Page 35 of A Curse of Hope and Shadows: Part I
In the distance somewhere was the soft chime of a clock. Ten.
“It’s late,” he said. “You should go to bed. I think you’ve gone above and beyond today.”
“Anyone would have—”
“No,” he said primly, “they wouldn’t have. No one else has stayed with me since…”
“Since?”
“My mother,” he finished shortly.
Adeline nodded. “I met her once, you know? She came to the village school. She seemed lovely.”
“She was.” He hesitated, his gaze misty. “Most nobles thrust their children at someone else to raise from the moment that they’re born, but not her. She was with me every day. Even when I was older, she still took part in my schooling, read to me almost every night. When… when she died, the world altered.”
It was the first time he’d ever really spoken about his mother, which seemed strange to Adeline given how close they were reported to be. There was something besides grief in his gaze, something almost like guilt, but he shoved it away when he looked up at Adeline.
“I daresay yours altered more.”
She could not meet his eyes, stung by the memory of that moment, of the numbness of realising her mother was gone, of the senseless, crushing sense of responsibility. It was like being raked along the riverbed by a current, and she remembered wanting to drown.
But five other people were depending on her not to, would be dragged under with her, and she’d had no choice but to splutter to the surface and drag herself upright.
“Pain is no competitor,” she said shortly.
“You’d probably win this round if it was.” Dimitri’s fingers circled against her palm, gently tugging at the tips of her fingers. She wondered if he was aware of the stiffness of them, the hardness of her skin next to the softness of his. She wondered why she was aware, why the thought even crossed her mind. She had never minded before.
“Sometimes, still, I hate my mother for dying,” Adeline rushed the words out. She had never spoken them, not even to her brother Elliott, who might have understood. She didn’t want to burden him with the knowledge if she was wrong. Hadn’t wanted to burden anyone with it. Hadn’t wanted anyone to know she was capable of hating anyone, let alone someone kind and lovely and undeserving.
“I understand that,” Dimitri whispered, still holding her hand. “Completely.”
Something eased inside her chest, however bad she should have felt for him, more alone in the world than she had ever been. “I’m not going to leave until you’re asleep,” she said instead, picking up the book again.
“Then I’ll stay up all night,” Dimitri whispered into his pillow, gazing at her from his single blue eye. She was still having trouble reading his face, but she knew she liked the look of this expression, even when she was equally aware she probably shouldn’t.
He drifted off with a soft, half-smile on his face, looking older than his years, but better than he had in days. It was probably just the light. She had long gotten used to his face. She wasn’t blind enough to say she’d stopped noticing it, but it had stopped registering, enough for her to see that without it, and a little more weight on him, he’d probably be quite handsome.
She tried to picture him as the Young Lord without the curse. Would he be the sort to come into the village and read books to the children, or the type to trample about the countryside on his horse, pursuing foxes, tearing up farmer’s fields? She did not want to imagine him with that look of disregard and disdain, even if it was harder to watch him in pain.
She folded away their book, kissed his forehead, and disappeared back to the servants’ quarters.
The kitchen was almost dark when Adeline entered, save for one oil lamp on the table. Mrs Minton was still up, reading a book in her chair, a small plate of untouched food beside her.
“Eat,” she commanded, gesturing to the sandwiches. “For I daresay you’ve forgotten to most of the day.”
Adeline sat down and did as instructed. Enough food had been sent up for the two of them, but Mrs Minton was right, she had found it hard to eat whilst watching him in such obvious discomfort.
“How is he?” Mrs Minton asked.
“He seems much brighter.”
“Small mercy of the curse,” she sniffed. “These turns of his never seem to last long.”
Adeline dug into her sandwiches, suddenly ravenous.
“Have you ever asked him about the curse?” Mrs Minton began.
Adeline shook her head.
