City of Ruin, page 20
Mona glances at my leg. “Paige told me you were in an accident.”
The image of my brother’s face is hazy, and it pains me to realize my most vivid memory of him is in death. “I should have died that day beside Will, but I didn’t. I have no idea why.” I blink the tears from my eyes. It’s futile to cry, but I’m too drained to fight it. “Master Orson had been waiting for my arrival, so when he’d heard what happened, he came to claim me.”
“What of your father?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. Dead, I guess. Or maybe he just thinks I am. He’s the one who sold me to the landowner my brother was hiding me from, so I’ve spent the last nine years telling myself I don’t care either way.” I clench my hands into fists again, wanting to pick until the pain hurts more than the onslaught of memories. “I think I’ve almost convinced myself I won’t be angry when I see Master Blackburn again, because he did me a favor keeping me in the dark . . . It provided me a small reprieve from what appears to be my destiny, one I clearly can’t escape.”
“Here,” Mona says gently, and when I look at her, her light green eyes are filled with compassion. “Have some chamomile tea.” She hands me a steaming mug, and the scent of hawthorn and honey wafts off of her. “It will keep your hands busy while your mind drifts.”
She pours herself a mug next and sprinkles more leaves into the pot over the fire.
“Mona, can I ask you something?”
She glances at me. “Please do. It is important you understand this place.”
“If you are Blackburn’s family, why do you stay out here, so far away from Paige? She gets lonely in that house. She could use her grandmother.”
Mona glances at Paige, then at me, and though she looks reticent to answer, she seems resigned. “I stay out here, child, because this is my home. When Rebecca married Greyson, she encouraged me to live in that castle, before it fell to ruins, of course, but it was too strange.” The mention of her daughter, saying her name so easily when, in the manor, it’s not to be spoken, feels dangerous. “It was her choice to move there. This is mine. Besides, it’s safer out here. And though I pray it isn’t so, if Paige ever needs a safe place to go, this will be it.”
Normally, I would argue that the Screaming Woods are not the slightest bit safe, but I know better now.
“What do you know about this land, Selene?” Not Miss Sinclair or child or governess. But Selene. Her saying my name feels strangely intimate.
“Nothing really. Blackburn likes to keep secrets.”
“You give him far more credit than he deserves, at least in that area,” Mona says, and it confuses me.
“How so?”
“You make him seem as if he is scheming, and it’s true, he is a clever boy, but that child has merely been trying to survive since my Rebecca died.”
The lines around her eyes tighten slightly. “He is grieving and lost, and if it weren’t for that little girl,” she says, nodding to Paige on the cot, “he might’ve given up years ago.” Almost immediately, Mona shakes her head. “No, perhaps I do him a disservice. He continues to do this for Paige, of course, but more than that, Greyson feels the weight of his grandfather’s legacy, and the hundreds of lives, now and still to come, relying on him.”
“You make it seem as if he’s trying to save the world,” I murmur, and take a sip of my tea. It’s hot and enlivens my senses a little as I swallow the floral taste.
“And you make it sound as if running a refuge is of no consequence at all.”
I frown.
“And you glower as if you are confused, but you must have noticed how different this place is than other estates, child. Even under the guise of the infamous Collector, you have felt it—the promise that hangs in the air here.” She looks at me askance. “It’s hope. And people come from all around to find it.”
“You don’t mean—” I sit straighter. “The ship?”
The corner of Mona’s mouth curves slightly.
“But why didn’t he tell me what the ship was? Why let me think it was for workers or slaves?”
Mona shrugs. “If I had to guess, because you keep running off. Greyson would have had to explain everything, and if you were to leave and tell someone what you know, all his family has worked for would be at stake. And the Blackburn efforts reach far beyond the rolling hills of Briarwood.”
“So, he lets the Council think he’s buying up slaves for their production, but . . . he’s saving them, for reasons of his own.” I shake my head. “I don’t understand what he was doing at the orphanage then. Did he know about me? Had he come specifically to purchase a wife?”
Mona chuckles to herself. “I would be surprised by that,” she says too easily for it to be anything but the truth.
“Why? If it’s a wife he wanted—”
“Not wanted,” she amends. “Needs. There is quite a difference. He put it off for nearly four years before the Council arranged his marriage to Constance, and when their plan was foiled and he’d lost another, he never spoke of marrying again. Not only because it is hard for him, but because such talk is dangerous.”
“The men who want his land would try to stop him from having an heir.”
Mona nods. “We’ve all been anxious, waiting to see how Blackburn will get out of the stipulation to marry and still keep Briarwood. Hence my astonishment when your carriage arrived and you stepped out of it.”
I frown. “You were there?”
Mona sips from her mug, licking her lips before she continues. “Raiden and I were delivering tinctures for the people of Emberbrook. And when Prudy was just as shocked to see you as the rest of us, I had to know more about you. I’d been speaking with Greyson that night of your arrival, lost track of time, and was heading back here when I stopped at your window.”
