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He remembered a conversation he’d had with Solomon, about his father having been a much different person at one time. “Was father good back then?”
She ran her hand over the silken sleeves of her dress, her gaze cast from his as if she contemplated the question. “Yes. There was a time he was. He had a rather dark sort of charm, much like yours.” The slightest smile flashed across her face. “Uncommon, yet genuine.”
“What happened to him?”
Her chest rose and fell with a forced exhale. “What happens to a man who chooses glory over love?”
“Do you think he could possibly change back?”
Brows flickering, she stared off. “I have certainly dreamed of it. But dreams only last for so long before you are forced to face the reality of waking from them.” Attention diverted toward the window, she kept on with the fidgeting of her silk sleeve. “You have not spoken of your visits with Bishop Venable in some time. They seemed to have lessened a bit, have they not?”
“They have.”
“I suppose it is their newest prisoner keeping them so captivated, and I am grateful for that.”
“Which prisoner?”
“Syrisa of Soldethaire. I’m sure her name is fairly known at this point.”
The sound of her name spoken aloud, on his mother’s lips, stirred a sick sensation in his gut. He shifted on the bench with his sudden discomfort, and at a flash of memory, of the woman’s hand guiding his along his cock, he felt acids gurgling in his throat. “You are often quick to defend a woman. What makes her the exception?”
“Many women find themselves wrongfully accused, and you are correct, even those thought to be irredeemable are worthy of forgiveness.”
“You are saying she is not?”
She rolled her shoulders back and cleared her throat. “When you were not quite a full year, your father attempted to smother you with a pillow.” Though the story was one he hadn’t heard before, it did not come as a surprise to the baron. For he always knew his father had despised him, from the moment of birth. “Syrisa had informed him that his own son would one day be his demise. It didn’t take long, however, for him to realize that he could not kill his own son without suffering equal injury, and so he failed in his attempt.” She shook her head, as she continued on. “And despite her warning to him, I did not look upon her with any ill will, or malice in my heart. Not until the day those boys were pulled from beneath the floor of her cabin.” Brows tight, his mother looked away and held a kerchief to her face, as if she suddenly felt ill. “I wanted to believe in her, and not your father. For I knew the evil inside of him.” Fingers wringing the kerchief, she sat staring down at her lap. “How many times are women unjustly labeled, after all. But I had yet to discover the darkness inher.” She lifted her gaze to his again, her eyes a sobering reflection of solemnity. “Just as there are dangerous men, there are also dangerous women.”
“What happened to the boys?”
“What happens to a rabbit in a wolf’s den?” She let out a long exhale. “Your father and I will never see eye to eye on any matter. Except for Syrisa of Soldethaire.”
* * *
The baron’s mother had agreed to let him walk home through the woods after his session with Solomon. Although he’d wanted to tell her about his pets, he feared their appearance might cause alarm. The puppies certainly had their darker moments–such as the day he’d found them feeding on a nest of baby rabbits–but he knew in his heart that they weren’t evil. Certainly not deserving of being slain for merely being hellhounds.
On a prior visit, he’d stolen freshly discarded scraps of meat from the venator’s butchery and stored them away in one of the old barrels at the cabin. Over the course of the week, it’d begun to rot, and the barrel itself was a nauseating task to open, but the little mongrels didn’t seem to mind. In fact, they seemed to eat more fervently when it’d sat out for a while. As if they enjoyed the stench of rot.
Hopefully, his pets would provide some much-needed distraction.
His mind had been consumed during his training with Solomon. The disturbing revelations made by his mother, coupled to his encounters with the woman, Syrisa, had made it difficult to focus on the lesson that afternoon, which happened to be healing a bird struck by a stray arrow. A weapon made of infernal steel, according to Solomon, given the scar that remained on the bird’s broad side. The raven, who he’d playfully named Cicatrix, had thanked him for healing his wound a number of times through the vinculum bond they shared.
Glancing upward, the baron found the bird flying overhead, following him into the woods. Blasted thing would not leave him alone, and the last thing he needed was another pet.
Master, someone sits in the clearing ahead,it said--perhaps the first useful bit it had said in all of its prattling—and the baron froze in place, wondering, hoping. Could it beher, the raven-haired girl, Lustina, returning to play with the puppies?
He dashed through the trees toward the abandoned cabin and, on reaching the clearing, found the girl sitting in the same place as the time before.
All three puppies bounced around her legs, nipping at her dress in play. Late afternoon sun bathed her in a warm, golden light, giving her skin a mesmerizing glow. She giggled as the puppies barked and pounced, and she allowed Cerberus to hop up into her lap.
Resigned to make himself known, the baron stepped forward, but halted when a cold sensation crawled over the back of his neck.
The image of Syrisa licking her fingers after what she’d done to him sent a shudder of shame through him, and he stepped back. He wanted to carve those thoughts from his mind with a sharp blade and burn them out of existence. But such a thing was impossible, for it had already seared itself and taken a monstrous shape inside his conscience.
Stomach tight with tension, he ground his teeth at the thought, unable to lift his gaze to the beautiful Lustina. Like a devil looking upon an angel.
His hand tingled with a phantom memory of the older woman’s palm clutched over top of his knuckles, guiding him. Lips peeled back, he clenched his hands into tight fists. He should have fought her. Why hadn’t he pushed her away?
You enjoyed it,he could hear her whisper in the darkness of his mind.Do not deny your darkness. Embrace it.
