Page 115 of Captive Bride

“I believe it will,” he says.

I nod, feeling the possibility of another end flutter to life in my mind.

“Okay,” I say. “I’ll do it.”

He smiles at me. “Good, Isobel, just give me one moment.”

He disappears back through the door, and I turn my attention to the dagger, now loosely gripped in one hand. How close I came to ruining everything.

I slide the knife back into my boot, still feeling comforted by its presence. It’s a little piece of Tristan, something to hold on until I can hold him again.

Father Lawrence reappears in the next moment, familiar green bottle held in his hand. It looks like the stuff of fairy tales, the kind of thing a princess might purchase from a witch. The price, of course, being her soul.

I push those thoughts to the back of my mind. Father Lawrence is no witch, and I’m no princess. Not really, anyway.

“Come with me,” he says, beckoning me forward with his empty hand.

I follow as he turns, leading me deeper into the cathedral. We come to a door I’ve not noticed before, tucked as it is into a dark corner.

“This way,” he says.

I step through the doorway, inspecting the new room with hopeful eyes.

I see something I never expected to find.

In the very center of the room, sitting elevated on a platform, is a casket. It’s made of fine, dark wood, polished to an almost inconceivable shine. The fittings on it look like, and may in fact be, gold. The lining is of fine white silky satin.

“I know it’s a bit morbid,” Father Lawrence says. “But we do need it to look real.”

I nod in understanding. If I’m going to play dead, I’ll need a coffin.

“Should I...” I gesture towards it.

“Yes, yes. Once you drink the sleeping liquid, you can just climb right in. It should take effect very quickly. Anyone looking won’t be able to tell you’re still alive. It’s very effective.”

I feel hesitant, the thought of climbing into a coffin unnerving me.

Still, I hold out my hand. What other choice is there?

He places the vial into my outstretched palm, nodding as I close my fingers around it.

“You’ll see,” he says. “This will all turn out alright.”

I can only hope he’s right.

I unstop the bottle, sniffing curiously at its contents as I hold it up before me. It smells like nothing, not even water.

“Well, cheers.” I say, tipping the tasteless liquid into my mouth.

The moment I swallow it, Father Lawrence takes me by the hand, guiding me towards the coffin.

“The effects really should manifest quickly,” he says. “Best to climb right in.”

I do as he says, stepping into the casket, chills rushing down my spine as I do. I lay my head back onto the silken pillow, breathing deeply to calm my nerves.

“Thank you,” I say, gazing up at Father Lawrence.

“It’s my pleasure, Isobel.”

My eyes immediately begin to feel heavy, my body relaxing on its own.

I have just long enough to marvel at just how quickly this stuff works before things start to go dark. With one final thought of Tristan, I’m carried away into darkness.

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