24. Katrin

Chapter 24

Katrin

T he Ferrier's words had hurt, but it wasn't anything I was unaccustomed to. At home, they'd called me cursed, tainted, infected, but those words didn't wound nearly as much as abandoned, ignored, and disappointed.

My shadow guards brushed along my arms, apologizing for their master's curt dismissal.

"It's fine," I sighed, and it was. I hadn't come here seeking friendship. Frankly, I hadn't expected any pleasantries from one that referred to himself as the "Right Hand of Death." No, this situation was far from what I'd thought it would be, but I didn't hold my breath in hopes of him changing his stance on our conditional alliance.

One of the shadows brushed my arm again then appeared to gesture toward the stairs. I didn't know if it was offering to carry me up or insinuating I should follow after the Ferrier. Either way, I wanted to be as far from him and his dark mood as possible.

I shook my head and chewed on my lower lip. If anything, our sad attempt at a conversation—well, my attempt and his adamant refusal—had reminded me that my time here was temporary. I needed to find a cure. I needed to return to my life.

With the sun giving life to the mist beyond the windows, the dark rooms and eerie corridors became abandoned relics once more, aged and empty, but no longer haunted.

I retraced the steps of my earlier wandering and headed for the library. Upon first inspection, it had seemed like all the tomes within were written in some ancient script unknown to me, but I thought it as good a place as any to search for clues to the manor's mysterious master. The only other place I was likely to have any luck was currently occupied by the man in question. Though it was likely to be one of the few times the room was unlocked, I didn't fancy a venture up two flights of stairs to barge in on someone who'd just insulted me for asking about his night.

But I was the fool. It had been only days ago that I was hiding my trembling hands in my skirts as I stood before him. What had happened between now and then? Was I so much a product of my upbringing that an alluring face and sculpted form would have me ignoring everything I knew about this man?

Apparently.

When I reached the library, I paused before the great double doors, one hand resting on the bronze doorknob. In the silence, my mind replayed every word of our conversation like actors rehearsing the same scene over and over again. I pressed my forehead to the wood and squeezed my eyes shut like I could force out the memories

"Stupid. Stupid. Stupid." I punctuated each word with a knock of my head against the door. Thud. Thud. Thud.

He'd warned me that he was no longer human. He'd told me, in no uncertain terms, that he no longer suffered such weak emotions.

In less than a week, I'd forgotten. Had I imagined our similarities? Created parallels between us where there were none?

He was not my mirror. He was an agent of Death, and I would be wise to remember that.

Exhaling, I pushed away my train of thought and opened the doors to the exquisite room beyond.

The Ferrier's library was unlike anything I'd ever seen. Easily double the size of the ballroom, several rows of enormous free-standing shelves stood like giant dominoes awaiting their fall. A rolling staircase sat at the end of the bookcase closest to me, providing access to the highest shelves. The entire room glowed in blue, green, and amber hues courtesy of the sunlight coming through the stained glass windows on the far wall. Several iron chandeliers hung between the rows of books with lanterns capping each end. There were multiple seating areas, some with large wooden desks and others with plush sofas and chairs. Somehow, the overall effect of the cavernous room was cozy, inviting.

My guards flitted off to a darkened corner as I walked up to the first shelf. Inhaling the scent of aged paper and leather, I ran my hand over the worn spines. The words beneath my fingertips were foreign to me as they had been upon my earlier perusal.

I moved to the next shelf and the next, waiting for something familiar to stand out among the nonsense. If this library was as old as I suspected, it was possible every text within was written in the same language. If so, I was out of luck.

Five shelves into my search, I had to stifle a yawn as exhaustion finally settled over me. Not wanting the trip to have been in vain, I grabbed a random book off the shelf and carried it to one of the tufted sofas by the unlit fireplace.

I all but collapsed onto the cushion, releasing a cloud of dust that I batted away as I coughed. My eyes watered, and I waited for the dust to settle before glancing at the book I'd chosen.

It was a hefty tome, as many of them were, with a dark leather cover embossed with letters I recognized in patterns I didn't. I traced my fingers over the details, mindful of the cracks where the leather had dried. The spine creaked as I pried it open, but the vellum pages within appeared in good condition aside from their slight discoloration.

I flipped through the pages with gentle hands, careful not to tear any. The words remained a mystery, but there were illustrations every few pages that appeared to depict people of importance. Their faces meant nothing to me, but I thought they might have been rulers of another land or another time.

I didn't mean to fall asleep. My body, it would seem, had other plans. Next I knew, I was being nudged awake by a persistent blast of cold air. I shivered and drew the book that was still clutched in my hands over my chest. As if bolstered by my movement, the breeze became a typhoon that hauled me upright. My eyes popped open, only to be met by complete and utter darkness. Before I could scream, the shadows parted, drifting back into the general form of my two sentinels.

