I nodded, and she sent me a tired smile.
“Sorry again,” she added, before slipping out the door and closing it behind her.
I peeled off my coat, brushing against the book with its sleeve. The pages flipped, and the poem it opened on its own, freezing me in place.
Four flowers grew beside each other on the Hill of Thorns,
Four flowers, each delicate and true.
Until one of them grew their thorns too long,
And it cut down the flower that was close.
When the flower fell on the frozen ground and broke,
One flower ignored, one laughed, and one thought.
Four flowers. It was foolish to even think about it, yet I couldn’t help but wonder if it was a reference to the Thornburys, the Marzouqs, the Lamonts, and the Aldridges. Four families, all connected. Three alive. One dead. Gooseflesh prickled along my skin.
One flower ignored, one laughed, and one thought.
I thought of the tale Preston and I read a little over a week ago. About the fourth family’s fall.
The wrath of something once divine caused the fall of the fourth family.The Aldridges were burned by their own allies who left nothing but ash in their wake.
So, who really took the life of the Aldridges? The Great Monster… or one of the three families?
CHAPTER THIRTY
ELODIE
The four of us sat down at the dinner table, and I automatically glanced at Preston’s empty seat. He’d been absent for the last couple of days. The last time I talked to him had been in my room after we got back from the tunnels a week ago. Since then, I’d seen him only once in an empty hallway, stretched out on the top of a cabinet with a book, like a cat.
There were also traces of his presence, like the abandoned chess play in the library, or the used matches left on random furniture. But it was as if he was avoiding me… which I didn’t mind, of course. It was refreshing to not hear his smug comments for once, but still I couldn’t help but wonder why he was suddenly distant.
“…dance.”
The word struck my ears and my eyes darted towards the twins and Lilian.
“Elodie will have the first dance,” Lilian answered to something the twins must have asked, and my eyes widened. “She will have the chance to choose her partner, but,” she raisedher voice, making sure I heard her, “it would be smart to choose the son of the man that’s responsible for the event.”
Declan Marzouq, is who she meant.
“I won’t dance,” I stated, devouring the last bites of my food.
It wasn’t particularly because of Declan. Dancing in front of hundreds of people sounded like a nightmare. It was more than enough to just be there.
“Oh, don’t be a jest, pet.” Lilian’s smile sharpened. “Of course you will.”
My grip tightened around my fork, just as the side door opened—the one the staff used—and Alistair stepped out of it. He stopped in one of the shadowy corners of the room, holding a silver trail with four teacups and a pot.
“Preston will help you learn the steps,” Lilian went on, and I took a deep breath, ready to argue, but it was as if something had fetched my voice away. I was unable to form the words. I felt the flush creep its way up my cheeks and I pushed my chair back.
“Thank you for dinner,” I forced the shallow words out, before I darted out of the room.
I stoodin front of the manor, looking up at its sharp, jutting roof as the rain’s cold tears washed over my face. At first, I didn’t know what I was looking at, then, from behind the storm, I saw a boy standing at the edge of the roof. His blonde hair was messy from the cutting wind that danced around us, lifting flowers out of their coffins. But the wind carried something else with it—laughter. I focused on the eerie sound, unsure whether it belonged to the storm or the boy himself.
You will fall! I wanted to shout, to warn him, but no sound left my throat. I opened my mouth to try again, but the air left my lungs and I began to cough. I was dying, I realized, hunching over as something cold landed on my palm. I lifted my hand away from my lips, watching as dirty water slipped between my fingers. The sight dragged me back to the riverbed. My lungs tightened, filling with water, with fear.
