Page 12 of Tales of a Monstrous Heart
A grand entrance hall opened before us, boasting a sweeping double staircase with checquered black and white flooring. Thick burgundy carpet covered the stairs, held in place with gleaming golden rods that reflected light onto the dark wood-panelled hallway. The passage into the rest of the house was lined with varying doors, painted or stained different colours, differing in size and age. Brass knobs glinting in the light, where others possessed rusted latches or exquisitely carved golden handles.
It had a strange, majestic warmth. Nothing like the Institute or the formal mage buildings I’d been permitted to visit. An opulent chandelier hung above, surrounded by a beautifully carved and arched ceiling. Wooden depictions of wrywings and griffins resting on the beams, peering down with interest attheir new guests. Smears of painted figures and flowers marred the walls at a child’s height, flaking with age. Small wooden fairy doors were nailed into the skirting boards – despite the fact fairies hadn’t been seen for centuries.
The house creaked and groaned in greeting, the lights flaring brighter in recognition of our presence. Alma meowed in response and I put my art folder precariously on the side table to pick her up before she went wandering.
‘Impressive, isn’t it?’ William smiled as if the magic had been his personal accomplishment as he shut the now grand door behind me. ‘The first Lord Blackthorn made a bargain with a powerful witch who owed him a debt. Her magic has kept this house hidden for centuries.’
I hadn’t seen anything like it, nor the mess of clutter that covered sideboards and entrance tables. There was also dust, and a lot of it.
‘Is there not a … housekeeper?’ I queried lightly, not wishing to offend William.
‘Lord Blackthorn doesn’t employ many people. He’s rarely ever home.’ William smiled again, swinging his arms with a relaxed ease I found charming. ‘Let’s get you settled into your rooms. I’m sure you’re worn out from the journey. That wind over the west moorlands is vicious.’
He retrieved my bag with a badly concealed groan at the weight and strode down the entryway towards the stairs. I was hesitant to follow, unable to stop looking at the peculiarities that surrounded me, the scent of fire spice to keep unwanted pests away, a sweetness of old incantations, the pungency of dried flowers and the bitterness of book dust.
‘Is Lord Blackthorn home?’ I asked, cautious he might materialise out of thin air as Alma squirmed for a better view in my arms.
‘He’s occupied today,’ William replied apologetically. I couldn’t say I was surprised. It was quite apparent from the cobwebs that Lord Blackthorn didn’t have regular guests.
William led us up the carpeted stairs. On the first landing was a grand portrait of a woman, her bright blonde hair scandalously unbound, the fashion she wore luxurious as she sat before a great hearth. Her smile was playful, and her eyes a silvery blue, with a knowing glint that made me feel watched.
Alma’s mutterings of Blackthorn being born of a witch came back to me with disturbing clarity.
‘You’re welcome to wander about the house. Lord Blackthorn mostly keeps to his study.’ William continued to throw comments over his shoulder, and I had to focus on trying to remember the path and not to stop and look at every item en route, whether it was a discarded spell book, a ward against dark magic or a bunch of dried flowers intended for healing – all items fey used for their spells, tools to assist with old magic before the Council took ownership of it.
I’d seen mortals collect trophies before, items of curiosity used to brag about conquests. They made a habit of displaying taxidermy of ancient beasts, turning their flesh into masks or trinkets. The Mage King was famous for holding grand balls where guests wore fey-fleshed masks and danced in celebration of his victories. The Council had a collection in their archives. A room I avoided for the horrid feeling of the unfortunate creatures, how they still suffered now, calling out endlessly just as they had been when they’d been killed. How those cries sometimes followed me into my dreams.
However, these items remained peacefully silent, quite content to exist in this old house.
Blackthorn’s specialty was the occult and crimes of dark magic, caused by monstrous creatures who lingered in theworld after the great war, feasting off the chaos of misery. He’d somehow given himself the role after the war and had written numerous laws, which had been placed in the peace treaty of Elysior under Accord Seventy-Four. What he was doing offering me a partnership and helping me graduate from the Institute was beyond me.
Many disregarded the need to study dark magic despite dark anomalies still littering the countryside and villages, blaming the nearest fey for causing trouble and instead just getting on with their lives. Breaches of dark magic were on the rise – if the papers and gossip sheets were to be believed – but so was fey persecution.
I’d studied the occult in depth, mostly because the history of the Verr was linked so closely with the history of the Kysillians. My history. Through a bloody rivalry that had spanned centuries. Two sides of a very tumultuous coin. Of darkness and chaos – ending when the Verr were finally trapped beneath the earth. Nothing but myth now, but with most Kysillian histories destroyed and not having any other connection to my people, the sodden books from the ruins were the best I could get.
‘This will be your room,’ William announced, pulling me from my confused thoughts to see he was holding open a set of mahogany doors polished to a high shine.
The space was vast, bookcases heavily stacked beside a large fire and writing desk. Ornate windows consumed most of the north wall. The Blackthorn Forest loomed beyond, like a dark shadow in the distance.
In my surprise Alma slipped out of my arms and trotted into the room.
‘I’m sure you’ll need time to get settled.’ William huffed as he placed my bag down by the bed. A stunning monstrositywith thick curtains embroidered with foliage and wildlife to conceal the bed itself, which was covered in an ostentatious counterpane of velvet depicting a woodland scene in vibrant colours.
‘It’s beautiful,’ I replied, a little breathless.
I had worried about being stuffed in the maids’ quarters, knowing the bed would be too short, but at least I’d be with Alma. Besides, any maids’ quarters in a Lord’s residence would be better than my Institute dorm.
‘This is the best room I could freshen up at such short notice.’ William smiled, running a hand over the curtains as if they weren’t straight enough. ‘Blackthorn had me deliver some books to read. He said these are all the papers you’ll be needing. I argued you should have time to settle but he was adamant.’
Argued? The word startled me. I’d never heard of anyone arguing with a lord – well, apart from myself, and I had the lash marks and the sour disposition to prove it.
‘I took the liberty of starting the bath. The incantation should have kept it warm enough,’ William continued as he strode to another door by the desk, revealing a tiled room with bright copper pipes. Lavender-scented steam was released.
The grandeur stunned me, my lips parting, but William was moving again.
‘Miss Darcy’s room is attached.’ He opened a small door between two bookcases that led into another, smaller room that looked no less comfortable. ‘I’ll deliver dinner to you later.’
With that, he bowed and vanished as quickly as he had appeared, leaving me stunned in the centre of the room.
