Page 5 of Bloodgrove

“She did not wish to pay the price a full ticket demands,” Eric Arcos answered from across the car.

A plate covered by a silver cloche was served to him.

“I would be happy to share mine with you,” Will offered, but the duchess lifted her chin.

“It is not a matter of money, young man.”

Will’s curiosity had nevertheless been stirred. With the hairs prickling along the back of his neck, he turned once more toward the ambassador.

“Would you care to join us, Mr. Arcos?”

“Yes, do come!” Duchess Wilkinson appeared equally hungry for the man’s company.

Mr. Arcos raised his cool gaze toward them. “Thank you. No.” Then he returned to cutting the dark meat on his plate.

Will swallowed his disappointment. His wish had been selfish. He wanted another glimpse of that handsome face, wanted to study the contrasts between the pale skin, light eyes, and dark hair. Mr. Arcos carried himself with such absolute confidence, whether crossing the dining car or striding the short distance along the platform, as though he were conscious at every moment that an entire train had been waiting only for him. That every lady knew his name.

Meeting someone of so much self-assurance ought to have been repellent.

“Please, tell me about Bloodgrove,” Will said, taking the initiative before the duchess could resume her questions.

“People like you, Mr. Frank, with hair such as yours, are held in very high regard,” she replied.

Under her appraising gaze, Will ran a hand over his braid and tossed it back across his shoulder. Silver hair spilled down his back. Today, while he worked on his designs, he had tied it with a simple ribbon.

“It was not always so…”

“I know. So much talent at such a young age,” the duchess said with a smile. “That is why you were summoned to Bloodgrove, is it not?”

He frowned. “Not as far as I know.”

Will had barely noticed the faint scrape of silverware behind him until it stopped. Mr. Arcos and Duchess Wilkinson were both waiting for him to continue.

“Who paid for your ticket?” Duchess Wilkinson asked.

Will bought himself time by splitting open the breast of his bird and removing the blood orange with which it had been stuffed. Macabre as the sight might be, the dish tasted extraordinary.

As he chewed—or rather, allowed the tender meat to dissolve upon his tongue—his gaze flicked toward the waiter, who now stood in the doorway with conspicuous inconspicuousness.

“Is it cold in Bloodgrove this early in autumn?” Will asked, gesturing vaguely with his knife toward Duchess Wilkinson’s leather gloves.

He had noticed the same kind on Mr. Arcos.

“Winter comes early here in the north.”

To his surprise, she did not appear offended by his failure to answer. Instead, she leaned back with satisfaction. Apparently, he had confirmed her assumption that he was someone special.

It was not until the following afternoon that the landscape changed again. They passed through a mountain range, and Will only occasionally looked up from the notebook he had spent the last several hours filling with designs. Then the ravines opened to reveal a windswept peninsula.

Will was instantly on his feet and at the window. The sea. Even now, it still felt like home to him. Silver waves crashed against the coast, barren fields and empty forests stretched before it. But all of that faded into insignificance when he saw Bloodgrove.

Will stared out of the train in disbelief. How did people live and build in a place as hostile to life as this narrow peninsula, severed from the world by mountains and a raging sea?

The cover of clouds was so dense that the sun lent scarcely any color to the thousands of turrets and roof ridges. It was as though someone had gathered every cathedral in the world, hurled them against the slope, and left them to tower over one another in endless cascades of spires and pointed arches, gables and eaves, stone pennants and gargoyles. Wrought-iron snow guards lined the roofs, and tall garden fences stood beside cobblestone streets and tracery that would have put the Capitol’s finest stonemasons to shame.

Yet everything was blackened and sooty from the smoke belched by chimneys and the few factories. It mingled with the low-hanging clouds above this monstrosity of a city. Will could describe it no other way. It called to mind the frames of charred skeletons, mountains of ash, and the ruins left behind by a fire.

Bloodgrove.