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The ferryman’s boat rocked viciously as he moored it across the disturbed surface of the Styx. The weather had noticeably changed in the days since our arrival back at Haxton Manor. Perhaps it echoed the storm that brewed with me? Impenetrable clouds did well to block out the sun. The days were overcast, the nights darker, which made everything seem more sinister.
It was not the best of days to stand outside on the stone balcony connected to my chamber. However, it had become part of my daily routine, watching the ferry of new people to help fill the manor and make it feel… alive. A shiver passed unwantedly across my arms. I tugged the rough blanket tighter around me as I watched the visitors within Charon’s boat grip the edges as they traversed the dark blue water towards the manor.
Haxton had quickly filled with serving staff that Myrinn had continued sending. I supposed it was her way of apologising for what had happened in Neveserin, not that I believed she needed to.
Other members of Haxton’s staff waited upon the shore for the new arrivals, winds battered them from all angles. Children ran in between their parents’ legs, sometimes braving the Styx by sneaking up on it, but never did they get too close. Even those in the boat that moved closer with each moment peered over the edge of the wooden vessel in fear. They must have known what lurked and waited beneath the waters. I gathered the shades waited longingly for someone, one poor soul, to fall overboard.
This visit was the second boat today that had arrived. Still, it surprised me when I saw Charon carting the living across to Faenir’s home. The prince had done little to refuse the serving staff, but, from his disappearances when new ones arrived, I only imagined what warnings he gave them. He viewed each and every one as his enemy, a threat. I only hoped he would soften in time.
As of yet, Faenir had not permitted me to visit them alone. I understood why but could not ignore my frustration at being kept in a cage like a bird with broken wings.
A door opened and closed in the chamber room behind me. I heard the familiar gait across the marble floor. It was silly perhaps, but I held my breath in anticipation of Faenir and his touch, which always followed. I longed for it more, which only intensified my anxiety, my guilt for the secret I harboured selfishly.
“You will catch your death standing out in the cold,” Faenir said.
How wrong he was.
“I enjoy watching them arrive. It gives me something to do with my mind instead of staring at the same four walls.”
Faenir did not miss the lacing of annoyance hidden beneath my tone. “If you wish to go for a walk, simply ask. This is your home for the time being, not your prison,” he said.
Finally, I turned to look at him. Faenir carried a silver platter that took both hands to hold up. Piled upon it in a pyramid of scarlet orbs were what I thought to be apples at first. How wrong I was. Pomegranates glistened like fat jewels upon the platter, each one coated with a sheen of mist. My mouth watered in anticipation for the tarty and sweet flavour that waited within the hard, red shell of their outer layer.
“How did you get these?” I asked, rushing to his side.
I had never seen the fruit in person before but had heard of them. Long before the vampire’s curse spread across Darkmourn, pomegranates and other unusual fruits came over from far-off lands where the climate was far different to ours.
“Gildir sends his apologies for what occurred in Neveserin. I can assure you; I am equally surprised.”
“They,” I pointed to the platter, “are from him?”
“Indeed. The first arrivals to Haxton this morning brought the gift with them. If you would prefer I had them disposed of, I would happily do this for you.”
“There will be no need,” I said, my mouth salivating. “However, I can’t stop trying to imagine what exactly he feels the need to apologise for.”
Faenir’s brow furrowed. “Darling, I believe the saying suggests that great minds think alike.”
He placed the platter on the bedside cabinet. As he did so, the pomegranate that balanced precariously upon the top of the pile rolled from its perch and fell. He caught it swiftly, snatching the fruit in one hand before it hit the ground, which likely would have been better for the fruit because the moment it met Faenir’s touch, the pomegranate rotted; it decayed with haste, colour draining from its shell, leaking inky-black liquid between his fingers.
“Such a waste,” he said, letting go of the rotten fruit which became ash beneath his touch and floated to the ground. “Gildir would see that as a sign of great disrespect, I am sure.”
“I am surprised you have even let me receive the gift, considering how much of a threat you have treated every person who has been sent here. You would trust your cousin is not out to poison me with his gift?”
“They are not poisoned,” Faenir said matter-of-factly.
My brow peaked as another shiver passed across my skin. “What have you done?”
“I ate one. Poison would not kill me, but I certainly would sense the effects.”
I could not explain why his action had angered me, but it did. “You shouldn’t have done that. I do not require you to be my taster… when are you going to realise that not everyone is out to kill me?”
“Would this be the wrong moment to admit that I have been tasting every morsel of food prepared since we came back home?”
I forced out a sigh. Mother had always taught me to pick my battles, and this was not one I had the energy for. Despite my want to fall into his arms and let his touch lighten the storm in my mind, I turned my back on him. I moved back towards the balcony, leaving the disagreement behind me.
The winds had grown stronger in the moments I had been inside. It whipped at my hair,tugging at the blanket across my shoulders until it forced me to hold on tighter.
Charon had now reached shore. The four elves practically threw themselves from the vessel in fear, or relief, I was unsure.
