Page 41 of At the Mercy of Midnight
“By some, they are believed to be the first pair bond. They are twin pillars, representing both light and dark, yin and yang, bonded for eternity. So, as it was described to me, is that becoming pair bonded, allows you to step across the veil, into the birthplace of the first bonded—the Monoliths.”
She glanced down, unfurling her fingers and stared at the cut there. “And the blades are modelled after the Monoliths. It does have some sense to it.” When Amelia looked up, there was fear behind her eyes that he hadn’t expected. “I…had a dream,” she admitted quietly, “last night, before midnight. I was in a strange dark land, shadows everywhere, whispering at me.” Amelia paused, eyes closing for a moment. “I don’t know if it was the Midnight Realm, I’ve never put much stock into the notion, but it was…not normal. The dream, or the place I was dreaming of.”
Silas blinked at her in surprise. “That would have been good to know after it happened.”
She rolled her eyes. “I didn’t know what to make of it at the time.”
He looked at his watch and stood. “Well hopefully we can get some more answers from my mother, who will be expecting us in the dining room in five minutes.” Silas had a vain hope that she would be more welcoming than the last time he had visited, being met with an icy silence that had frozen his heart with sadness.
He strode to the doors but was stopped by Amelia’s voice.
“Finley?” she asked softly.
He turned back. She watched him over the back of the couch, fingers gripping the top firmly.
“Yeah?”
“Do you think we’re in a lot of trouble?”
His lips thinned, hearing the fear in her voice, his heart turning over. He tried for a smirk but knew it would come acrossfalse. “You’re always in trouble, Winslow,” Silas joked, and was grateful for the slight twitch of her lips, “but this? We’re both smart. Well, at leastIam…we can figure it out.”
Amelia pursed her lips, but he could see the hidden smile before she shook her head and turned away.
“See you in five,” Silas said, leaving her in the room.
TWELVE
The dining room was eerily quiet, save for the soft clinking of silverware against delicate porcelain plates. The long table made of a dark wood stretched out, separating Silas and Amelia from his mother, sitting at opposite ends. The skylight above let in the soft glow of the moon. The lamps had been lit, sending varying shadows across the table, lending an otherworldly air to the room.
The silence was uncomfortable and had been since Silas’ mother had sauntered in. Veralind Finley, the Lady of the estate, sat at the head of the table, her presence alone enough to make the vast space feel small and suffocating. White-haired and dull-eyed, his mother was draped in deep indigo robes that werecraftily embroidered with arcane symbols. She had floated into the room, carrying herself like a woman who had seen more than she would ever say.
A ring adorned the middle finger of her pale left hand, a glittering onyx stone sitting in its centre, while her other hand idly stirred at the bowl of steaming broth before her. Her icy blue eyes had not met his once since entering.
It had been a while since they had last seen each other, and though it was expected, his spirit still tied itself up into knots that she hadn’t acknowledged his presence in their ancestral home.
Amelia sat next to him, casting him wary, awkward glances while she fiddled with a piece of bread that the staff had laid before her.
Silas sighed deeply, finally breaking the silence. “Mother.”
“Silas,” she replied, eyes not straying from her food while she addressed him coldly. Then, to his surprise, her eyes snapped up, but not to look at her son. No, her steely gaze flicked right to Amelia. “You must be Amelia Winslow?”
Amelia quickly swallowed her bite of bread with a cough. “I must be,” she responded, placing the remainder of her bread down.
“Silas has told me about you over the years,” Veralind said ominously. His hand clenched atop the table, silently begging that she keep her mouth shut. He couldn’t even recall what he had told his mother about Amelia, but he knew he wouldn’t want it repeated.
Amelia side-eyed him briefly. “Is that right?”
Veralind smiled knowingly, nothing warm behind the smile. It was alarmingly cool, making the air in the room feel frigid even as the fireplace flared merrily near them. His mother finally slid her eyes to Silas, the smile deepening. Hestill couldn’t relate this person before him to the mother he had used to know when his father had been alive. He had memories of warmth and love, of a singing voice and bright eyes that had adored Silas. It was like looking at someone with the ache of knowing that love had used to be there, only to be replaced by something harsher, a husk he no longer understood.
“Yes,” his mother said, looking back to Amelia, “he once visited me quite regularly and would regale me with tales about you. Of course, he has been absent more often than present of late, so I fear I’m out of the loop.” Her smile was calculated as she stared Amelia down. “Tell me, have you stopped loathing my son enough to start a relationship with him?”
Silas’ eyes fell shut.
Amelia sputtered nonsensically next to him.
He opened his eyes to glare at his mother, who looked smugly back at him.
“Shall I expect grandchildren?”
