The Deepest Night (10 page)

She stood at the edge of the tiles in a vanilla lace dress that already looked wilted, smiling a cool, cool smile. “Well, you know. The early bird and all that. I’ve found that one discovers the most
interesting
sights first thing in the morning.”

“I’m teaching Eleanore how to swim.”

“Oh? Is
that
what you’re teaching her?”

“So far. Perhaps you’d care to shove off so we can get back to it.”

“Back to what, exactly? The swimming or the lovemaking?”

I said, “We weren’t—”

“Both,” retorted Armand. “And if you don’t mind, I’d rather we didn’t have an audience.”

“Then don’t do it
under
glass
.”

“Stop it, both of you.” I slapped my hand against the water for emphasis. “We’re just swimming, Sophia. Honestly.”

“
Honestly
, Eleanore, apparently neither of you have realized that half the mansion is already awake. So unless you’re planning a wedding in here—”

I bobbled back and choked again, water filling my mouth.

“—I think it’s best that I stay. I’m an excellent chaperone. Pious as a saint. Ask anyone.”

“Bugger you,” Armand muttered.

“Language, Lord Armand! I’m shocked.”

“I doubt it, since you’re the one who taught me that word.”

Her smile returned. “Chloe was right about one thing. This summer would have been positively wasted on dances and social calls. Why, I might have missed all of this! Shall I go wake her to join in our fun?”

Armand shook his head in disgust. “Stay, if you must.”

“Smashing!” She clapped her hands. “Swim away, children. Swim away. I’ll just be
right
here.
Chaperoning.”

I looked at Armand standing inches from me, water breaking against his chest, all ivory skin and toned muscles, his jaw set, his eyes narrowed.

I couldn’t tell if it was me or the pool, but suddenly I was much, much warmer than before.

And I knew I should be glad that Sophia was going to stay.

My almost-but-not-quite fainting spell from the day before had been noted by more than just Chloe. I wasn’t three feet into the induction room before Deirdre cornered me.

“Ah, Eliza! There you are.” She gave me that quick smile, which I’d come to realize didn’t necessarily mean she was pleased. “How are you?”

“Fine.” Knackered, actually. I’d been up practically all night and then had my first swimming lesson this morning, and nearly everything about me right now ached.

Armand had been patient with me. Sophia had not. I’d endured her heckling (
You
call
that
a
forward
stroke? Eleanore, you’re useless!
) for almost an hour before wading near enough to splash her pretty dress all down the front.

“Good, good. Listen, dearie, I think perhaps you might be better suited for a position slightly less … strenuous than assisting Dr. Newcastle and me.”

“Oh,” I said, partly offended. Mostly relieved.

“There, now, don’t you fret! There are still many important tasks left undone! Why, Mrs. Quinn was just mentioning that we’re always running short of properly rolled bandages. And many of these poor lads are sorely lacking for books and games. You might have a hand in distributing those!”

“Games,” I said.

She clasped me on the shoulder and lowered her voice. “Not everyone is cut out for the realities of war, Eleanore. It is a grim business, a grim business indeed. You’re still very young. You’ve not dealt with death before, and that’s perfectly normal. A slip of a child like you shouldn’t have to dwell on such things. You’re more concerned with bonnets than bullets, I daresay! Have a go at the bandages, won’t you? There’s a good lass.”

Another smile, and she was gone. I watched her until my eyes were caught by someone new: Chloe, seated in a chair by a bed, a man’s hand clenched in hers, speaking something I could not hear. She felt my stare and returned it with a smirk, still talking. A duo of doctors worked frantically around her, both of them spattered in blood, and no one was giving
her
the boot.

I turned away, my chest tight. I walked a few aimless paces one direction, then another, until I found myself by the piano.

Someone had arranged a sheet over it, but it was already sliding off. A tray of dirty scalpels and clamps had been set haphazardly atop the sheet. A fly buzzed around it, hopping from blade to blade.

I was
not
useless. I was small and marked with a strange magic; I was different, but I would not be made useless. Not by Sophia, not by Deirdre or Chloe. Not by anyone. I had my own kind of power, and even if practically no one else knew of it or understood it—even I didn’t fully understand it—it was real. It existed.

I scooted the bench into place. I took my seat and raised the cover from the keys.

It took a moment, but eventually a song did come. I followed it with my hands, soft as I could at first, just in case someone noticed and got angry. But no one stopped me, so I kept playing, my eyes closed, swaying in place because this was a meandering, sweeping sort of song, with parts that danced far and near and then doubled back on themselves, echoing, and I needed to concentrate to catch the smallest of the notes.

