Page 109 of The False Vow

I vocalized the sentiment. “I told Philippe I wished to walk.”

“Unfortunate, then, that it is not you Philippe reports to.” Noé appeared unmoved, safe and dry under the auto’s webbed arch. I did not want to imagine how I looked in comparison: my dress clinging to my skin like wet paper, my caul barely retaining its grip on my scalp. Nodding to the seat beside him, Noé said, “Come on, Tamerlane. This storm is dreadful. Up.”

In reply, I turned and kept walking. Behind me, the auto’s magesilk engine gave a menacing purr; a second later, I cursed as the vehicle pulled even with me again.

“Sisters three, darling, if you want to call off the wedding, just tell me so,” Noé shouted from inside it. “No need to kill yourself to avoid it.”

That, at least, got me to pause. Glaring up at him, I attempted to compose myself—a somewhat difficult task considering my newly sodden state. “Leave me alone, Noé. I’ll be fine.”

As if in defiance of my statement, a rumble of thunder interrupted us. Noé arched a meaningful brow just as the rain began to pour down harder. I gritted my teeth against the onslaught, shaking my head and pivoting away.

Again, I attempted to outpace him; again, the auto caught up with me easily. I did not acknowledge the contraption as it slid beside me, keeping my face turned forward and my attention on the road.

“It’s generally unwise to contest nature. I’m not sure the storm will be swayed by your usual arsenal of clever responses.”

I whirled around at his snide remark. “I am not getting in that thing with you.” The force of my own determination took me by surprise. Flushing, I calmed myself and said more steadily, “It isn’t much farther to Fortblanche. Turn back—I’ll meet you at the estate.”

Hoisting my skirts higher, I left him behind. The rain was beating loud enough now that its chattering chorus was all I could hear; still, I waited, shoulders tensed, for the inevitable lurch of the automobile to my left, leaping out like a beast from the murk.

It never came. Suspicious, I twisted over my shoulder just in time to see Noé trudging up to my side. Without the protection of the auto’s hood, he’d quickly become drenched, his white shirtwaist soaked through. His suspenders dug into his skin, the dark blue material bitten black by damp.

He pulled them down, one after the other, as I gaped at him. “What are you doing?”

Noé’s pace never faltered. I let out an involuntary yelp as he tossed his jacket at me, motioning for me to wrap it around my own thin frock. “If you insist on walking to your death,” he panted, “then I will walk with you.”

I was dumbfounded. Hastening to avoid being passed by him, I slung the jacket over my shoulders, annoyed to find the sturdy material granted me a reprieve from, if not the rain, at least the howling wind. “What about the automobile?”

“What about it?” He glanced at me sidelong.

“You said it was one of three in the nation!” I drew to a halt. “The rain will ruin it.”

“Let it be ruined, then!” Noé burst back. Both our tempers seemed more volatile than usual, like we were dry kindling, flaring at the slightest spark. I knew the reason for my anger; what was his? “Or let some lucky farmer happen across it and sell it for a fortune. Really, Tamerlane, you think I give a shit what happens to the damned auto?” Breaking off, he collected himself, pushing a lock of sopping hair away from his brow. “What has happened to you?”

The sincerity with which he uttered the question nearly broke me. “Nothing has happened to me!” I spat in response. “I just wanted a breath of seaside air.” I gestured weakly at the downpour consuming us, aware of him watching on disbelievingly to my side.

“How funny,” he said flatly. “I’ve been craving the exact same.”

A flash of lightning on the horizon, stark and ominous, prevented me from responding. Briefly, I considered doubling back and climbing into the auto after all, but all pride aside, it was the thought of being crowded in such close confines together which frightened me most. I did not want to imagine what could happen beneath that hood.

Giving in, I looked over at him. “Fine,” I snapped. “Keep up.”

Together, we resumed our climb. The rain had all but erased the line where the cliffs dropped away—where previously, the border between land and ocean had been distinct, now there was only darkness and a deeper, shifting sort of darkness seeping out from it. I clung as close as I could to the far side of the road, afraid that any step would send me tumbling off the edge and desperate to avoid Noé glimpsing my reluctance.

After several minutes of hiking in silence—during which the heel of my boot twice nearly twisted out from under me—Noé spoke. “Philippe said you went into town?”

The storm caught up his words and threw them away, most of his speech lost to the howling gale. I flushed when I made out his question. “Yes.”

That single word, shouted over the storm, was all I gave him. I made the mistake of turning my head as I responded: His face was right there, his skin rain-beaded and stark against the gloom. He resembled a portrait of some naval captain, hard-featured and dangerously beautiful, plunging his ship beyond the breach.

“Shopping?” he called back.

I looked away. “Naturally.”

Quiet descended again. A minute later, he shifted back toward me and said, “What did he want?”

My arms prickled.

Holding my stare, Noé clarified. “Lear.”