Page 6 of A Honeymoon of Grave Consequence (The Unexpected Adventures of Lady and Lord Riven #2)
“None of the others there are human—and I know exactly what you’ve been thinking.” Leonie’s pale, clawed hands tightened into painful-looking fists by her sides. “I look in my mirror every day, and it tells me all I need to know.”
Ugh! Margaret grimaced at the discovery of even more mirror-linked issues . Those devices caused nothing but trouble for everyone!
Unfortunately, she had no idea of how to extend comfort to the girl before her.
No one had offered Margaret any of that from the time of her parents’ death until she had finally met her husband.
..and she couldn’t imagine a soothing embrace from her, no matter how platonic, being welcomed by the girl before her.
All she could think to offer in assistance was distraction...and, perhaps, an intellectual challenge. “Have you ever wondered why nachzehrer are only ever reborn from certain cemeteries? ”
Leonie stared in silence at her for a long, baffled moment. “Ah...what?”
“They first began to appear in the soil of the Black Forest.” Margaret relaxed as she settled into the comfort of the familiar topic.
“Since then, of course, they’ve spread to Bavaria and Silesia.
I’ve even heard rumors that some may have been reborn in areas of northern Poland—but the phenomenon first began near here, along with so many other fascinating supernatural developments, from night ravens”—she thought again of that single, gleaming black feather—“to tatzelwurms”—vanishingly rare giant, serpentine beasts, rumored to have both scales and fur—“wolpertingers”—hares or squirrels with additional antlers, wings, or fangs—“and at least one significant type of werewolf.”
Of course, the mysterious tatzelwurms were the ones that Margaret would most like to study in detail—whichever scholar finally managed that long-delayed feat would earn a place in academic history!—but truly, every one of them sparked wonder.
“‘Fascinating,’” Leonie repeated flatly. “You think what’s become of me—the monster I’ve become—is fascinating ?”
“Of course,” Margaret said, blinking. “How could any scholar not be fascinated by such a marvel?”
Leonie stared at her in open disbelief. “Are you completely heartless?”
That accusation hit uncomfortably close to home, after all the claims made by her aunt and uncle across the years. Margaret felt her cheeks heat as she replied stiffly, “I am very sorry for what you’ve been forced to endure, particularly from your family. But...”
She tightened her lips, trying to hold back her next words...only to lose the battle a moment later. “Aren’t you even slightly glad to have so much more time than you’d expected to spend here in the world—with the opportunity to learn from it? To me, that sounds like an astonishing gift!”
“A gift ?” The girl’s laugh was ragged. “I am an abomination .”
“You are still very young,” Margaret said, as gently as she could manage.
“But now, you’ll have a chance to grow old after all, despite the terrible cholera that ended your first life—and that could never have happened if you had been buried elsewhere.
Isn’t there some small sliver of hope to be found in that knowledge? ”
Leonie backed away, her head shaking along with her voice. “Not all knowledge is good.”
“What rubbish.” Margaret’s brows lowered. “It is the greatest privilege and principle of life to learn everything we can about the world around us.”
“No! No, that’s for God to know, not us.” Leonie lifted one hand to draw the sign of the cross—but dropped it before she could finish, wincing as if she’d been caught attempting a crime.
Had her local priest been involved in her night of trauma and expulsion?
Margaret had her own private questions and opinions when it came to the fraught subject of religion. For now, though, she only said carefully, “Don’t you think He would wish us to admire and appreciate all His creations? Including you?”
Emotions flashed across Leonie’s pale face too quickly to fully catalogue. There was certainly pain and anger—but had there also been just an instant of unshielded, piercing hope?
Regardless, the progression finished with unmistakable fury. “Scholar or not, you know nothing about me,” the nachzehrer snarled, and yanked the hood of her black robe over her pale and hairless head. “From now on, leave me alone!”
With a swirl of the long robe, she whirled around and darted into the trees with inhuman speed, leaving Margaret alone.
Slumping, Margaret crossed the grassy bank to stand by the sheltered waterfall.
It fell with cheerful burbling sounds down all the rocky layers of its bumpy incline to splash into the stream and travel purposefully onwards.
Margaret wished she could so easily leave behind all her own regrets and second thoughts.