I wasn’t sure where it came from. It seemed more permanent somehow than the bits of gold and silver worn by the people swarming around me. Perhaps it belonged to the limestone base of Tranquility itself. Perhaps Tranquility was trying to assert its own voice. After all, it wasn’t the house’s fault it’d been designed by a crazy person.

I finished and opened my eyes. Nothing in the chamber had changed. Same bustle, same noise, same smell.

Well, almost nothing had changed.

“I liked that,” said a soldier dreamily from his bed. “Reminded me of home. Of the rye fields in autumn. All the frost on the stalks, and the sun coming though.”

A new man spoke, sitting up as best he could with his torso and both arms swaddled in bandages. “Miss, can you play ‘Tillie down the Lane’?”

“Um, no,” I said. “Sorry. I don’t know that one.”

“How about ‘Always Love a Sailor’?” called out a different man.

“ ‘Green Apples’!”

“ ‘Follow Me to the River’!”

“ ‘When She Said Yes’!”

“No.” I felt my face begin to heat. “I’m terribly sorry. I don’t know any popular songs.”

During all this Chloe had come to stand nearby, her lips pursed, her hands on her hips. She practically radiated triumph, a goddess towering over my hunched-up humiliation.

“Oh, get up, Eleanore. I know them.”

I ducked my head to hide my blush and swiveled off the bench. Goddess Chloe took my place, smoothed her dress, and smiled at the room. “ ‘Green Apples,’ did you say?”

I left to roll bandages.

Chapter 15

I was asleep without dreams this time, cradled in a deep and dark silence, when I felt the hand at my cheek.

I sat up and swung out. Armand danced instantly out of range, nimble as a seal in water.

Or a dragon in air.

“Lora!” he whispered, both palms held out, staying well back. “It’s me! Peace!”

I rubbed my eyes, wondering if this was the beginning of some unlikely new dream.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he answered. “It’s time, that’s all. Come on.”

“Time for what?”

“Time to plan, love.”

Lottie emitted a particularly powerful snore; we both glanced at my door.

“Now?” I wasn’t fully awake, nor did I want to be. I was tired. I wanted more sleep.

“It was your idea, remember? Or would you rather keep playing nurse?”

My shoulders sagged, and he nodded.

“Get dressed. Bring a coat. I’ll wait in the hall.”

“What are we—”

“Hurry. There are only so many hours left to hide us.”

We were outside in a place I’d never been before, camped near the border of a tall crumbly cliff, ocean below, the woods rambling behind us thick and untouched. I assumed this was all still part of Armand’s holdings, but I wasn’t sure. All I could tell for certain is that we were miles from both the village and Tranquility, and that Iverson and its isle made a small, lonely blot against the water to the east.

He’d motored us here, guided by nothing more than the hazy starlight (the stars themselves oddly, stubbornly silent behind the haze) and the blurred cream half smile of the moon. Armand had refused to turn on the headlamps. I’d prayed the whole drive that his night vision was significantly better than mine.

He’d brought a blanket, a basket, and me.

The blanket was spread upon the grass, the basket was emptied of its bread and ham and cheese, and I was the one eating and listening and biting my tongue, because he’d made me promise not to interrupt until he was done explaining.

I’d agreed. The honey-smoky fragrance of the ham had been too much to resist.

But now the food was gone and he was done, and I had resorted to staring down at my clenched fingers in my lap.

“That,” I said to my fingers, “is an abysmal plan.”

“What?” He sounded indignant. “No, it isn’t. Which part?”

“All of it, Mandy. You can’t come along, and that’s that. There’s no safe way to keep you with me when I fly—”

“I explained to you about the saddle—”

I straightened. “I am not a horse! And anyway, every time I go to smoke, then what? I’ll tell you: you and the saddle—” I made a plunging motion with my hand. “Straight down to earth. Splat.”

“So you won’t go to smoke while I’m on you. You can take off and land as a dragon, can’t you?”

“No! I mean, I don’t know. I’ve never tried.”

“Aaaand … that’s why we’re here, far from prying eyes. Practice.”

I groaned and flopped back upon the blanket, covering my face with both hands. “You don’t understand!”

He didn’t speak right away, but I felt his gaze. I felt the warmth of him though my new cotton dress and old battered peacoat, though he sat feet away. “Explain it to me, then.”

“I’m not good at it. You know that I’m not.”

“At what?”

I threw my hands back to my sides. The stars shivered in the misty black sky, distant as unspoken wishes.

She’s just so hopeless … 

Eleanore, you’re useless … 

A
slip
of
a
child … 

“I’m not
good
at any of it yet. Half the time I think I’ll be smoke, but I Turn to girl instead. I’ve only managed to be a dragon a handful of times, at best.”

