Lakesedge (World at the Lake's Edge #1)(16)

He stares at me like it’s the most ridiculous question. I move closer still. The candlelight turns our shadows to ghosts on the floor. Up close, I can pick out tiny details of him that I hadn’t noticed before. His hair isn’t black but dark, dark brown. Both of his ears are pierced with rows of slender, silver rings.

Finally, he sighs. “Rowan.”

“Rowan.” The shape of it lingers after I speak it aloud. A monster. A boy. A boy with a name that I can feel on my tongue. Darkly sweet, like honeyed tea. Heat starts to creep across my face. I laugh, nervous. “I suppose you’re a little too young to be a real lord.”

The monster—Rowan—scowls. “I’m older than you.” When I raise a brow, he goes on. “I’m nineteen.”

“Two whole years? Oh yes, an eternity.”

“Wait,” Clover says. “Rowan, what’s wrong with your arm? Why didn’t you tell me you were hurt? This looks awful!”

She reaches out to the bloodied cloth wrapped over his sleeve, then tries to touch his hand, where he’s tied a fresh bandage over his torn glove. But just like he did with Florence, he pushes her away. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.”

She sighs, irritated, but doesn’t argue. The kettle starts to boil, and Arien takes it from the heat. Clover goes back to the table and starts to make tea. While it steeps, she takes out a small glass vial from her pocket. The liquid inside is a virulent green. She pours the tea then uncaps the vial; a curl of steam hisses out as she tips the strange potion into each cup.

Arien reaches for his cup, but I put my hand on his wrist to stop him. “What is this for?”

“Just to help you sleep,” Clover says lightly. “So you won’t dream.”

Rowan drinks his own dosed tea without hesitation, then looks from me to my untouched cup. “Do you think she means to poison you?”

His gaze is all challenge. My eyes fixed to his, I lift my cup and take a tentative sip. The tea smells of summer: leaves and flowers and a bright, cloudless sky. But it tastes terrible, worse than any draft from the herbalist.

Arien drinks, too. He cringes at the taste and swallows with difficulty.

Clover holds up a jar. “Did you want some honey?”

“Um.” He drinks more, struggling not to cough. “No thank you.”

Our eyes meet, and his mouth twitches into a smile. My brother makes a face at me, and I make one back. I force myself to drink another mouthful of the tea, then put my cup back down on the table.

Rowan sighs tiredly. He runs his hand over his hair, then tightens the cord that ties it back. “Arien, there’s a room you can have, upstairs at the top of the landing.” He frowns, then looks at me. “I suppose I’ll need to put you somewhere, too. Try the door opposite; it should be unlocked.”

“Yes, well, thank you for finding space for us.” I glance down the hallway of abandoned rooms.

“See that you don’t make me regret it.” Rowan picks up the candle jar and holds it out. “Before you go, we need to discuss some rules.” Though he’s ostensibly speaking to Arien as well, he’s focused on me. “Don’t wander around. Don’t touch anything.”

“Anything?” I look pointedly at the offered candle. “That’s very … unspecific.”

He shoves the jar into my hands, the flame stuttering with the sudden motion. “You know what I mean. I don’t want a repeat of your foolish stunt from last night at the wayside. And make sure you stay away from the lake.”

I wrap my hands tight around the hot glass until it almost burns my skin. It settles on me with a sudden, horrible realization that just outside, beyond the darkened garden, is the place where Rowan drowned his family.

He knows I’m afraid. I’m sure he’s glad of it. But I won’t give him the satisfaction of letting it show.

“I’ll do my best to remember all of your rules.” I cross the room, then stop in the doorway. “Good night, Rowan.”

At the sound of his name, he pauses for a moment. In the changeable light from the candle flame, his expression falters. There’s a flicker of emotion in his eyes that I can’t read.

He points dismissively toward the hallway. “Remember what I said.”



* * *



Arien and I go upstairs in a haze of candlelight. We find two rooms opposite each other, the only opened doors in a hallway just as bare as the space below.

Arien’s room has a patchwork quilt on the bed, and a tidy collection of furniture—dresser, desk, table. My room is an afterthought. Dust is thick over the mantelpiece, and there’s a pile of dead leaves in the hearth. The furniture is shrouded in linen cloths.

I stand in the hall, twisting the strap of my satchel. I can’t seem to make myself take a step either way. The upstairs of Lakesedge Estate has the same faded prettiness as the rooms below. But the whole house is full of unfamiliar sounds. Wind creaks through the walls like a whisper. In the pale light, the flowers on the wallpaper look spiny and sharp.

Then something flutters, far away. A whisper that draws longer and lower than a rush of wind. It slithers along the corridor and through the air.

I put my hand on Arien’s arm. “Did you hear that?”

He squints into the darkness, then shakes his head.

“I’m sure I heard a sound.”