Page 4 of Ashen Torment

I lean into the instrument, letting my hair fall before my eyes, and sweep it back with a quick motion without ceasing to play. But the door slams against the wall with a crash, and my mother enters like a gust of frost.

“How many times must I tell you not to weary the inhabitants of this house with your music? Apply yourself to what your rank demands.”

I grip the neck of the cello. My eyes sting.

Do not react. Do not give her satisfaction.

“This performance is over. If you crave a future worthy of your name, you must stop clinging to what is dead.”

Her gaze shifts suddenly, pinning itself to Victor. He stiffens where he stands. My eyes dart from one to the other.

“What are you doing here?”

She lowers her voice, stepping closer to him.

“Do not think your glances have escaped me. You are here for me. For me alone.”

He scratches the nape of his neck with an uncertain gesture, keeping his eyes downcast.

“I am here for you, Mircella.”

He takes her hand, touching it with a caution that is almost fearful.

“There is nothing that could take me away.”

Victor lifts my mother’s hand and presses it to his lips.

She shakes her head with a sharp movement.

“Do not lie!” she cries, her voice breaking. “Do not lie to me!”

He closes his eyes for an endless second.

“It is not as you believe. We have already spoken of this,” he says at last.

She turns with a violence that makes her skirt snap against the wood and leaves the room without deigning to look at me. I raise my eyes to Victor, and what I read in his gaze freezes me.

“I did not intend...” his voice comes out low, hesitant.

I bolt upright and dash past the threshold. I hear him shouting behind me that he is sorry, but his words no longer matter.

My heart is beating everywhere, in my throat, in my temples. The chill of the hall claws at my face as I run toward the stables, my lungs on fire. I throw the gate open with a sharp kick.

“Viscount!”

“Leave me be, George.”

“Wait, I shall prepare your horse!”

I do not listen, my hands tremble as I seize the reins and set them with frantic movements.

I vault into the saddle of Étoile, and we gallop toward Ebonwood. The leather of the saddle stings my thighs, and the wind cuts my cheeks. I urge the horse to run even faster, ignoring the danger.

The ground beneath the hooves changes abruptly. From under the carpet of dead leaves, slick roots appear too late. I feel a sharp jolt, the saddle slipping away, the air ripped from my lungs as I crash to the ground. Pain explodes in my side and pierces through my left arm; a groan escapes me, but I grit my teeth until my jaw aches.

Merde.

I close my eyes and try to catch my breath. I inhale and exhale until the ground stops spinning. I manage to move my right hand, the pain is there, but bearable. I haul myself up with difficulty and approach Étoile to take the reins. We begin to limp back toward the house. The damp leaves cling to my boots.