“A glorious handful,” he said quietly. “A damned brilliant handful.”

“But—”

His voice took on a harsher note. “Don’t be dense, Lora. If I could do this for you, don’t you think I would? I can’t even manage smoke. There’s no hope of
me
Turning into a dragon to fly halfway across Europe. It has to be you.”

I glanced up at him, hard edges and burning blue eyes, that absolute focus it seemed he had whenever I caught him looking at me. Like I was something shimmering right at the brink of his understanding. A mirage, bright and unbelievable.

“Mandy, I’m saying … that you can’t be with me. This idea of yours, to ride on my back, it can’t happen. If I lose control—if I Turn to smoke or girl in midair—”

“You’ll Turn back and catch me,” he said, calm.

“That’s easy for
you
to say.”

“Not really. Frankly, I feel queasy just thinking about it. I’ve never liked heights.”

“This isn’t funny!”

“I should say not. I rather enjoy myself all in one piece. But …” He sighed and pushed his hands through his hair. “Look, waif. This is the way it’s going to be. This is the way it’s
meant
to be. The two of us together. Besides, do you even speak German?”

I averted my eyes, then gave in. “No,” I confessed. “French. Very bad French. I’ve only had a couple of months of it.”

“
Das
habe
ich
mir
gedacht, mein Liebling
. You need me. I need you.” His lips curved, although it wasn’t quite a smile. “I think fate and the stars would agree. We’re a pair. It’s time we acted like one.”

A salt breeze skated up the cliff and pushed hard against us; the blanket flipped back, covering the empty plates and our feet. He went to his knees to resmooth it.

“That’s not all,” I said, following his hands, his back and arms, pale sleeves rolled up, an economy of grace even in these brisk movements.

“What else?”

It killed me to admit this. “I’m not entirely well yet. Dr. Hembry says I lost a good deal of blood. I still get weak.”

“I know,” he said, and sat back, cross-legged. “Did you think I hadn’t noticed?” He sent me a sidelong look, then knocked his knee against mine. “It’s one of the reasons I’m always feeding you.”

I laughed unhappily. “Nice to know it’s not merely that you think I’m insatiable.”

“No,” Armand said, and turned his gaze out to the mist-clotted sea. “You’re not the insatiable one.”

The surf crashed against the shore, a hard tinny sound. I hoped that it covered the noise of my heartbeat, how it had stuttered and started again, one tiny instant of betrayal.

“Practice,” I said brightly, and leapt to my feet. “Watch my clothes, eh?”

His brows raised.

I Turned to smoke. I swirled up above the tips of the trees, thought about it, then flowed out past the cliff, over the open water.

I couldn’t yet swim, true. But if I accidentally Turned back into a girl while floating in the sky, I thought the Channel might be a softer landing than oak trees and birches.

The mist drifted below me. I could see flashes of sea beneath it, dark waters sprinkled with faint silver coins.

Dragon,
I thought, intent.
You
are
a
dragon. Not a person, not smoke, dragon, dragon, you’re a—

I Turned, and it worked.

Right side up this time, wings out, diving down a steep, invisible slope. I flew so low that my tail scratched a line though the mist, dividing it into parts.

It felt cool and wet. It whipped up in a riot of curls behind me, marking my passage like an ovation of raised and dissolving hands.

I glanced down at my feet, golden scales a tarnished glimmer, my claws reassuringly wicked and sharp.

The stars had called me Fireheart. I liked that. A being with a name like that could surely handle something so basic as flight and landing.

Right?

Higher, lower, testing my wings. It was easier to soar as a friend to the wind, so I faced the other way and tried it like that for a while, until the crenulated outline of Iverson looked less like a chess piece and more like a real castle. There were lights shining from some of the windows, and I wondered who had to stay on for the summer, rattling around that cold hollow place.

Not the headmistress, apparently. Maybe Almeda, the housekeeper. The always-charming Gladys.

Mr. Hastings, the groundskeeper—and Jesse’s great-uncle. He lived alone above the stables; from here I could nearly see it, nearly make out the smudge of light peeking out past the doors … 

I turned about, telling myself I had to before someone caught sight of me.

I circled up and back and found the cliff with Armand motionless at its edge. There was the blanket behind him, the motorcar, and a small clearing behind that. Not much, but it would have to do.

I sailed closer, concentrating on the scrap of land I wanted, feeling my wings adapt to my target, shorter beats, a higher arch.