The fire had been blazing in Blackburn’s study that night of our argument, and more of the missing pieces begin to fall into place. Whatever exhaustion I’d felt before is chased away by an all-consuming need to fill in the rest of the knowledge I haven’t yet learned. Because everything Mona relays casts Blackburn in a new light, one that coaxes admiration and unexpected sympathy, not derision and regret.
“And that night on the road,” she adds. “I was on my way to Briarwood to speak with you. The last thing I expected was to see you in the sudden storm, but then you ran.”
I’d wondered how Blackburn had found me. “But . . . I still don’t understand why he picked me,” I admit, imagining what I must’ve looked like, outspoken and desperate in such an unkempt state. “He must’ve taken pity on me.”
“I don’t think he even knows,” Mona admits. “But if it were only pity, my dear, you would be living in Emberbrook with the others.” Her eyes linger on my face, shifting over my features, conveying the same thoughts that fill my mind.
“But if there was any attraction—if he thought he could care for me, even in the slightest, then why—” I stop myself. I already know why he would keep so much from me. “He wanted me to make my own choice.” I watch the fire’s flames dance in a flurry, matching the beating of my heart.
“It seems you both must learn to trust one another,” Mona muses. “And Greyson must let go of the past and trust himself as well.”
I study her expression as she loses herself to distant thoughts.
“He still loves her, desperately,” I say, in case Mona doesn’t know. “No one is allowed to speak your daughter’s name.”
Her eyes, full of sadness, meet mine.
“Do you blame him for her death?” I ask, uncertain how the relationship stands between her and Blackburn.
“Seeing the grief that plagued Greyson in the days after—that still haunts him—I could never blame him. He blames himself enough for it.”
“But why? For a complication with the baby?”
Mona stares at Paige, her chest rising and falling with each little breath. “A mixture of reasons, I suppose,” Mona whispers. “Pressuring her to have an heir to secure his estate,” she starts. “And to learn Rebecca was having twins never sat right with him, all too aware of the complications his own mother had.”
Twins. I recall the portrait, hanging on the wall in the staircase, of the man who looked so similar to Blackburn, not identical so much as strikingly familiar.
“More than anything,” Mona continues. “Greyson blames himself for not securing the castle the way he knew he should—for not moving everyone out of there.” She shifts her mug in her hands and holds them closer to the fire. “I was not there, mind you, but Prudy was. She’d been tending to Rebecca night and day, the pregnancy taking its toll on her. And then a big quake nearly shook the castle down to bones, and the distress—it only made matters worse.” Mona’s voice is distant, and having been in that room in the castle, and having lived through my own share of fear, I can imagine Rebecca’s thoughts in those final moments. Not fear for herself, but for her children. My eyes burn as I wonder if she died knowing she’d lost one of them, or if she knew one had lived at all.
“Wait.” I look at Mona. “Where is his brother?”
“Greyson is the eldest, so to speak. The one chosen to keep the estate running while Killian is off on one of his . . . adventures.”
I don’t know if it’s learning about the safe haven he protects or understanding his grief better, but my heart aches for Greyson. “So,” I start. “He lost his wife and child, and his brother has left him to sift through the rubble.”
Mona nods again. “Killian has always been a wandering spirit, like their grandfather. He does his part for the estate, but I can’t say he’s very reliable. Then again, I’m not sure one can be when sailing the treacherous sea.” She mutters the last part. “Though Greyson misses him, I think he prefers Killian gone as well. He was always an impulsive child, and unwanted attention on Briarwood is the last thing Greyson needs.”
“Mona,” I ask, one final question nagging at me. “How is it that your people are involved in this? What is it I still don’t see?”
Mona lifts the pot to refill her mug and gestures for me to finish mine so she can replenish it. “Locklin Blackburn, Greyson’s grandfather, came to this land from beyond the sea, where life is far harsher than it is here. Norseland has grueling winter storms, and is ruled by a ruthless queen and her power-hungry chieftains. It’s a land divided and rife with religious persecution.”
“No wonder we are dressed so well for the cold,” I muse, peering down at my wool, fur-lined dress. I run my fingers over the outlined mountains stitched on my belt, and I think of the woman with windblown hair I’ve seen decorating his banners and tapestries in the snowy landscapes. “Who is she?” I ask absently. “The woman on his banners.”
“Skadi, the maiden of winter and mountains.”
I look at Mona.
“A part of his ancestry Greyson still clings to. Before his grandfather arrived here, Locklin’s family were fisherman and farmers, killed during a raid. He fled after that—took a few other surviving men and women from his village wanting a new life, and they sailed away. They shipwrecked off the English coast, near one of our settlements, and the few seamen that survived were nursed back to health. My people had never met anyone else who had survived the great Shift, or the Great Turning, as Norseland calls it.”
“And your people were curious.”
Mona nods. “More than that, Locklin fell in love with the healer during his recovery, and when he was mended, she left with him to explore the Black Country. They wanted to start a family, but not near the coast, not where they could easily be found. So, she brought them here and—”
“They woke the sleeping city,” I finish for her.
