Page 16

Bodies of water are called so for a reason.

A gentle rapping, like a crow cracking a chestnut, woke me. I blinked awake as another rap-rap-rap sounded on my chamber door. Yawning, I slid from the warm sheets. When I opened the door, Rook withdrew his hand, ready to rap again.

“Walk with me,” he commanded. Tired of receiving orders, I crossed my arms. Rook’s eyes travelled along my arms, wrapped so tightly around my body that nothing might breach them.

“I mean…” Rook’s throat bobbed. He looked as if someone had just asked him an important question, the answer to which was completely unknown to him, and his only option was to guess.

With uncertainty, he said, “ Will you …walk with me?”

“I’m not in the mood.”

Rook produced a basket from behind his back. “Might I tempt you?” I didn’t budge. Rook eased the basket forward, gently nudging my arms. My stomach growled, and I sighed.

“Let me get dressed.”

***

Sitting out on the lawn, we watched the sun rising over the pond. Beside me, Rook leaned back on his elbows. As the light skimmed the water, it shone warmly on his cheeks and the swath of chest peeking through his flannel shirt. Cracking a hazelnut, I asked, “When was the last time you ate?”

“A few nights ago.” He scrunched an eye against the sun as he looked at me. “Calf.”

“How long until you have to eat again?”

“Weeks.”

“Really? You don’t get hungry for weeks?”

Rook frowned. “I’m always hungry.”

“Oh, I see.”

“I don’t enjoy it.”

I nodded and ate quietly.

“Did you sleep okay?” Rook asked.

I shrugged, and an uncomfortable silence passed. I realized it was my turn to speak. “And you?”

“A little trouble falling asleep, but I’ll admit, once I’m out, I sleep like the dead.” Rook laughed. “My mother always worried if there was a fire, I’d sleep right through it and into the next life.”

Rook fell silent.

His confession—freely admitting a weakness I might use against him—sent excitement rushing through me. Though, as Rook’s shoulder’s slumped, the thrill melted into something I was not expecting.

Guilt.

Rook reminded me of Old Prunetta, who’d lost her partner fifty years ago.

So desperate for conversation and connection, Prunetta’s words often tumbled freely from her lips.

I recalled a time when she’d admitted to possessing a “dreadful lack of bowel control” without a shred of embarrassment or remorse.

I’m not implying she should be embarrassed—it is a natural human function—but it’s an odd response to “How are you today?” Sometimes, when Rook spoke, he displayed that same eagerness for the opportunity to talk and be listened to.

But, while Prunetta was shameless in her sharing, the moment the words left Rook, he wore a downcast look of regret.

Almost as if he were cursing himself for divulging information, simply because he might be lonely.

And he was right to curse his tongue, for I couldn’t unhear his admission of weakness.

The breeze picked up, blowing our hair and carrying the scent of spring peonies. Memories of happier times encouraged a soft sigh from somewhere deep within me. I twisted, searching for the source. Sure enough, fat, pink blooms dotted the overgrown garden behind us.

Rook’s brows furrowed, asking a silent question.

Though I was reluctant to offer him more information than was necessary, brief joy loosened my tongue.

“Peonies were my father’s favourite. When he was alive, he filled the back garden with them.

” I frowned. “They aren’t useful; you can’t eat them or use them for healing.

Ours haven’t bloomed in many years.” Absently, I stroked the golden inscription on my cloak.

“I hadn’t realized how much I missed them. ”

A cry rang out from the trees across the pond. Rook and I stilled, staring into the woods. The cry came again, a pained, frantic screech.

“What is it?” I whispered.

“Some poor creature being devoured, I imagine.” Rook stood and brushed off his trousers.

“Should we help it?”

“I’m more concerned with what’s eating it.

” Rook pointed to the ground. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.

” Rook walked along the water’s edge. I sat back amongst the grass as he disappeared into the trees.

I looked back at the pond—a pale creature froze at my feet, its gangly arms flexed from pulling itself up the bank.

The creature and I stared at one another, frozen.

It resembled a person, but waterlogged and fleshy, with dark, unblinking eyes. To my horror, the thing smiled. Tiny, fishlike teeth poked at jagged angles from its mouth. Broken from my spell, I cried out for the only person who might help me.

“ROOO—”

The creature lunged.

I tossed the basket at it, sending nuts and apples bouncing.

Unbothered, the creature grabbed my boot.

I kicked and it released me with a wet hiss.

I crawled away but fingers curled in my hair and yanked me back.

