Page 43 of Wicked Salvation
I’m trying to placate him.
The way he looks? I don’t like it.
“I always listen.” His smile doesn’t reach his eyes.
We fall back into silence, just the gentle clink of cutlery against bone china. The air between us grows heavier by the moment, like the walls of this perfect little restaurant are closing in on us. The roof is held up by a thin thread, waiting to snap and collapse on us at any moment.
I try to focus on the warmth of the soup, the way it coats my tongue. This chef is beyond talented—it crosses my mind to inquire if he’d be willing to cater our wedding.
“The wedding is important to me,” I say, breaking the silence.
He doesn’t look at me. “Of course it is, love.”
“I don’t want it to be something other people control. I’ve been controlled all my life and I finally want a choice to make a choice for myself and?—”
My lips snap shut as soon as I realize the trajectory I’m on.
Silas’ eyebrows lower, a cold smile on his lips. “You feel trapped, so this is your way of regaining some control? Is that what you were trying to say?”
I’m walking a tightrope.
One wrong move and I’ll tumble to my death.
“No,” I whisper back. “I just know that if things were different…”We wouldn’t be getting married.“There wouldn’t be such a rush for us to get married.”
He nods. “I understand completely, love.”
Does he really?
Sure, he might know of my parents’ ultimatum but will he ever understand what it’s like to be awomanin a religious and aristocratic society like ours? Despite my mother’s pompous attitude, she knows that if my father dropped dead tomorrow she’d only be important until my brothers came of age.
Then, she’d be at their mercy.
Maybe that’s why she treats them so well—she wants to ensure that when they eventually succeed our father, they’ll love her enough to keep her lifestyle the same. What use do I have? None. I’m just a bargaining chip.
Silas would never understand what it’s like.
Lucian would.
I’m even starting to think like him.
We lapse into silence again. I’m too wound up to decode my thoughts, or Silas’ behaviour. The candle flickers low, throwing shadows across the bouquet of wildflowers—the same ones Silas gave to me the night he carved that pentagram into my chest—and the tablecloth.
Just outside the window, street lamps flicker on.
The town is quiet, peaceful—nothing like the chaos erupting at Augustine.
Chaos I’ve been thinking of much more often than I’d like to admit. It’s been in the back of my mind ever since Lucian broke that window during Literature class.
“I’m looking forward to winter break,” I say to him. “Augustine is chaotic right now.”
I’ve lost track of the courses as Frances approaches with another. It’s Loch-caught trout poached in elderflower and butter, served with charred leeks and an ash-dusted foam.
“Chaos?” Silas gives me a bored expression. I see the wheels turning in his head.
I nod. “All the rumors, the Archbishop getting arrested for paedophilia? It feels like the school is falling apart.”
Silas smiles. “Oh, you mean like Lucian breaking the window during class just to tell you hello? Or was that a rumor too?”
