Page 8 of Bloodgrove

Will forced himself to nod. “I understand, Your Grace. I am ready.” It all sounded suspiciously like the very thing from which he had fled, and for a moment panic threatened to drive its blade into his heart. He swiftly forced it down. This commission could restore his reputation, and he would prove that, even without magic, his talent alone was enough to make him worthy of it.

“Tomorrow, you may inspect the ballroom. It must be completed in time for the New Year’s ball, so we have no time to lose. For today, however, you are to rest.”

“I—”

The duchess raised one hand, only to hide it immediately within the folds of her coat when her fingers twitched and cramped. “Enough. I shall retire now. Hedgefort will help you with any further questions.”

Will bowed hastily. “Thank you for placing your confidence in me, Your Grace.”

The butler was waiting by the door, but before Will left the room, the duchess spoke once more. “And Mr. Frank—I strongly advise you not to leave the house after dark.”

“Nor to wander the corridors unattended,” the butler added.

With that, the door fell shut behind him.

Will’s head swam as Hedgefort led him through a labyrinth of corridors and staircases until, in a deserted passage on the fourth floor, they reached the guest wing. His first meeting with the duchess had not gone at all as he had imagined, though he would not call what he felt disappointment. The goosebumps had not subsided since the moment he entered the grand townhouse; even now, the fine hairs on his skin remained raised, as though a constant, cool breeze were brushing over him.

Bracing himself for the next unpleasant surprise, he followed the butler into his rooms. The scent of freshly disturbed dust tickled his nose, but everything was clean. A fire burned in the soot-blackened hearth, while lamps illuminated the monstrosity of a four-poster bed, each of its posts carved into the bound bodies of young men and women writhing in pleasure. Will raised an eyebrow.

To his relief, his suitcases were already waiting for him, and he declined the butler’s offer to unpack them for him.

“I shall bring your dinner to your room this evening, sir.”

Surprised, Will agreed and continued to wander around the room. It could have been worse. With spiteful satisfaction, he thought of his traitorous friends in the Capitol, who had wanted to see him fail. Yet here he was, entrusted with a project that could restore his standing, and all he had to do was breathe fresh life into these ancient walls.

The instant Hedgefort was through the door, Will tore open the heavy velvet curtains and welcomed the moonlight, the moon now one night past its fullest. Its silver glow mingled with the gold of the oil lamps.

Hardly a window was illuminated at this hour; only now and then did he catch a flash of light through a narrow gap in the curtains. There was nothing to distract from the sea, which stretched glittering toward the horizon like a vast expanse of silver scales, and his smile softened. He remembered summer nights from his childhood, when he had watched the moon dance over the waves.

“You would do better to leave those closed,” the butler’s voice said suddenly. Will had not heard him enter, yet there he stood in the middle of the room, a tray balanced in his hands.

“Next time, knock.”

“I did, sir. You did not answer.”

Will dismissed the matter with a nod. He would inspect every one of his suitcases carefully.

Hedgefort served the evening meal upon a small table by the window. “Bat in a blanket, with fig compote.” Then he poured red wine from the decanter.

“I will need a desk,” Will said, surveying the room. The bookcase along one wall was sparsely filled and offered ample space for his collection of sample books. The two doors presumably led to a washroom and a dressing room.

“Her Grace has prepared the conservatory for your work. She believes it will best meet your requirements.”

“Thank you.” He would have preferred to make these four walls his refuge, somewhere he could design in peace, but he would discuss the matter with the duchess personally.

Before leaving, the butler paused once more. “You should close the curtains. You already look like one of the moon children.”

With that, he departed, and Will smiled. His mother used to call him that.

Chapter 4

Silver-white moonlight flooded the bed as Will jerked awake. He could no longer remember the dream, yet his heart was still hammering in his chest. His face was slick with sweat, and his pale hair fell in long strands across his bare chest.

Only a few seconds later did he remember where he was. The carved figures on the bedposts looked down at him, waiting, strangely alive in the echo of the dream. A swallow of water would wash the nightmare away.

Will reached for the pitcher beside the bed as pain suddenly tore through him. It struck like lightning and lingered, coursing through his torso and lower body. Groaning, he put a hand to his stomach and froze. His belly arched like a dome of taut, pale skin, large, round, and hard. A stifled cry escaped him as he pressed against this impossible wrongness. It had to be a dream—a madness only a city like this could conjure in him. And yet it felt so real. Panicking, he scrambled upright and kicked the sheets from his naked body, only to reveal even more of the far-advanced swell of his belly.

This time, the cry was half a curse. He pushed his hand against it, trying to shove this foreign thing out of himself, yet pressure built against his bones and the muscles stretching around it.