Page 83 of Bloodgrove

Will answered her with a silent look.

Eric rose and brushed Will’s shoulder as he passed. “Always the good boy.” His voice was far too deep and velvety for his parents’ home, and Will could not suppress the heat rising into his face.

A wicked smile lifted one corner of Eric’s mouth. “Go ahead and look at my bed. It is the closest you will ever come to it,” he whispered on his way to the door.

Will’s pulse quickened, and an image of tangled sheets sprang into his mind. “You brought it up, not I,” he replied, as though none of it affected him.

“Nice try, pup.” With that, Eric opened the door. “You can find your own way out. I suggest you hurry—I take no responsibility for Claire.”

Chapter 44

One week later, they climbed into a sleigh that looked like a winter forest, black and gnarled, the four horses before it carved from the same wood. Elodie and Will wrapped themselves in furs up to their noses, the pelts so thick they swallowed his entire hand.

White clouds towered before the steel-grey sky; a storm was gathering over the sea.

“Like clockwork—the peninsula is struck by its worst storms every winter solstice,” Elodie said. She pulled her fur hat down to her eyebrows until only a narrow strip remained for her eyes, which were the same color as the sky above them. Will drew her closer.

“In the Capitol, it never truly becomes winter.” He did not know this kind of cold, which bit through to the bone and threatened to flay the flesh from his cheeks. Black Bloodgrove became almost picturesque beneath it, with thick beams of snow upon the windowsills, drifts piled against the walls, and roads packed smooth beneath the passing sleighs. Even the oppressive landscape of rooftops seemed weightless: white waves as far as he could see, broken only now and then by dark tracery.

The sleigh lurched into motion, and they were away, silent but for the bells upon the harnesses.

“How do you celebrate the solstice?” he asked. He searched the shop windows for decorations, though he knew better—this city was allergic to romance. And yet, even as a grown man, he missed the lights, the music, the small wonders.

“Celebrate?” Beneath the blanket spread across their legs, Elodie slipped her arm through his. “We fear this day. The longer the night becomes, the wilder the vampires grow. Every household locks itself inside a single room with food and blankets. Candles burn everywhere, and herbs are thrown into the fire. We write blood wards on the doors to keep evil away.” Her eyes shone as she looked up at him. “I loved it.”

Will laughed. Only a madwoman like her could enjoy such a night.

“I loved it because my entire family and all the servants were gathered in one place. It was cramped and warm in a house that was otherwise never cramped or warm. Every year felt like an adventure. My sisters and I huddled around the fire and were allowed to eat and drink as much as we wanted. Hedgefort read us fairy tales, and Papa…” She broke off, the corners of her mouth falling, and unless Will misread her expression, she missed the man. No matter how terrible her father had been, no matter how many atrocities he had committed until the blood had seeped into the foundation of the house, she missed him. Or at least one facet of him, the one she had seen only on the darkest, most terrible night of the year.

“And you?”

As Bloodgrove glided past in its black-and-white splendor, like the burned-out remains of a fairy tale, he found it difficult to think of home. “When I was little, I loved it. My parents and I celebrated in our cottage by the sea. We decorated every inch with figures of angels and candles, burned herbs, and sang songs. There were gifts and food, and I would fall asleep in front of the fire.”

“Not anymore?”

“If I were not here, I would still travel to see my parents. But it is not like it used to be. My father doesn’t understand me—especially my hair.”

“How could anyone not love your hair?”

“He says that was where everything began—whatever that is supposed to mean.” Will laughed uneasily.

No matter how long the journey lasted or how fiercely the cold threatened to freeze his nose, he enjoyed being alone with Elodie again, unobserved. The driver upon the box never turned toward them and never spoke. Will was not entirely certain she was human. The horses galloped onward without rest while wolves howled in the distance.

Around noon, they paused at a bridge spanning a gorge, though the sun was scarcely more than a pale point behind the heavy clouds. Far below, a river roared, carrying ice down from the mountains before finally merging with the sea. The trees here were ancient and would bear no leaves even in summer.

The wind grew stronger, and they encountered fewer and fewer villages. When they did pass one, pale faces watched them from behind barricaded windows.

But the time flew by. Will and Elodie spoke of books, the Academy, and the architecture of the Capitol. They philosophized about angels while sipping steaming tea. Only the subject of magic did Will skillfully avoid.

“Do you hear that?” In a moment of silence, Will thought he heard a voice through the wind. Tragic and beautiful, it touched something deep inside him.

Elodie pushed the hat off her ears and listened. But there was nothing to hear beyond the rising storm and the bells.

“Only the wind, whistling through the cliffs,” Elodie murmured, moving closer. “But do not think you can distract me from the subject of your magic so easily. We will discuss it eventually.”

“I will show you magic.” With that, he put his glove between his teeth and pulled it off. Then, beneath the blanket, he gathered Elodie’s skirts. Past the heavy fur coat, his fingers brushed thick stockings and traveled higher until they found her heated center. Had she worn no undergarments for him?

“You are terrible,” she breathed.