Lakesedge (World at the Lake's Edge #1)(10)

Shakily, I touch its side. Muscles and ribs and heat move against my fingers as it takes a long, hollow breath.

The monster looks at me pointedly. Dread creeps over me at the thought of the two of us, pressed close together as we ride. “You’ll have to help me up.”

He puts out a hand. I fold up my skirts and he looks disdainfully at my dirt-grimed boots. Beneath the cloak, his dark linen shirt doesn’t have a single crease. His own boots are polished to a dull gleam. I step hard against his hand as he helps me, hoping I smudge as much of the dust onto him as I can.

He looks at me askance, and then he laughs—a dark, incredulous sound. “Why are you wearing woolen stockings in the middle of Summerbloom?”

I grab for my skirts and pull the hem down to cover my knees. “Why are you wearing a winter cloak?”

He ignores my question, but he reaches absently for the collar of his cloak, adjusting the clasp where it ties at his shoulder. Then he gets onto the horse behind me. Clasping the reins in one hand, he wraps his arm around my waist. I suck in an involuntary breath and lean away from him as much as possible. He kicks the horse into motion. Grit from the road comes up, and I’m choked by the dust.

Each movement of the horse, each jolt and hoofbeat over the road, feels as though it will throw me loose. It’s only the monster’s arm, so tight around me, that holds me in place. I feel the dense heat of his chest against my back, his rough breath stirring my hair.

Trees flash by, streaked crimson as the sun sets. Twilight spreads through the forest with glowing brilliance and umber shadows. We round a bend in the road, and I can see Arien and Florence, far up ahead.

“What did you mean, that you could help my brother?” I ask the monster. “What do you want with him?”

I turn, trying to see his face, and flinch. His skin is washed red by the last flare of sunlight, as though he’s been drenched with blood.

“You really don’t know?” He waits, but I don’t answer. With a scowl, he goes on. “I want his shadows.”

“They’re not his. They’re only dreams. Arien has nothing for you.”

I won’t think of what happened in the village, in the woods, in the daylight. Everything Mother feared—that there’s darkness inside Arien, that the Lord Under has a claim on him—it can’t be true. It can’t be.

The monster shakes his head derisively. “Only dreams.”

And then, before I can stop myself, the question spills loose. “Is it true what they say about you, what you did to your family?”

I gasp as he twists my hair into a knot and leans closer, until his mouth is almost touching my ear.

“Yes.” His breath traces over my cheek. “Everything they say about me is true.”

A shudder runs through me. I open my mouth, but no sounds come out. All I can hear is the echo of his voice. He loosens his grip and my wind-tangled curls spill free. His arm tightens around my waist, and he urges the horse to go faster. I look to either side of us, scanning the sides of the road in search of a path, a house, anything. But there’s no escape. Only the forest and the sky and the night. The monster, holding me close.

We pass through a clearing, the earth on either side of the road barren except for a fallen tree. The roots are upturned, twisted against the empty air. Outlined by the sunset behind them, they look like claws.

I turn cold all over.

Finally, we reach a wayside, where a cottage is encircled by a grove of olive trees. It’s dark now, the night sky silvered by an almost-full moon.

The monster gathers up the reins and dismounts swiftly. “There’s still another full day of travel until we’re at Lakesedge. We’ll sleep here and start out again in the morning.”

I look at the cottage. It’s so small—only one room. I’ve been so caught up in worry for Arien that I haven’t even thought how we’ll have to spend the night so close to the monster. How we’ll be with him every night from now on, at the cursed estate.

He holds out a hand and I let him help me down from the horse. I stumble as my feet touch the ground and, without thinking, grab hold of his cloak to steady myself. He looks at me intently. I start to shiver, and his mouth tilts into a sharp smile. “Don’t tell me you’re cold, even with those woolen stockings?”

“I’m fine.” I shove him away and go quickly to where Arien stands, dazed, beside the other horse. I pull him into an embrace.

“Are you okay?” I touch his cheek; he’s pallid in the moonlight, tired and worried, but not hurt.

He nods, wincing as he rubs at a cramp in his thigh. “Everything aches.”

The wayside cottage is dark, the windows closed up and tightly shuttered. The roof is tangled with a wisteria vine and the heavy perfume from the flowers chokes the air.

I reach for Arien, take his hand, and hold it tightly as we step inside.





Chapter Four


The room is hot, and illuminated only by a single lantern set on the table. On the wall opposite the shuttered windows is an altar. The icon shows the Lady with her head bowed and palms upturned, twin vines uncoiling between her fingers. A row of guttered-out candles sits underneath.

The monster kneels by the hearth, coaxing alight a small fire. His hair is knotted from the wind, and there’s a smudge of dust on his cheek. The firelight dances over him, paints his tanned skin with amber and orange. But even like this—golden and beautiful—I can’t forget what he truly is. The wrongness clings to him. Even the darkness that pools in the corners of the room seems to stretch out and gather at his feet.