Page 31 of Sweetling
She wasn’t too proud to admit a little whimper escaped her.
“What’shappening?” Her voice sounded screechy even to her own ears.
“Please don’t be afraid, sweetling. It’s only the house.”
Molly turned her incredulous gaze on him. “What?”
Allarion pulled her even closer and rested his other hand on her hip, as if she was a spooked horse in need of soothing.
“You must forgive me, Molly. I haven’t had the chance to explain. I am bonding with this estate—the land and the house both. My magic is having…interesting effects on the house. It’s growing sentient.”
Her mouth opened and closed like a fish, nothing intelligible making it up her throat.
He took the chance to turn her to face him, and in her shock, she was more amenable. His hands ghosted down her arms to hold them out as he ran a quick, assessing look over her. Whatever he saw, he nodded once and, so fluidly she didn’t think to stop it, turned them down the corridor to begin walking. He kept stride with her as he tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow, as if they were some fancy folk on a stroll.
Molly blinked at him, at her hand caught in the folds of his sleeve, at his hand coming to cover hers with its finely tapered fingers. How…had he managed all this so smoothly?
They were passing the library again when she finally found her tongue.
“You mean this house isalive?”
“Indeed. I find that most homes have a life to them, but the magic imbuing it now has given this house a greater sentience. A consciousness.”
“It…knowswe’re here?”
“I should hope so,” he said with a chuckle. “We are living inside it.”
Molly looked around in wonder, only to realize they were back at the landing.
“It’s fortunate the house has a mind of its own—it warned me of your little adventure.”
The bottom fell out of her stomach. “The doors…that was the house?” She stared at the walls as if they would suddenly grow faces. “That scared me nearly to death!”
A mournful creak echoed down the stairwell.
“I assure you, the house means you no harm. I suspect it was trying to lead you away from danger, not towards it.”
Molly opened her mouth to argue, the cadence of the slamming doors still rattling her bones, but then…she remembered how the last door didn’t want to open.
Allarion patted her hand. “Be at ease, sweetling. The house likes you very much. It’s curious about you. For months now, it’s only been me and Bellarand, and before that, there was no one for many years. It wants people living within its walls.”
The thought should have scared her—and it did. Sort of. But through her deflating terror, Molly also couldn’t help being a little…charmed. She supposed it made sense; a home would want to have people.
With a little effort, Molly caught her breath and calmed her nerves. Focusing on the prospect of a sentient house seemed less daunting than acknowledging the strange man standing beside her, whose hand on hers sent a little thrill down her spine.
“I didn’t mean to go jumping through floors—I was just looking for the kitchen.”
A sudden smile broke across the fae’s face. “Marvelous. I was hoping to give you a tour. Luncheon first, though, I think.”
And easy as that, hand still tucked into his elbow, Allarion led her down through the house to the kitchen. He pointed out salient places along the way, his pride in the home practically oozing from him.
There was the front solar, which got the best light. And here was the sitting room, just waiting for a set of plush furniture. Here was the grand atrium, the wooden staircase with its ornate banister and curved steps oiled to a high shine. Every place they stopped on their way, the doors opened on their own, as if the house too was proud to show off.
Molly followed along, struck a bit dumb with the grandeur of it. To be sure, there was so much work to be done; most of the rooms were stripped and completely empty. But there wereso manyrooms, and the craftsmanship of the home spoke to its builder’s wealth. It was in the cornices and doorknobs, the arching banisters and parquet floors. The faint outlines and stains of former furniture and decoration were a ghostly reminder of just how opulent this house had once been.
Even dusty, sun-bleached, and moldering, Molly still felt the place was far too fancy for her.
The kitchen, though. The kitchen she took to immediately. Lined in stone, it was noticeably warmer and cozier. A fire already burned in the large oven, and fragrant herb fronds hung from the rafters to dry. It too was sparsely furnished, just a few utensils and pots, but they were things she recognized. It was probably the nicest kitchen she’d ever been in, but there was a familiarity to it that put her a little more at ease.