Mona takes a sip of her tea. “Yes. Locklin was ambitious, high on hope and possibility of what the lush land here could provide. Earthquakes were nothing compared to the constant snow and threats back home. It may be difficult to grow crops here, but the soil is pliable and rich. And the Council of Four was equally ambitious to start over. But after nearly three hundred years in the tunnels, they knew nothing about living above ground and were hungry to learn everything Locklin could teach them. So, the five of them brokered a deal, and the rest is history.”
“And the rumors about the haunted woods began,” I whisper. “Your family has been tied to Blackburn’s ever since.”
“Yes. And the tie between earthen folk and the Blackburns was solidified even more so when Rebecca and Greyson were married.”
“How did they meet?” I ask wistfully.
“Killian was always getting into trouble. As a boy, he ran away and was lost in the woods. He had some bumps and bruises, but he’d managed on his own until we found him. Greyson came with his father to collect him, the children became friends, and you can guess the rest.”
I try to think of a young, hopeful Blackburn with love in his eyes and a smile parting his lips. But it’s to no avail.
“Until now,” Mona continues, “the Council and the Blackburns have worked together well enough. But the bigger the city grows, the more power is at stake, and men like Edward Draven itch to get their hands on Blackburn’s prosperity, doing whatever it takes to shift the scales in their favor. He’s proven that much already.” Mona takes a thoughtful moment before she continues. “Killian being away so frequently, is better for the family in many ways, but it also shows weakness and a division amidst the brothers. And Greyson having no male heir—” Her voice breaks, not so much with sadness, but with longing, and she clears her throat. “Draven has done everything he can to keep it that way.”
The repercussions of someone else taking over Briarwood are impossible to ignore. “If Blackburn ever lost this land, the workers wouldn’t be the only ones in danger,” I realize and meet Mona’s gaze. The harsh reality shines in her glistening eyes. “You and Paige . . .”
She brings her finger to her lips and glances at her granddaughter, stirring in her sleep. “I don’t tell you this to guilt you, child. Nor do I tell you this to sway you, but you should know the position Greyson is in and that, no matter what he decides to do, he is making a sacrifice. And there is your safety to consider as well.”
She and I stare at one another for so long, it turns into a comfortable silence. Her mind wanders somewhere far away, and I think of that day in my parent’s room, nine years ago.
I lean forward, elbows on my lap, and close my eyes. “You are meant for more than this place,” I say, repeating my mother’s words. “There will be darkness. There will be fear. But there is hope and goodness.” Mona’s gaze is heavy against the side of my face. “My mother told me I must fight for it, that I must fight for all of them.” I look at her. “I thought she’d meant the children of Bedlam. That I should comfort them and give them a glimmer of kindness and hope in this soulless world.”
“And now?” Mona asks, her voice a throaty whisper.
I laugh quietly, uncertain how my mother could know such a thing. “Now, I—”
A wail echoes in the night, making the hair on the back of my neck stand on end, and I sit up straight. Mona and I stare at one another as someone shouts in the distance. There’s a battering of horse hooves.
“Is that Collins?” My words are drowned out by more shouting and clamoring outside, and Mona and I hurry to the door just as it flies open.
Collins is standing there, heaving for breath.
“What is it?” Mona demands as Gibson stumbles out of the cottage behind him, half asleep.
“It’s Greyson,” Collins rasps, his voice hoarse from shouting in the night air. “The quake—he was in the foundry when part of it collapsed.”
33
GREYSON
I thought I would welcome death when it came for me.
I thought I would feel a lightness as my burdens lifted. Instead, I feel a desperate panic, because all I can think about is Paige.
Paige without her mother or her father.
Paige without my protection.
I can’t allow my daughter to become prey to the Council. For her to have her life ripped away when I am no longer here to keep the wolves at bay.
And then I see Selene, eyes wide and hopeful, the way I remember them from the cemetery. Even if it was only fleeting.
Vaguely, I register the aches riddling my body, my muscles taut and coiled.
Dust, so thick I can barely breathe, weighs heavy in my lungs, and I struggle for my next breath.
There’s a chill.
A lancing pain in my head.
And then there’s blackness again.
Cold and hot. Wet and scratchy. I’m jostled awake, only to lose myself once more.
Something cool presses my temple, stirring me awake, then warmth caresses my cheek. A hand.
“Paige,” I croak, licking my lips that feel like leather and taste like ash.
“He’s stirring,” a quiet, indistinct voice rasps.
Light flickers beyond my eyelids, and though my head is pounding and it’s nearly impossible to peel my eyes open, I force myself to wake—for my arms to move, and to make sure my daughter is all right.
“Bring Paige,” a feminine voice whispers, and there’s a shuffle of footsteps.
I swallow thickly to speak as cool fingers brush my temple, a moist cloth following.
“Shh. It’s all right. You must be still. We’re not entirely sure what’s broken—”
Everything is a blur of colors as I brace myself to sit up, my leg twinging with pain.
“Easy—Paige is coming.”
Finally, my gaze latches onto waves of hair that glint in the firelight, and eyes red-rimmed with exhaustion; they glow an impossible shade of blue as they fix intently on me, filled with concern.