Closer. Closer … 

I passed over Armand, ruffling his hair and shirt and trousers. I was by him in a breath, past the auto, sinking to the clearing—

Too fast. My body realized it before my brain did. My legs stiffened and my wings tried to reverse but they couldn’t, and the ground rose up so quickly that all I could see were blades of grass and—

I struck the earth and went end over end, and my right wing got crushed and my tail hit something solid that squealed, and the next thing I knew I was on my back seeing stars—fake ones, woozy orange balls, up and down, up and down—and when I could focus again my brain was screaming,
Breathe!
So I did.

A human was running toward me. No, not a human.

Armand, his eyes gone an incredible, luminous blue.

I turned my head and looked at him, dazed and happy in some weird, detached way, despite the fact that I felt broken in about a dozen places.

Armand’s eyes could
glow
, just like mine.

Armand was just like—

“Lora!”

He fell to his knees beside me, his hands roaming frantically along my face.

“Lora! Are you hurt?”

I smiled. Well, I would have. It was more like I showed him my teeth, which didn’t have nearly the same effect. He scowled down at me, and his eyes reverted to normal.

“Eleanore, it’s me. Don’t you know me?”

I sighed, then Turned back to girl.

“Ouch,” I said.

“Oh!” He lurched away from me. “Oh, ah, you’re—you don’t have any—”

“Just toss me my coat, will you?”

I kept my eyes closed until I heard him return and the rough wool weight of the peacoat was draped over my torso. The ground was lumpy and there was a rock digging into my thigh, but I didn’t feel up to moving yet, so I ignored it.

“Mandy. Do you know what just happened?”

He settled down at my side, running a hand along my arm. “You managed to destroy my father’s favorite car?”

I sat up, clutching the coat to me. The motorcar had a series of long, gaping gashes angled down its side, all the way from the bonnet to the back door. The tears were as neat and clean as if someone had taken shears to the steel.

My tail, I realized. My
barbed
tail.

“Uh … ,” I said.

“Don’t worry. There are a dozen more you can go through before we have to start buying new ones.”

“No, not that. I mean, I’m sorry about that, of course—”

“As long as you’re not injured—”

“No, listen! Armand, you … your eyes. They were dragon eyes! Just now, when you came to me.”

He looked confused; I dug the rock out from beneath me and threw it toward the sea.

“Dragon eyes,” I emphasized, smiling. A real smile this time, one I couldn’t have stopped if I’d wanted. “And they were
beautiful
.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yes.”

And only then, with the wind whispering and the sea crashing and the mist rolling along the waves … only then did the stars come to life.

not
alone
, was their sudden chorus, a wily, sparkling tune.
not
alone, beast, not alone.

I rose to my knees and hugged him, the coat trapped between us. His arms came up and encircled me; he turned his face to my neck.

“A dragon,” Armand said against my skin, so soft and awed I barely caught it.

“Not alone,” I said back, but without sound, because I wasn’t ready for him to hear it yet.

After that, everything changed.

We still met at night, because it was obvious I needed all the practice I could get. The owls and herons were our witnesses as I shifted from one form to the next, over and over, mostly getting it right but sometimes not. Armand was always there for that.

During the day, however, he avoided me. I didn’t notice at first; I was busy with my vastly crucial duty of ensuring that long strips of woven cloth were rolled precisely to measure. I spent hours in what once was the reading room but now housed (according to the sign on the door) “Necessary Supplies.” The sage-green window treatments and white paneled walls had been hidden behind temporary metal cases holding everything from iodine to powdered gravy. My workstation was exactly in the middle of the room: one table, one chair, reams of cloth.

It wasn’t unpleasant. I didn’t have to see Chloe, and I didn’t have to deal with maggots or scrubbing up blood.

Even Sophia lost me for a while, though once she realized where I was and what I was doing, she brought another chair and joined in—if you could call sitting beside me and doing none of the work
joining
in
.

“It’s so much cooler in here than out there,” she commented, taking a sip of iced tea from the service she’d insisted we have on hand.

“No, it isn’t,” I said.

“No, it isn’t.”

“Quieter,” I noted, adding one of my finished rolls to the pyramid I’d been building on the table.

She tipped her head to the side, musing. “Less …”

Death,
I might have said.
Suffering. Dying men wasting away in their beds with nothing to be done.

“Fuss,” she finished, flat, and I nodded.

She placed her empty glass on the nearest shelf. “Where is Armand?”

“I don’t know.”

And I didn’t. That was one of the things that had changed. It wasn’t that I couldn’t feel him around in a general way. I still did. But he’d become less than even a specter to me now. He’d become someone who shunned me. No more swimming lessons; he’d told me that since we weren’t likely to drop into the Channel, I didn’t need them. No more taking meals together; Sophia’d overheard the butler informing the chatelaine that Lord Armand was much too busy to formally dine.