Page 87 of Bloodgrove

She pulled him onto the sofa with her and whispered, “Should I have lied? Given the servants the credit?”

She knew him far too well already. He sighed and shook his head.

Eric wandered through the room and examined every small detail Will had worked into it, from the golden angel he had found in Wilkinson’s study to the straw stars brought by the stable boy. He even tried a cookie, but his expression remained unreadable, and he folded one arm behind his back so that he looked like a teacher inspecting his students’ work.

Suddenly, something crashed above them, and dust sifted from the chandelier Will had left unlit. Everyone froze, their gazes fixed on the ceiling, while the dogs growled, their hackles raised. But silence returned, even as the storm grew stronger.

“It is beginning,” Elodie whispered and nestled against Will’s side.

Eric raised an eyebrow, then turned abruptly. “Wine.” He uncorked the bottle Duke Wilkinson had undoubtedly chosen for himself. The label was embossed in gold, and red wax covered its long neck.

Eric poured Will and Elodie a glass as well, then, after an uncertain glance around the room, lowered himself onto the cushions on the floor. The tails of his embroidered silk coat spread over the patterned rug, and he stretched his long legs toward the fire.

“It should have been decanted,” Elodie said, though she took another sip anyway.

“To a long night.” Eric sighed and raised his glass.

“To seeing morning again,” Elodie corrected, while Will sent a silent blessing home to his parents. He had written them a letter, though he had been unable to send it.

“I did not know you sang,” Will began and promptly earned a dark look from Eric.

“If this is going to become an interrogation, I would rather take my chances with the demons. I thought we were here to read.”

Will seized the first book within reach and tossed it into Eric’s lap. “Then start.” Instead, he took the book of fairy tales and sought Elodie’s permission with a questioning glance. She moved closer, placed a plate of sandwiches in her lap, and leaned against Will’s shoulder.

Together, they read the first story in silence, the open book resting across his legs.

For a while, it was peaceful, with only the wind whistling through a crack, until something suddenly scraped across the window. It sounded like branches, but Will knew there was nothing outside for miles except the sea. He shivered and was grateful he had drawn the curtains across the pitch-black glass.

Elodie tensed beside him as well. “I hate it,” she whispered and bit into another sandwich.

“I know,” Eric murmured and reached a hand toward her. When he gently squeezed her knee, Elodie relaxed again. “I still remember the solstice at your father’s. How old were we? Ten?”

Elodie had told Will about her sisters, about Hedgefort reading to them, but not about Eric and his family. By now, he was fairly certain Eric had been the fourth child in the drawing. Will returned his attention to the fairy tale, in which a warrior monk stole the heart of a goddess.

But he could not stop thinking that there had once been a time when the two of them had been friends; more than that, almost family, celebrating the solstice together.

“Why do you both want to become the Red Hand so badly?” he blurted.

They stared at him in surprise, and Elodie’s lips were already parting with an answer. He had not meant to ask; perhaps the alcohol was beginning to affect him, though he barely felt it.

Eric adjusted the collar of his coat, and Elodie bit her lip, but neither answered.

“You destroyed your entire friendship over this fight, and for what? Eric, you have a wonderful family. Is that not enough?”

Again, Eric shook his head, his lips twitching before he practically spat out the answer. “For Elodie. Is that what you wanted to hear? Can you finally leave the subject alone?”

“For me?” Elodie’s voice broke, and she put the plate aside. “In what deranged world do you take away the thing I want most and then have the audacity to say you are doing it for me?”

“Because you have no idea what you want! I have worked for that monster for years. I know what the position demands! Just because your father believed your mother’s death had some greater meaning beyond the tragedy it was does not mean you have to sacrifice your life for it!”

Elodie was on her feet in an instant. “I have already sacrificed everything for it! You were simply always too naïve to see!”

Eric followed her and rose to his full height before her. “I know your father was horrible. But that does not mean you have to keep suffering for the rest of your life! If you become the Red Hand, the King is inside your head, giving you orders. You do not have a single moment to yourself anymore.”

Elodie clicked her tongue. “And you want to save me from that? To me, it sounds more like you do not want me to possess that kind of power. You think I am too naïve to understand what it will cost me. I have nothing to lose—but I could save this city.”

“You have everything to lose! Every day I watch you give up another piece of yourself for this fight, it tears my heart apart.”