Gothicana

CHAPTER 4

Corvina

‘Don’t fret, Vivi.’

The whisper drifted into her ear so lightly she almost wrote it off. Almost. And then she suddenly came to a standstill in the middle of the garden. It was early in the morning, too early for most people to be awake.

But she was up at the crack of dawn. She’d slept restlessly, with the castle groaning at night, and woken up with a hot flash she hadn’t had in many years. Sweating, she had run to the common showers that had been empty, turned the cold faucet, and cleansed herself as thoroughly as possible. Then, ready for the day, she had taken a packet of dried nuts and gone down to the gardens to take in some fresh air. And the whisper had come.

Mo. But why was he so light in her head?

She didn’t know whose voice it was, or if it was even real. With her history, it was entirely possible that it was simply in her head and she was imagining it. But this voice was a man’s. It had always been a man’s. She’d liked to imagine when she’d been younger that it had been her father’s. She didn’t know much about him, only that he had killed himself, leaving behind the cottage and the little land to her mother. 

A crow flew overhead. The first one she’d seen in all the weeks she’d been there.

‘Follow the bird.’

Should she? She usually always did whatever Mo told her to without question.

Corvina looked up at the bird, following it with her eyes as it went down around the castle to the woods beyond. She’d not ventured into them here but she knew woods. Her sense of direction was fantastic, so she wasn’t worried about getting lost.

Determination zinging through her, she wrapped the burgundy shawl around her frame and headed down the incline to the same spot the bird had flown over. The fog swirled around her skirt early in the morning, her breath misting in front of her face as she stepped into the woods, waiting for the sounds of the bird to guide her.

When she’d been a little girl, her mother had taught her to follow the caws of the crows into the woods to feed them at a certain spot. That way, the birds knew exactly what area to expect their food in.

Wearing the fog around her like a cloak, fearless of anything that hid inside it, Corvina followed the sound as it came. The woods thickened with her steps, the castle disappearing behind her from the sight in the foliage. Tall trees stood like sentinels against the battle of the time, their barks thick, their leaves dewy, the scent of crisp forest permeating the air.

Walking into the woods, she could see how someone could easily venture into the forest and lose their way, disappearing without any chance of getting help. Only these trees knew the truth of everything that had happened here, and sometimes, she wished there was a way for her to listen to their stories.

After a few minutes of walking, the trees branched out. The sound of water had her curiosity piqued. Was there a river ru

A still lake.

Where had the sound of water come from?

Corvina looked around and found the crow sitting on a rock beside the lake. Without wasting any time, she quickly ripped open the pack of nuts and shook some out on her palm, placing the offering on the rock a few feet away from the watching bird.

She quickly stepped back and turned to the lake.

“It’s beautiful here, isn’t it?” she spoke to the crow. For the longest time after her mother was gone, Corvina had taken to talking to the birds she fed just to not forget the sound of her voice. Though she talked daily these days, there was a certain comfort in such an old habit.

“This lake is a surprise though,” she continued, watching the utterly still water. It was murky and something not entirely pure. She didn’t know what it was, but something was off about it.

The sound of a beak pecking on the rock came from the side. Her offering had been accepted. Corvina smiled. “You must know so many secrets about this place. I wish you could tell me.”

“Be careful what you wish for,” the masculine response from her back made her gasp and turn around. The bird cawed and flapped its wings before settling back, pecking at his treat.

Corvina looked, her heart pounding, as the silver-eyed devil watched her from the edge of the clearing, leaning against a tree, his hands in his pockets. She wrapped the shawl around her tighter, realizing she was all alone with this man of questionable history, and no one knew where she was. She swallowed.

“Are you scared?” Mr. Deverell asked, not moving from his spot at all.

“Should I be?” she asked, raising her eyebrows slightly even as a part of her wanted to break the eye contact and blush furiously at the singular masculine attention from a very masculine male.

“Yes,” he answered succinctly. “The woods are dangerous, especially for someone who doesn’t know them.”

Corvina shrugged, the intensity of his eyes making her nerves flutter. Turning around to face the lake, she gave him her back and sensed him step forward.

“Worse, I could have been anyone,” he continued, his voice sounding a few feet behind her, rolling over her. “I could have done anything to you and left you here. No one would have known.”

She almost smiled at that. “If you’re trying to scare me, it’s not working.”

“And why is that?” Closer.

“He knows you,” Corvina tilted her head to the side, indicating the bird eating the last of the nuts. “He recognized you, gave you a greeting, and continued to eat his food. Had you been a threat, he would have run with the food or attacked you. He did neither, which means he recognizes you enough to eat in your presence.”

“Or maybe it means he’s just an idiot bird with no sense of self-preservation,” he spoke beside her, his own gaze on the lake. Corvina looked to the side and realized for the first time how immensely tall he was in contrast to her. The top of her head barely reached his shoulder.

Unsure as to why it made something warm inside her unfurl, she stood in silence for a moment. The wind blew tendrils of her hair across her face, her eyes closing as his scent drifted to her for the first time. He smelled like burning wood and heady brandy, the kind her mama had made her sip on cold winters. He smelled of dangerous adventures and coming home, of heartache and nostalgia.

She saw him bring out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from his pockets, watched his long, surprisingly beautiful fingers take one out, put it to his slightly moist lips, and set it alight. He took a deep drag in, the smell of burning nicotine mixing with his own scent, adding a layer of rogue into the concoction.

He exhaled and she watched the smoke suspend itself in the air, before dispersing into molecules unseen. Some of those molecules must have touched her lips because she felt her mouth tingle. She wondered what they would feel like pressed into his, just for a moment. It was lust but it was so novel for her.

“Your bird’s gone,” he pointed out without even glancing at the rock once.

Corvina turned to check and realized with surprise that he was right.

“I hope he comes back with a few friends next time,” she muttered without thinking and felt the searing mercury eyes come to her. She looked up, their gazes locking, and this time she didn’t break it, instead taking the chance to observe him up close. The grey streak in his hair seemed more prominent so close, in utter contrast to his unlined but grave face.