9. Katrin

Chapter 9

Katrin

T he carriage bounced and swayed as it headed into Felwyck, the cantering horses becoming a dull roaring in my ears. I watched the familiar landscape pass by without a hint of nostalgia. Yes, it was my home, but lately, it had been more prison than manor. It didn't matter that it was a self-imposed sentence. No one but my parents had balked at my departure from society.

The mark had been easy to hide beneath sleeves and gloves at first, but as soon as the affliction had climbed my neck, I became the scorn of the town. The social effects had been worse than the shadows themselves to the point that by the age of fifteen, I was mostly sequestered to the estate.

Children can be particularly cruel, and my father pulled me out of school before we even knew what ailed me. I'd had a private tutor for my studies and rarely made an appearance when guests visited. Even those I saw regularly treated me differently—my parents included. Either I was a delicate flower to be protected at all costs, or I was infected with a highly contagious illness that was sure to kill any who came in contact with me.

Though I hoped for considerable changes upon my return, I also feared what my future would look like then. Would I be cast out once again? Would I still be other ? Would I go from being the girl who was marked by Death to the woman who cheated him?

It was a risk I was willing to take. Any life would be better than the one I'd lived these last several years. At least on my return, I would no longer have to bear the constant threat of Death.

The carriage rolled to a stop, pulling me from my morose thoughts. I recognized the dwelling immediately as that of the Rencourts. Black drapes had been drawn over the windows, signifying their loss. I owed thanks to the late Lord Rencourt. Without his death, I would never have been able to summon the Ferrier. I hadn't known the man personally, but I still felt a pang of sympathy at the thought of his family living on without him.

I didn't want to think about the possibility of one or both of my parents passing while I was gone. Our relationships were complicated, but they loved me, and I them.

The Ferrier stepped down from the carriage, and I made to follow, making it as far as opening the door before his voice floated back to me on a phantom wind.

"Wait here."

Fearing what would happen if I disobeyed him this soon into our arrangement, I closed the door and settled in to wait.

I watched, unsure how he planned to enter. It was customary to leave one window open for the reaper to enter, but I couldn't picture this hulking man climbing through such a small opening.

His shadows writhed around him, billowing like clouds of smoke as he neared the house. One moment, he stood outside the Rencourts' home. The next, his shadows engulfed him. When the doorstep cleared, the Ferrier was no longer there.

My eyes darted around the street, seeking his dark form. I gasped when he walked past the window inside the building. Somehow, his shadows had transported him into the house. He disappeared into the darkened halls for only a few minutes before reappearing with the spirit in tow.

There was nothing particularly distinctive about the soul. I assumed it was old Lord Rencourt because who else would be walking out of their home escorted by the Ferrier of Souls? And they were walking, not floating as I may have expected.

Perhaps when I returned from my year away, I could spend my life correcting the myths of death. So far, the few I'd known had proven inaccurate, aside from the coins, that is.

The pair approached the carriage, and I froze with the realization of what would come next. Sure enough, the Ferrier opened the door, bringing me face-to-face with the ghost of Lord Rencourt—or rather, his soul.

In the moonlight, his form had a faint shimmer. He was corporeal but not fully there, either, like he'd left some vital piece behind and brought only the most reduced version of himself.

Lord Rencourt stared at me open-mouthed, clearly not expecting to share his ride to the Afterworld with anyone else.

I searched my mind for something to break the mounting tension in the confined space.

"Good evening." It was better than nothing, but truthfully, I didn't know what one was meant to say to the recently departed. I'm sorry you died seemed uncouth even with the best of intentions behind it. "I'm—uh—Katrin Fil'Owen."

Recognition flashed in Rencourt's eyes, and he finally accepted the seat across from me.

His knee bumped mine, and I jumped at the contact, shifting my legs to one side to cover up my embarrassing shock. I'd still expected him to pass right through me.

"Lady Katrin, is it? I reckon all those rumors were true, then. I'm sorry. It's always a shame when Death comes for one so young."

It was odd that I was considered too young to die but old by marriage standards.

I opened my mouth to correct the soul, but movement from the reaper caught my eye. He shut the door with a click and brought a single gloved finger up to where his mouth might be, a clear enough warning to hold my tongue.

Clearing my throat, I returned my focus to the spirit before me, his head tilted to one side as he awaited my reply.

"Thank you. Yes," I said, feigning sorrow. "It was a tragedy."

My response proved enough for the dead, and he lapsed into silence while I snuck occasional glances at my temporary coach mate.

He wore a dark tweed suit, likely the best clothing he'd owned as that was customary for death rites. If I had to guess, I'd have put him about ten years older than my own father. His hair curled slightly around his ears and what might once have been chestnut brown was now a charming cinnamon sugar. Though a full beard covered most of his face, I had an unobstructed view of ice-blue eyes—wide with curiosity not horror.

His demeanor struck me as odd. I'd anticipated a wailing specter being dragged away to the Afterworld, but Rencourt wasn't weeping or moaning, nor did he seem anxious or fearful. I couldn't fathom accepting death so calmly. After several minutes of biting my tongue, the questions practically bubbled out of me.

"Are you not afraid, Lord Rencourt?" I blurted out.

Rencourt frowned at my outburst. He didn't look at me, rather his gaze settled somewhere over my shoulder as though the answer could be found written on the carriage walls. When he finally looked my way, he smiled.

"No, I'm not afraid, Miss Fil'Owen." Even his voice was calm and soothing. "Are you?"

I ignored the question. "But why aren't you afraid? Do you know what comes next? What to expect in the Afterworld?"

He shook his head. "Of course I don't. No one does, but I reckon there's not much to be done for it now, is there? It is not the end of all things, but rather, the beginning of something new. I look forward to what the next world shall bring and hope that I will see my loved ones again on the other side."

I chewed my lip, unable to refute what he said, and unwilling to dampen his good spirits even if I could. I surely didn't share his enthusiasm for new beginnings, especially since my relocation was only temporary. Though the possibility of death had been a constant presence in my life, I'd never come around to accepting the inevitability. As such, I'd never really contemplated what I'd find in the Afterworld. It wasn't my world, and that was all that mattered.

The moon had fallen behind the tree line when the carriage finally slowed to a stop. I glanced out the window but was unable to see beyond the dim glow of the coach's lanterns. I had no idea where we were, but that was to be expected given how infrequently I'd left my family's estate.

"Guess this is it." Rencourt patted his legs once as though signaling the end of a friendly gathering instead of a shared carriage ride to the Afterworld.

In the blink of an eye, the Ferrier was at the door, pulling it open on silent hinges and stepping aside to allow Rencourt to pass.

I remained seated, anticipating the order from the Ferrier.

As his feet touched the ground, Rencourt turned to look at me.

"Aren't you coming?" he asked.

I started to shake my head, but the Ferrier saved me from needing to concoct an excuse.

"Miss Fil'Owen will be departing elsewhere."

If Rencourt found the Ferrier's reply odd, he didn't question it. Together, he and the Ferrier headed away from the carriage. Within a few steps, they faded from view, lost to the dark.