by A. W. Exley
“Perhaps we could do that later?” While gargoyles had wings in their stone form and could fly, they were ugly creatures and were brutes in the air. A sylph was made of lightness and danced effortlessly on a breeze. As much as she loved her family, she could admire the beauty in another creature. If a Soarer with an ugly soul could ever be called beautiful.
“What of your mate? Do you not want to search for that person among other Warders?”
Lettie swallowed and drew a short breath, her right hand tightened on the parasol handle. “I lost my mate before I ever knew him.”
“That sounds terribly tragic, how do you lose someone you don’t know?”
“A brief touch in a crowd. My Cor-vitis seed sparked into life, but he was gone before I saw who I had bumped into. All these years later and I have never encountered him again.” She tried to make it sound casual, as though it were of no import to her. He would never understand the hollow ache in her chest, the empty void that should have overflowed with love for her mate. “What of you? Do you have a mate watching us from a high tower?”
He shrugged and leaned back in the padded leather seat. “We are more pragmatic. A mate is an emotional attachment that I do not need. I have an arrangement with the daughter of my business partner.”
There was something they had in common, the prospect of a life devoid of love.
“Given you are unencumbered and could go anywhere on this dull little planet, why come here?” His eyebrows drew together, although a frown never quite marred his brow. Fingers clenched on the walking stick. He might pretend this was a social ride, but it was a deadly match between predator and prey.
The carriage trotted through a thick avenue of trees, and Lettie pulled the parasol shut so she could meet Byron’s gaze. “Uncle Samuel is getting old and he is all alone. I don’t know if he is a real uncle or not, only that Father refers to him that way. I do know he is in possession of a nice house and, as I am given to understand, substantial investments.”
His full lips pulled into a smile that revealed his teeth. “Very mercenary of you. I approve of such thinking in a woman, undine or not.”
She shrugged one shoulder. “It was a practical consideration. Grayson wishes to be charitable and provide his services for free to those who cannot afford a doctor. But working for free does not put food on the table or buy his medical supplies.”
He gestured a hand up and down her outfit. “Nor does it buy you pretty, fashionable gowns.”
A raven flitted high above in the upper reaches of the trees. Samuel would be able to monitor the exchange, but his watcher was too far away to hear their words. “Exactly, and I do have expensive tastes. Uncle Samuel is willing to fund Grayson’s work and provide for both of us. And keep in mind my brother is human. He only needs supporting for a few years, a decade at most, until he grows bored of it and wants city living and a decorative wife.”
“You have the form of an undine and the soul of a Soarer,” he murmured.
She winked, as though he paid her a compliment. In truth it bothered her that Samuel lived all alone, with no other Warders at his back. Once, her father had intended for Jasper to move here and watch the region with a mate and his own children. Then Julian had died and everything changed. Perhaps Elijah could instead spread his wings out here. The old gargoyle would be a fine role model for the youngster.
“What of the Meidh? Do you have many living in Sunderland?” Lettie steered the conversation to a more productive topic. The Soarers must have noticed that Dawn’s mother had moved into a cottage not too far from their mansion.
Byron shrugged. “We have a few aligned to our family. Very rarely a neutral turns up, but none live here who do not pay service to us. Soarer territory is not the place for neutrality. They either serve our family or move on.”
Which meant either they had no knowledge of Verity Uxbridge, or she paid her due to the Soarers while she lived there. Yet in all the years Samuel’s watchers kept an eye on her, they never saw any evidence of a Soarer allegiance. Who had she deceived—the Soarers or the Warders?
“We seem to be some distance from the village. Now that I am isolated and in your power, what do you intend to do with me?” Lettie dropped her tone as she rested her hand on his thigh. To learn anything more, she needed Byron Ocram on her hook. The best way to do that was to make him believe he was in control.
Hunger flared in his sky blue eyes as he bit down on her bait and laid his hand over the top of hers. “There are many things I would do with you. If we weren’t from different families, I would have enjoyed having you under me. I find you quite intriguing.”
Lettie curled her fingers into the fabric of his trousers. “Do you always do as your family dictates?”
His eyes narrowed. “I do as I please, but the fact remains your creator hates mine, and they use us as puppets in their feud. They pull our strings, and we must wage war against one another.”
She stretched and released her fingers under his hand, kneading his thigh with a gentle action. “You’re wrong. Gaia loves Ouranus. She never hated him, but she also loves the people of this world. If he were to descend and cover her body once more, all life on this planet would be extinguished.”
He picked up her hand and grazed her knuckles with his teeth. “Only the humans. We Elementals would remain. The powerful would inherit the Earth.”
A jolt shot along her arm as he bit at her skin under the soft glove, and she drew in a sharp breath. “We have had our time, and now it is their turn.”
“And there is the fundamental difference between our two families. Soarers were born to rule while Warders are always looking for someone to serve.” He pressed her hand to his cheek before returning it to her lap.
Their journey had gone full circle and the carriage rolled to a stop outside Samuel’s modest home. The driver jumped down to open the half door and pull out the metal steps.
