lucy?” he asks abruptly.
“I don’t know, but if you are this agitated, then you must have reason to suspect something.”
Alexander appreciates that the queen does not waste time with inane questions, and her directness goes a long way to soothing his desperate need to lash out. If anything happens to Lucy—he cuts off that line of thinking savagely, refusing to even consider the possibility.
“The man who posed a thre
at to her when last she was here—Wallace. He could still be in town.”
She nods her understanding. “Can you sense her?” When he starts to shake his head in frustration, she interrupts, “Try harder.”
He closes his eyes and does as she says—expanding his mind beyond the house, beyond the immediate vicinity, and finally, there, he finds a pinpoint of the bright light he’s come to associate with her.
“I found her—not far, but she’s moving away,” he says in a rush.
“Then let us go to her.”
THIRTY-ONE
THERE is no one to see him drag me away. The sleepy spa town is no bustling London; no carriages rolling by, no farmers bringing in their wares and livestock, not even a single paperboy. I try to fight Wallace, but his strength is far greater than my own, and worse still, he is slowly siphoning my arcana—just enough to weaken me.
Fear crashes over me like waves breaking on rocks. The need to escape is so great that my steps are stilted, energy zinging through my body like lightning, only to be siphoned away again by Wallace’s arcana.
“You may not know this yet,” I say as I try again to free my arm enough to reach inside my jacket for the dagger, “but the leader of your brotherhood is no longer even alive.”
Wallace says nothing, only continues to drag me toward some distant point.
“Worse still is the fact that he was Sylvan, just as you are at least part Sylvan. You’re hunting your own people,” I shout when he doesn’t respond to my words.
He smiles a slow, mean smile. “I would hunt you down if you were my own sister,” he says, and I flinch at the venom in his tone. “It’s clear that Alexander cares for you, and I’ve made it my life’s goal to destroy everything he cares about in this world. As for Lord Tyrell—good riddance, I say. More for me,” he says, flashing gleaming white teeth like a wolf.
“How could you hate Alexander so much? What could he have possibly done to you?”
He answers me with a rough jerk of my arm that sends a shooting pain through my shoulder. As I grit my teeth against the pain, he changes direction, leaving the cover of trees in the park for a side alley.
But it’s when I see the end destination—a gleaming motorcar—that I begin to fight in earnest. His grip only tightens on me like a vise, and the panic rises within me, nearly blinding in its intensity. I try to calm myself, try to remember some piece of advice James once gave. Arc the dagger out, don’t stab … how to dodge … how to feint.
On that last thought, I think of James pivoting away so smoothly on his heel, and suddenly, I know what I must do.
Instead of fighting against Wallace, I throw myself toward him. Surprised by my sudden change in direction, his grip loosens, and I free one of my hands. With a speed I hardly knew I was capable of, I pull out my dagger. He dodges away as I slash violently—just as James taught me.
But before I can pivot again, his meaty hand closes on my wrist again. He squeezes so hard I feel the bones grind together, and I cry out even as my grip on the dagger loosens. I hear it fall to the ground with a resounding thunk.
“You want to know why I hate Alexander?” he asks in a near growl. “He betrayed the brotherhood, he threw everything aside for you, and for what? I warned Tyrell myself—I was always his most faithful disciple—but always he showed preference toward the weak-willed chee chee. You say Tyrell is dead? Good,” he says savagely, his eyes flashing. “It’s no less than he deserves.”
He pulls me closer, then, and I struggle wildly.
No, no! I will not let him take me away and drain me. I think not only of myself, but of the life that may be growing inside of me, and I feel my determination renew.
A dagger is far from the only means of defense I have.
But I need to free my hands first.
I’m not strong enough to yank them free, and I doubt he’ll fall for a feint again. And then, suddenly, I think of Alexander fighting, using his whole body to defeat his opponent. Using Wallace’s own hold on my hands, I pull back and launch myself up enough to kick him soundly in the groin. With a grunt of pain, he moves to protect himself, and my hands are freed.
I could call down lightning here and now, just as Grandmother showed me, but I have a much better fate in mind for him. I make the runes quickly, without hesitation.
Two parallel lines to represent transporting to another location.
A broken circle to represent the dungeon located in the bowels of my grandmother’s castle.
Golden arcana flows from my fingertips in a brilliant display, the runes illuminating the air around us. Wallace makes a move toward me, but the runes snare him as easily as a net catches a fish—he thrashes against it for a moment, and then in a flash like lightning, he disappears.
I bend over at the waist, shaking violently, my breaths coming so fast I fear I might faint. The adrenaline leaves my body in a rush, leaving me as weak as an infant.
