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The stench did not drive him from the garden, though.
Instead, he sat on the bench where he’d spoken with Amelie. He thought miserably about the night he first heard her name. The night her younger brother had broken into the castle, giddy with ale. The elder brother had charged in to retrieve him, only for them both to become waylaid by the comfort of the fire in their drink-addled state.
They had supposed the castle to be empty. Certainly, the estate had an air of abandonment before Amelie arrived. With his preternatural hearing, he listened to their conversation through the hidden door in the bookcase. The elder brother spoke of their sisters. He was disappointed he had not procured a rose, which had proven harder to find than a seashell.
“I worry about Amelie sometimes,” slurred the younger one. “She carries such an unusual, tender heart. What will become of her?”
The elder brother grunted in agreement. “I trust that either she will find her way or the fates will find it for her.” He heaved a sigh. “I must believe it, or I will worry endlessly about her. It will take something rather incredible to fulfill her, I know that much. I dare not imagine what. You speak of her heart, but her mind is every bit as singular.”
On and on they continued, discussing this divine-sounding being. This Amelie.
Davron listened, spellbound, his heart and mind already conspiring to find a way to bring her into his life. And so he had.
That was his sin. He had heard a whisper of true beauty, but it was not enough for him to know such a divine creature existed. He wanted to touch her, hold her, know her. Make her his own.
The worst part? He had used his beastliness to make it happen. To instill fear and coerce.
That was the ugly, unavoidable truth. She never would have come to Castle Grange otherwise. If he hadn’t threatened the people she loved, Davron and Amelie would still be strangers. He would never hurt her brothers, who were harmless and decent folk, but she did not know that, nor did they. To them, the threat was very much real.
Was he any better than Levissina? Perhaps he was worse. The sorceress had a legitimate grievance against his family.
Amelie had done nothing to deserve all he had put her through. She had essentially been punished for her goodness and beauty. He was a monster for that. He only hoped Amelie’s fine heart was not irreparably damaged by her time with him.
Davron stayed in the garden well past nightfall, lying on the bench and looking at the sky. The clouds cleared for long enough to show a bright blue star streak through the onyx night. But he was far too grown-up and broken to make wishes.
Instead, he whispered his thanks to the moonlight. Because although his existence was characterized by dread and devastation, he had also known true beauty. He had known Amelie.
He would take that knowledge with him to the Beyond, like a talisman.
CHAPTER 32
On the morning of Colette and Laughlin’s wedding, the former went missing.
Amelie knocked on her sister’s bedroom door to bring her a cup of tea, only to find an unmade bed and no Colette. She was not in the house nor the garden and no one had seen her since the night before. Alarmed, Amelie woke her brothers at once.
The three convened in the kitchen to develop a plan to retrieve their youngest sister. Or at least, Amelie did. Marcel and Raphael seemed more invested in tea and slabs of leftover cherry cake.
“Good thing Laughlin and his people are staying at the inn,” said Raphael, rubbing his eyes and yawning. “Or they’d know our dear sister has done a runner.”
“She has not done a runner!” said Amelie. “She would never take off in the night like that.”
“What, like you did?” asked Raphael with a guffaw.
Amelie threw a tea towel at him.
“This is normal, is it not?” asked Marcel, slurping his tea. “Women tend to do a bit of last-minute soul searching on their wedding days.”
Amelie looked at him in amazement. “What on earth would you know about what women do on their wedding days?”
“When I helped Philomene build a rabbit hutch one time, she told me all sorts of intriguing things,” said Marcel. “She brought out orangeade and these funny little cigarettes and sat in the sun talking. Come to think of it, we both mostly sat in the sun talking. Not much building got done at all.”
Amelie and Raphael grinned at each other.
“Go on, then,” said Amelie to Marcel. “What did Philomene have to say on the subject?”
Marcel rubbed his stubbly chin, frowning. “Something about, she wasn’t prepared for how getting married felt. Moving on to a new chapter, she called it. Leaving her old life behind, saying goodbye to it. She ran off to the village where she grew up. For closure, like. Felt better afterward. Came back, got married, all’s well that ends well.”
“So, you think Colette’s returned to the cottage?” asked Raphael. “But Philomene lives there now.”