“So this is goodbye?” Lettie asked after she had stepped down to the dirt road. She held in the disappointment at her failure. She had abandoned Grayson for a pointless drive with the Soarer.
He leaned back with one arm stretched along the back of the seat. “Only for today. Tomorrow afternoon, I will show you Ocram and Lawson and the magnificent vessels we build.”
The sylph was more capricious than a woman. Lettie had thought she failed, but now there was the glimmer of another chance to find out more about the Esmeralda. “You just said our family differences were insurmountable. Now you want to spend more time with me?”
“You have reminded me that I don’t care what my family says. I do as I please, and it pleases me to know you better. Until tomorrow afternoon, my lovely undine.” He touched the brim of his top hat and then waved his walking stick at the driver.
Different thoughts swirled in Lettie’s mind as she walked up the driveway. She played a dangerous game and had seen first hand the power a sylph could wield. She could imagine the depth of Jasper’s frown if he knew she spent time alone with Byron. She wouldn’t underestimate the Soarer, but she couldn’t turn down the opportunity to see the shipyard.
She knew something of men like Ocram, and a woman would keep his interest for only a fleeting time before he sought new entertainment. She needed to press the advantage she had, to learn of the ill-fated ship that went down at sea and pulled Dawn’s parents into the depths with it.
Could the solution be as easy as requesting a tour of his office and hoping to find an incriminating document sitting on a desk? Probably not. Ferreting out secrets always seemed more difficult in novels.
Having decided to let events play out, Lettie tried to settle with a book in the parlour. Samuel spent the time out in the vegetable patch talking to his watchers and didn’t come inside until dusk. Grayson and Marjory didn’t return until well after dark. Both were quiet and subdued.
“You two look like you’ve just been to a funeral,” Lettie said, casting aside her book.
Marjory shook her head slowly and met Letti
e’s gaze with misty eyes. “The lad’s mother died.”
“Oh.” Lettie had thought the woman abed with some cough or cold, but the mother’s life had ebbed away with the setting of the sun.
Grayson dropped his black bag and ran a hand through his hair. He looked more dishevelled and miserable than he did while suffering a hangover. Samuel poured a finger of whisky into a glass and handed it to him.
“Puerperal fever,” Grayson said as he took the drink and knocked it back in a single mouthful. Then he held out the glass for more. “Damn lack of sanitary conditions. Poor woman only gave birth this week. Her husband came home from work to find he was a widower with five little ones to care for on his own.”
Marjory took off her hat and tossed it on the sideboard before dropping onto the chaise with an audible groan next to Lettie. “The boy did his best to look after his mother and the other children, but he’s only ten. We had to find someone in the village to take the newborn before the poor mite starved.”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t have helped.” Lettie wiped her hands on her dress. While she spent her afternoon riding in a fancy carriage and flirting with a handsome man, Marjory and Grayson tried in vain to save a woman’s life. A hollowness opened up inside her. She couldn’t do anything useful.
As though reading her thoughts, Marjory reached out and took Lettie’s hand. “None of us could have done anything for her. At most, you could have distracted the young ones while the doctor eased her passing. The whole family could do with a decent feed though. I would suggest we arrange to have a hot meal delivered each evening for the foreseeable future.”
Samuel nodded. “I can arrange that. I’ll talk to the owner of the pub and leave him with enough coin to ensure the children have one good meal a day.”
Grayson knocked back the next drink, and his long fingers curled around the empty tumbler. He stood with his back to them as he leaned on the mantel and stared into the fire.
Lettie never thought of how death might affect a physician. Did he take losing a patient personally as though he lost some battle with his god, or did he see it as all part of Gaia’s plan?
“I’m sorry. Not a very fortuitous first day, but at least we can help the village rally around the family,” she said.
“It shows why these people need access to a doctor. Poor woman gave birth on her own. The children did their best, but none of them knew to do so much as boil water for her to clean herself up.” Grayson released his tight grip on the glass and placed it on the beam above the fire.
Grayson’s presence would make a difference in the villagers’ lives. What a shame they had arrived in Whiterock too late to save the woman. “The father must be devastated to lose his wife.”
“Yes. And the children were upset to see their mother pass,” Marjory whispered from her side.
There was cruelty to the cycle of life and death. People were taken far too young or in horrid circumstances. What would happen to the woman’s children? Her husband would have to continue working or they would have no roof over their heads. A Lord Warder would ensure the family were cared for and the father given time to grieve, and Samuel would act to that effect on behalf of Jasper.
Soarers took no such care for the people in their region. Would Byron Ocram even know, let alone care, that a life in his territory departed the Earth that day?
“I will retire early, if you would all forgive me.” Grayson picked up his bag and left the room.
“We will need to try to stop him dwelling on events,” Marjory murmured.
“Of course. I shall try.” Lettie stared at the closed door. That was all she could do—try.
10
The next day dawned bleak and miserable, as though the sun had forgotten to show up for work. The sky was a bruised wound above them, the clouds black and blue.
“Storm’s coming in, let’s hope it’s not a bad one,” Samuel said as he saw them off.
By the time they reached the cottage, the rising wind shot cold arrows straight through them. Lettie shivered as she worked with Grayson to unharness the horse and put him away in his yard.