This was why it wasn’t worth socializing with anyone but her own husband! Conversation was the one subject at which she could never excel—nor even pass with mediocre marks, no matter how she tried.
Even this morning’s fieldwork had been a disappointment—because if Leonie had run in the direction of the inn, Margaret now knew exactly where she was standing on the map.
As she looked down into the busily rippling water of the stream, she found every inch deeply shadowed by overhanging branches and transparent enough to note every tiny fish that darted above the plain grey rocks that lined its bed, along with multiple fallen pinecones.
Sighing, she mentally crossed off the first location on her prepared list of possibilities.
Regardless of nuances in translation, no one would ever refer to this particular body of water as Reflection’s Heart .
..so she would not be discovering the legendary source of all the Black Forest’s magic this morning after all.
As she finally stepped out from the trees an hour later, tired and out of breath from so much unaccustomed exercise, Margaret’s gaze traveled immediately to the doorstep where that giant raven’s feather had fallen.
She had left it unstudied, earlier, in case its owner should wish to retrieve it once she was safely out of sight.
However, if it had actually been abandoned there for good. ..
Oh. The black feather was missing, but something else lay on the doorstep in its place: a small, square, cream-colored envelope with elegantly gilded corners that glinted in the sunlight.
“Oh, no ,” she breathed. Her steps slowed to a trudge as she warily approached the doorstep, feeling true dread for the first time since arriving at this inn.
There was, of course, no rational reason to give in to fear quite yet; this envelope might well be addressed to someone else. There were, after all, seven permanent residents at the inn.
Even when she saw the two names written in beautifully curving script— Lord and Lady Riven —she told herself, with pathetic desperation, that there might still be hope. There was no written address on this envelope. Clearly, no ordinary postal service had carried it.
For all she knew, it could simply be a brusque eviction notice from the inn’s host, left here for her to find on her return. She wouldn’t be pleased by such a message, but it certainly wouldn’t be unendurable .
So, she forced herself to be brave and tear the envelope open...only for her worst nightmare to fall out onto the palm of her left hand.
It was a small, stiff card with the horrifying message:
You are cordially invited to attend tonight’s intimate soiree at the country residence of Baroness von Mühls?cker, rightful owner of...
The rest of the words blurred in Margaret’s vision. Weary from so many hours spent awake, aching from all her hours of walking, and disheartened by the multiple failures of the morning, she gave in to shameful cowardice and ripped the card and its envelope into a dozen pieces.
When she fell into bed beside her husband ten minutes later, it felt less like a delightful treat than usual and more like a dishonorable retreat from the battlefield.
Even the scent of good tea some hours later couldn’t make wakefulness appealing. Grumbling, she reached blindly to pull the covers over her face.
A warm, familiar hand closed around her arm to stop her. “My poor, sleepy wife.” Lord Riven’s deep voice was rich with amusement. “Did you stay up far too late with your studying again?”
Margaret squeezed her eyes tightly shut against the glow of the nearby gaslight but managed to summon up her voice from deep within the recesses of her being. It came out scratchy from the exertion of that journey as she rasped, “Not studying. Fieldwork .”
“Ah.” There was a quiet huff of laughter. “Well, that explains the pine needles I found on my nightshirt when I awoke. You must have shed them on me as we slept.”
“ Ugh .” There really was no chance of falling back into sleep now, was there? Groaning, Margaret shifted upwards in the bed, her eyes still closed. “Where’s that tea?”
“Here.” Warm china met her grasping hand, and her husband closed her fingers carefully around the cup’s handle. “This should do the trick.”
By the end of her first cup, she felt ready to open her eyes. By the end of her second, she was ready to face the consequences of her own actions.
“Very well.” She straightened her shoulders to brace herself as she sat against the headboard. “You can tell me what they’ve all been saying about me this time.”
“I beg your pardon?” Lord Riven’s fair eyebrows rose as he passed her today’s breakfast plate. “I thought you’d spent your morning exploring outside the inn.”
“I did, but...” Margaret winced away from the mortification of that memory. “Well, surely, Fr?ulein Leonie must have unburdened herself of a whole new litany of complaints by now.”
...This time, with far more justification. Had Margaret really told the girl to be grateful for what had happened to her?