Verum (The Nocte Trilogy, #2)(42)

Was he here while I slept?

I didn’t hear him.

He’s not at breakfast, so I search the grounds for him. The trails, the garage, the gardens. He’s nowhere to be found, but Sabine is, of course.

“Hello, child,” she greets me, her hands full of sod. I watch as she sifts the soil, as she plants and re-plants and prunes.

Why does everyone call me child?

“Good morning,” I greet her. “Have you seen Dare?”

She shakes her head.

“He was out walking earlier,” she offers. “But I think I saw him drive away.”

I wonder where he goes every day.

I sink to my knees next to Sabine.

“What was his childhood like?” I ask, hoping she’ll tell me what he won’t. “You must know because you were his nanny.”

“I was,” she nods. “But Olivia was very much present, very much involved. Not like Eleanor was to your mother. Eleanor was detached. Olivia was loving. His mother loved him, child, so there’s that.”

But something is in her voice, something that tells me that Olivia loving him was his only thing.

“What about Richard?” I ask hesitantly. A cloud passes over Sabine’s face.

“Richard never liked Dare,” she answers honestly. “He thought Dare was competing for Olivia’s affection, which is ridiculous. Dickie was cruel to Dare, but I did my best to protect him.”

My heart twinges because something in the tone of her voice, lets me know that her best wasn’t enough.

“What did he do to him?” I ask, and I’m honestly afraid to know.

She turns away.

“It doesn’t matter anymore. It’s past. It’s done, and Dare paid for what he did.”

This starts me, snapping my head back.

“What do you mean by that? What did Dare do?”

She shakes her head. “It’s in the past. It doesn’t matter.”

But I know that it does.

It lives in Dare’s face,

It haunts his eyes.

Secrets are the same as lies, and I must uncover his truth.

I leave Sabine behind, but I feel her watching me as I go.





Chapter 20





Once I’m in the house, morning light floods the dining room, and through the window, I watch Sabine walk through the gardens, her gait hunched and slow.

She examines something growing, something viridem, green, before she hunches over to look at it. Tearing a leaf off, she chews it thoughtfully? before turning her gaze to mine.

Her eyes meet mine through the glass, and then she walks away.

She knows I’m going to hunt, I realize. And she’s not stopping me for a reason.

Maybe she wants me to know.

I find myself wandering through the hallways, ignoring the silence. The maids pretend they don’t see me, and I steer far clear of the wing with Eleanor’s office. I go down the East wing, a hall I haven’t explored yet.

Immediately upon setting foot down the corridor, I feel a stillness, an unexplained quiet. I instantly feel like I’m in another place, somewhere remote, somewhere where there is no life. I don’t even see any servants as I move over the polished marble floors.

I hesitate to even breathe loudly here, and I don’t really know why.

I pause at a large carved double-door, and before I can think the better of it, I push it open.

It’s someone’s living quarters. I’m standing in a parlor area, in the middle of creams and beiges and blues. It’s like someone threw up neutral colors and I spin in a circle, taking it in.

I’ve almost decided that it’s a guest room, that’s it’s not worth exploring, when I see the edge of a picture in the next room. A portrait in a thick, gilded frame.

I cross the threshold and gaze up at the family in front of me.

Dare, his mother, and my uncle stare back down at me.

Dare is younger, of course. Much younger.

He looks to be only ten or so, thin and young, but those same dark eyes yawn from the photo, haunting and hurt. It’s evident to anyone who looks at him that he’s not happy. He shirks as far as he can from my uncle, although he allows his mother to wrap her arm around his shoulders. Her expression is soft, her eyes kind. I find myself wondering what in the world she’s doing with Richard?

Because my uncle’s eyes are hard as steel. He’s got Eleanor’s eyes and her rigid posture, too. He’s imposing, he’s stern. And I can tell he wasn’t a nice person.

I find myself taking a step back, actually, which is silly.

And when I turn to look around the rest of the room, I still feel like he’s watching me, which is silly too.

It’s as quiet as the crypts in here, and part of it might be that I know that two of the three occupants of this suite are now dead. I saw their alcoves in the mausoleum, I traced their names beneath my fingers.

It’s also apparent that Dare no longer occupies this room. He must’ve moved when his parents died, intent on avoiding memories.

I can’t say that I blame him.

I can taste the memories in here in the air, and they aren’t good.

Energy doesn’t disappear.

There’s a bad feeling in this room, although there’s no tangible reason why.

There aren’t any other photos. The dressers are all devoid of personal things, the walls filled only with ornamental décor. I glance into the closet and find it still full of clothing. Rows of suits, dresses and shoes. All exactly the way they’d been left. It has an eerie feel, as though it is frozen in time, and I turn to leave.