Only women and children came through their door, the menfolk absent.
“The fishermen need to bring their boats up the beach before the storm hits,” one mother with a snotty-nosed child said.
The elderly resident took up her corner, a ball of bright red wool running from basket to the knitting in her lap. The others called her Widow Elder, and Lettie wondered if it was her name or a description. Either way, Widow Elder was a font of local knowledge.
“The farmers need to round up their sheep and cows, in case they get lost,” she said to the accompanying clack of knitting needles.
“What of the men at the shipyards, do they secure the hulls somehow?” Lettie asked.
Widow Elder snorted. “Not that lot. They keep working regardless or risk losing their jobs. The ocean could swell up and swamp the yard, and they would all float away still clutching their hammers.”
Lettie could keep working underwater, but it seemed unreasonable to expect men with families to work in unsafe conditions. “Is Ocram and Lawson such a terrible employer?”
The knitting needles flashed continuously and the woman didn’t even look down to see what her fingers did. “The pay’s fair but not much else. Ocram has a rule, if you leave your post before you are dismissed, don’t bother coming back the next day.”
Their morning was full of minor scrapes, colds, and those with nothing else to do. Grayson shut himself in his room studying his textbooks. Marjory and Lettie undertook a variety of small tasks like boiling garlic in water to bathe wounds and rolling lengths of crepe into neat bandages.
“It’s getting worse out there,” Marjory muttered as the wind lashed against the sharply pitched roof. The timbers above their heads groaned and creaked.
“I’ll move the horse into the barn before he takes fright.” Lettie finished rolling a bandage and stacked it in the basket at Marjory’s feet.
Outside, the horse whinnied when Lettie appeared in the backyard, and the normally quiet gelding rushed to the side of the pen.
“Easy boy,” Lettie whispered under her breath as she clipped the lead to the halter and lifted the rail to let him out.
She glanced to the east where thick black clouds rolled in from the North Sea and blotted out the sun. Lightning flashed toward the water and a boom shot across the ocean. The wind hurled leaves and any loose smaller objects across the ground. A milk pail clattered past, stolen from a yard and now heading west.
Lettie laid a hand on the horse’s withers as it danced to one side. “Let’s get you into the barn and out of the wind.”
She loved a rain storm, where she could stand outside and touch as many raindrops as possible. Each had a single impression to share, a flash of something it had touched. The rain told her a story as though she rolled on the pages of a thousand books and absorbed the words through her skin.
But dry storms were horrid with the rumble of thunder and damaging winds. The air crackled with electricity that sucked the moisture from everything and made Lettie fractious as though words were erased from her body. All that hot air was the perfect environment for sylphs and salamanders.
In the darkened barn, she led the horse to a stall and closed the half door. Next to the horse was a placid cow, completely unperturbed by the weather as she lay in the hay and chewed her cud. The horse leaned over the wall, sniffed the cow, and then settled.
“See, she’s not bothered by the weather and neither should you be.” Lettie hung the lead rope by the stall.
It only took one calm animal to reduce the anxiety of another. Once the horse started eating hay, Lettie left the two mismatched companions safe in the barn. The wind whipped her long hair around her face as she walked back to the house. Ominous black clouds seemed miles closer than they were just minutes before, and soon the village would be plunged into premature night.
She rubbed her arms against the chill as
she headed back inside. The waiting room emptied as the women hurried home before the storm made landfall. Even their constant knitter packed her wool and needles into her basket, wrapped her shawl tight around her shoulders, and took her leave.
Grayson emerged from his room clutching his black leather bag.
Lettie frowned. “Where are you off to in this weather?”
He glanced at her. “Ocram and Lawson. You heard Widow Elder, the workers aren’t allowed to lay down their tools until Ocram says they can. Men are going to get hurt from either falling off the scaffolding or flying debris.”
The answer seemed obvious to Lettie, but sometimes humans forgot Elementals had abilities they didn’t. “Perhaps they work on because Byron Ocram is a sylph. He can command the storm to go around his shipyard and protect his workers. They might not even notice the wind if he cocoons them in a calm bubble.”
Grayson huffed. “Would he expend his powers to protect his men? Do you even know if he is strong enough to divert a storm around them?”
Lettie didn’t know what Byron was capable of, nor if he would use his power for his workers. She also didn’t know why she defended the Soarer. Byron roused an unsettling mix of emotions inside her. Around him she was on a seesaw, first flung up and then plunged down and not able to find the right balance.
Grayson snapped the bag shut. “I’m going to go down there and see if I am needed.”
“Wait. I will come with you.” The storm might expose more of Byron’s character and blow away the confusion growing in her mind. With quick fingers, Lettie pulled her hair free of the loose bun and instead worked a tight plait. Grayson stared at her with an odd light in his eyes.
“The wind will pull it free and a hat is pointless in this. A braid will keep it out of my face,” she explained.
He shook his head. “Sensible. It’s just that you seem years younger with your hair plaited like a girl.”
“I’ve never felt a day over two hundred,” she said as she tied a ribbon at the end of the braid.