Page 58 of Nightshade

“I … I fear the lightning of a storm. The thunder and the crash.”

“Why?”

“I was … a child. It was a terrible storm. Lightning hit a nearby tree. It fell, just missing me.”

“Should it have missed you, this tree?”

“No. Where it was struck … it should have fallen grievously upon me.”

“And yet, you fear the lightning?”

“Of course. What kind of question is that?”

Warm breath tickled her neck where he leaned into her and whispered, “I should think that lightning would fear such a force as you.”

She pondered his words for a moment, and turned to look at him. Only her mother had ever said such things to her, had ever made her feel stronger than she believed herself to be.

“Dare yourself to look down,” he commanded.

Swallowing hard, she exhaled a long breath and turned just enough to see where her toes met the edge of a long and undoubtedly painful fall beyond. What horrible agony it would be, to land upon that unforgiving rock below. Sucking in a gasp, she clutched the baron harder, her fingers aching with the tight grip. The rocks and sea she’d imagined below lay hidden somewhere beneath the fog that had moved in to hide it. A thick, white haze shielded her view and climbed the edge of the cliff, where it danced around her feet.

“I cannot see anything. There is only fog.”

“Are you still afraid?”

“Well, yes, of course. I know the sea and rock are still there, even if I cannot see them.”

“What if I told you that you could walk upon that fog like the very ground on which you stand now.”

A sliver of panic wound around her as she took in his words. What he proposed was the gravest sin. A self-inflicted death. She recalled earlier, when his eyes had turned black. Lustina had not considered the state of his mind until right then, and suddenly, she regretted having followed him.

“What you speak of is death.”

“Perhaps. Or maybe I speak of freedom. Do you not wish to fly, as the birds do?”

“Had the Holy Father intended us to fly, he would have given us wings, My Lord.”

The chuckle in her ear assured Lustina that she had made a grave mistake by following him to the cliff. “Are you so afraid of death, as well?”

“Of my own making, yes. The nuns have said such a thing is sin. That you would be doomed to the infernal flames.”

“The same people who said your mother was a sinner before they burned her alive?”

“Yes, but … this is … “

“Madness. Yes. Tell me you have never dreamed of how it would feel to be weightless, like a bird. Free to go wherever you wish.”

She’d be lying if she’d told him she hadn’t. “What are you asking of me, My Lord?”

“I’m asking you to step into your fears.”

“You are asking me to end my life?”

“No. I am asking you to begin.”

“I cannot do this. I do not …. I am content.”

“Are you? Is your life so satisfying, tending gardens under the eyes that scrutinize you, as if you were a plague?”