And then strong arms wrap around me, surrounding me with the smell of cardamom and clove.
“Alexander,” I say in relief. He only holds me tighter.
“I was terrified I wouldn’t make it in time,” he says, and when I look up at his face, it’s awash with fear.
“You did well, dearest one,” Grandmother says, walking up and placing her hand on my shoulder. “You proved you were perfectly able to defend yourself, and that our mad dash here was superfluous indeed. But I must ask—where did you send him?”
Alexander glances over at the empty space where Wallace once was, and I do the same. “To your dungeon. It’s what I should have done against Tyrell, only it seems that when someone I love is threatened, I choose the most violent resort.”
Alexander gently turns my head toward his. “No more guilt. You’ve done nothing wrong.”
“I agree,” Grandmother says sternly. “I would have been equally approving had you decided to defend yourself to the death against Wallace—your life has far more value to me than his.”
“Nor would he have shown you the slightest bit of mercy,” Alexander adds with a flex of his jaw.
I think of the terrible draining feeling of having my arcana taken from me, of the weakness I still feel, and shudder. “What will you do with him when you return?” I ask Grandmother.
“I will search his mind and discover the depths of his wrongdoing, and then the Council and I will determine his fate.”
She says all of this matter-of-factly, though I know it’s no small matter to dig through someone’s mind, and Alexander shifts slightly as though uncomfortable. He knows firsthand what it’s like to have one’s memories pillaged, and it makes me regretful such a tactic was used on him—even if it did allow me to trust him again.
“Lucy,” Alexander says, taking my arm, “do you think I might have a word with you alone?”
“Of course, only …” I glance over at Grandmother, and she nods in understanding.
“Take your time,” she says. “I wanted to walk through and examine the flowers of this garden anyway.”
“Thank you, Grandmother,” I say with a relieved smile.
Alexander waits until she has moved away, and then pulls me into the shelter of a small copse of trees. The town still hasn’t stirred to life; the park is still empty. Ironically, where only a short time ago the lack of people around was a terrible thing, now I am celebrating that fact.
Alexander tucks a stray lock of my hair behind my cheek, the love in his eyes plain to see. It makes me feel as beautiful as a goddess, though I’m sure I must look a fright. Lack of sleep and no time to be properly outfitted ensures that I’m by no means presentable. But when he leans in to kiss me, I return it eagerly. After nearly losing him to Centerius, I find I feel none of the shame and worry I felt this morning—only a calming sense of rightness, like I’ve found the one person who can understand me.
He gathers me in his arms. “Lucy, darling, I don’t regret a moment we spent together the night of the ball, but I am afraid you do. I feel as though I was a cad to
share such an intimate moment outside in the grass like …” He shakes his head. “Forgive me, for I simply couldn’t resist you.”
His words resonate within me—had I not had the same worries?—but after seeing him in the light of day, I’ve never been more sure. “You didn’t lead me to do anything I didn’t already want to do,” I say firmly. “Rest aside any fears that I hold any regrets, for it’s quite the opposite.” I touch his cheek. “Alexander, I love you. That fact won’t change for the rest of my life, much less only a few days later.”
He laughs and hangs his head. “Of course you’re right. I didn’t mean to suggest your heart was fickle.” I meet his gaze, and the smile drifts off his face as he leans down to capture my mouth in a kiss. “I love you desperately,” he says after a moment. “Do you think your family will ever accept me? I do so want things to be perfect for you.”
I smile a little sadly and kiss him once, softly. “I think in time they will. Once they come to know you as I do, I don’t think they’ll be able to help it.”
“I think it would be easier for you if I stayed at my own townhouse here. You’re under enough duress with the loss of your friend, and I don’t want your family to have to deal with my arrival as well. For now, only your siblings know I was even there. I should also see about my friend Richard, since I believe I owe him an apology for abandoning him when I went through the portal.”
“I don’t want you to feel as though you aren’t welcome,” I say, even as I try to hide the real reason I don’t want him to leave: his presence is a comfort to me now, and I crave it. Without him, the idea of facing Rose’s funeral alone seems daunting.
He grins. “Welcomed by you, perhaps. But even I know encroaching upon Lord Thornewood’s territory is no way to court you. I want to do it properly—I want to have the chance to speak with all the protective men in your life.”
“Speak to them about what?” I ask, almost teasingly, though my heart pounds as rapidly as a bird’s in my ears. He’d said he wanted to marry me in Sylvania, but now that we’ve returned to our own realm, it seems as though it was only a night spent in enchantment—like being whisked away in some faerie wood.
The Order of the Eternal Sun Page 31