“Agh!” I slammed into the ground, and the creature began dragging me toward the lake.

“ROOK!” I pried at the fingers wrapped in my hair, but they were granite.

I struggled to regain my footing, but my feet slipped as I was heaved down the bank.

Up above, the pale sky passed quickly as the water edged closer.

I scratched the creature’s arms, felt its skin rip and tear beneath my nails—it didn’t let go.

The inevitable splash rang out and I gulped air just as cold water shocked me.

Though I fought to rise, the creature kept me submerged.

I wrenched my eyes open; the blurry monster wore a wide, menacing smile.

I hammered the hand curled around my throat, but my movement was useless, slowed by the water.

Fire radiated through my lungs, but I could do nothing.

The edge of my vision darkened.

So many faces appeared as my struggling weakened. My father and mother, together, as they always would be. Lottie, with her tangled hair. Lysander, not sick and dying, but alive and happy.

I failed all of you.

As the last of my strength slipped away, Rook visited me. What are you doing here? I thought, surprised to find comfort in his sharp, blue eyes.

Bubbles erupted from the creature’s mouth in a choking spray, ripping me back to the present.

Crimson water swirled like murky ink and the grip loosened on my neck.

Through the cloudy water, I caught sight of a hand protruding through the creature’s chest. The hand withdrew, leaving a bloody hole in its place.

Strong arms wrapped around me and yanked me up.

I gasped as I broke the surface. Grass cushioned me and Rook’s terrified face appeared.

“Are you injured?!”

My response was a sputtering cough that sent water at Rook. He wiped his face and rounded on the pond. Pushing to his feet, Rook loomed at the edge. His chest heaved as he stared at the creature, who’d retreated safely into the pond. Already, the gaping hole in the thing’s breast was shrinking.

“Touch her again and I’ll rip your fucking heart out!”

The creature did not acknowledge Rook’s threat, only slid noiselessly beneath the surface.

Rook turned a scowling gaze all around, lingering on the far away trees.

Only when he was certain nothing approached did he kneel next to me.

Blood dribbled down Rook’s arm in watery rivulets.

My instinct was to lean away, but I remembered the terror as the monster clutched my throat, knowing I would die.

And surely, I would have, had Rook not come along and tore me from the creature’s claws.

I made no protest as Rook rubbed my back.

Soaking wet, a chill settled on me, and I shivered.

Rook directed my face to his. After an examination of my trembling lips, he said, “Let’s get inside.”

“I’m f-f-fine!” I chattered.

“No, you’re n-n-not,” Rook chattered back. “Up.” Rook helped me. I rubbed my arms as we walked back to the castle.

“Would you like me to…?” Rook reached out. His arms looked awfully warm, and I was so terribly cold…

I shook my head and responded with a curt, “No.”

When we made it back to the castle, I tried to head up to my room.

Blocking my path, Rook pointed below the stairs, to the kitchens.

“They have the largest fireplace.” Reluctantly, I followed Rook into the belly of the castle.

A fire started, and Rook moved a wooden chair before the large hearth.

He ordered me to stay put, then wandered off.

I scooched closer to the fire, sapping as much heat as I could.

Rook returned, setting dry clothing on the butcher’s block. He knelt and asked, “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine,” I mumbled. “Just tired.”

Rook glanced at my lips and frowned. “You’re blue.” He stood, pulling me with him. “Take off your clothes.”

Blinking back at him, I slurred, “What?”

“Your wet clothes—remove them.” I crinkled my nose, but Rook continued, “Look.” He tapped the dry clothes. “Put these on.”

I tried to undo the cloak button at my throat, but my hands trembled. “Let me.” Rook’s quick fingers undid the button, and my cloak fell away. I stripped off my wet shirt and tossed it aside, then my trousers. Standing in only my soaked undergarments, I hesitated.

Rook stared at my chest, at the transparent fabric that clung to every goosebump on my breasts. Slowly, hungrily , Rook’s gaze fell lower. An unexpected rush of excitement fluttered through me. It made me feel powerful, to have him there, watching me.

Wanting me.

Perhaps guided by my desire to torture him further or some other, unknown compulsion, I stripped off my wet bandeau. It fell to the ground with a wet plop! Gazing at my breasts, a muscle twitched along Rook’s jaw.

His starved eyes met mine.

It was only when I bent to slide my underwear off that he turned his back to me. He cleared his throat and said, “I’ll give you some privacy then.”

“Suit yourself. Would you hand me those?”