I melted back onto the couch, relief turning my bones to liquid as my mind caught up to my body's wakefulness.

The doorknob rattled, and I sprang upright again. I had approximately two seconds to decide how to prepare for the Ferrier's entrance—because who else would it be?

If I stood, it would look like I had risen because of his presence, which was not the response I wanted to portray. As such, acting casual seemed the only option worth considering.

Faster than I would have thought possible, I tore open the book and hefted it in front of my face.

The door opened, and I fought the impulse to watch him enter the room. Keeping my nose down, I pointedly ignored the draw of his dark force, going so far as to slide one finger along the page as though I were skimming the text.

His boot clad feet stopped within my field of vision and my heartbeat intensified. I pulled the book closer in case he could see the pulse of it through the fabric of my dress.

"You slept in the library?"

"What? No, obviously not. I've just been reading." I looked at the book with unseeing eyes, all of my focus going to the man on the other side of the cover.

"I didn't realize you could read Old Demonic, Miss Fil'Owen."

"I was perusing it for interesting pictures."

"It's upside-down."

Slamming the book closed, I glared at the Ferrier. "You startled me. I was about to head down to the kitchens to break my fast."

It had been a mistake to remain sitting. I felt like a petulant child craning my neck to look up at him. I pushed up to standing to emphasize my point about preparing to leave, but the Ferrier still towered over me.

"Yes, of course. You must have been drooling in anticipation of your next meal."

My hand flew to my chin, swiping at nothing as my fingers came away dry. The Ferrier smirked—actually smirked —and I wondered if his shadows were fast enough to protect him from a book launched at his head.

"You can't lie to me," he said, gesturing to his two shadows that had remained by my side.

I glared at them sidelong. The traitors. "Fine, I fell asleep here. It was a bit chilly upstairs today. Some kind of bitter frost radiated from the second floor."

Was that color staining the Ferrier of Souls' cheeks? For the first time since I'd seen his face, his mask of cold indifference had disappeared, perhaps without his knowing. His throat bobbed as he looked away, a muscle feathering in his jaw as he schooled his features.

"Did you have need of me, oh great Shepherd of Souls?"

"I wanted to apologize for my part in our interaction this morning. I was not myself." He paused as though reconsidering. "I was not the version of myself that I wish to be."

Tipping my head to one side, I weighed his words against what I knew of the Ferrier. His stance was relaxed, hands in his pockets, expression blank as I openly scrutinized him. Here was a man who had lost everything to work for Death.

Or had he given up his life willingly?

Therein lay the difference. Was this someone who had walled off all trace of his humanity to protect himself? Or someone who possessed so little of it to begin with that he'd willingly sacrificed that part of himself for powers of darkness?

Considering what I knew of people, I was hesitant to relinquish my suspicions, but I knew I'd find no answers by pushing him away. "I am sorry if I said something to offend you."

A corner of his mouth tipped up. Not a full smile, not even a smirk, but acknowledgment of my words just the same. "No apologies necessary, Miss Fil'Owen. Some nights my duties are more trying than others."

I supposed that explained his mood swing this morning. "Do you want to talk about it?" I ventured.

"Decidedly not."

Right. Well… "While we are on the subject of things said this morning, you mentioned bathing." He opened his mouth to speak, but I held up a hand. "I did stumble across the bathing chambers on my self-guided tour. However, I'm embarrassed to admit we had running water back home. I'm afraid I don't…" I trailed off, ashamed to finish the thought.

His face lit with understanding, quickly concealing the hint of shock that arched his brows. "You don't know how to draw yourself a bath?"

I cast my eyes down, certain this was the height of humiliation. Forget falling on my arse in the rain outside of school and having to endure the entire day with a mud-stained backside. Revealing to the Ferrier of Souls that I was too pampered to know how to bathe myself had my insides turning to melted wax.

The Ferrier's eyes gleamed with mischief as the smirk reappeared on his lips. "Are you asking me to help you bathe, Miss Fil'Owen?"

My toes curled, and I was suddenly very aware of our proximity. Though it seemed inconsequential, I realized I'd made no effort to hide my shadows around him. I resisted the urge to duck my chin, staring defiantly back into the Ferrier's dark eyes, but his gaze never strayed to my marked side.

My face heated at his unwavering attention. I couldn't tell if his question had been in jest, but I did truly need his help if I had any intention of bathing in the next year.

"I am asking for your assistance in running a bath," I clarified. "I assure you, I am quite capable of cleaning myself."

He chuckled and something stirred deep in my belly.

"Grab something clean to wear and meet me at the bathing chambers. I'd be happy to assist you."

The Ferrier turned and strode from the room, darkness following in his wake.