“Okay,” she says again. Her lip trembles as she speaks. “When the timedoescome, can you just…will you?—”
“I will tell you,” I say. “I promise.”
I touch her chin without thinking, without considering. It’s meant to be a comforting gesture, but I should know better. Grace recoils, as if my touch physically hurts. I drop my hand, forcing my eyes back to the courtyard. After an uncomfortable beat of silence, I clear my throat.
“Come,” I say.
I lead her across the cobblestone, and past my statue, thankful when she doesn’t comment on it. As we approach the table, my inner circle finishes their conversations. Oskar and Theo abandon a piece of parchment between them. Amelia brushes off Milas’s final attempt at flirting. Beatrice stares at me, eyes flitting to my hand on Grace’s back. Luckily, she doesn’t glower like I expect.
“We will make this brief,” I say.
I stop at the head of the table, opposite Oskar. Milas, Amelia, Theo, and Beatrice fill the seats on either side.
“Glad to see you’re all fed,” I continue. “Keep your movements slow and steady. Anyone makes a move for her, I’ll kill you. Understood?”
“Yes, Master,” they echo.
“It won’t be a problem,” Beatrice says. She sits near Oskar, her eyes flitting between me and Grace. Her expression is carefully blank as she nods at me. “I vow it, Master.”
“Good,” I say. I sit and gesture for Grace to do the same. Her leg bounces hard enough to shake her chair, and though my fingers itch to comfort her, I resist. “Everyone, this is Grace. Last descendant. Curse breaker.”
Whether she realizes it or not, Grace lifts her chin and straightens her posture. It takes all my effort not to smile.
“Grace, this is my innermost circle,” I continue. Pointing at each, I quickly run through their roles. “Oskar manages everything within the manor. Milas scouts throughout the Echo for resources and contacts. Amelia works as our vampiric representative in the Night Realm and the Echo at large. Beatrice trains the military. Theo, our newest member, helps where needed. Once we break the curse, he’ll eventually hold a military position, as well.”
Grace nods along, body stiff, but eyes alert. I force myself not to focus on her and instead address my followers.
“We’re a long way from breaking the curse,” I say. “Many uncertainties remain, particularly where Grace is concerned. For now, it’s important we ensure we are ready, the moment the curse falls.”
I rummage a scrap of parchment from my coat pocket. Cora’s swirled handwriting covers both sides, and I pass it to Milas.
“Cora has finished her list of needed ingredients,” I say as he reviews it. “Have it all collected by the end of next week.”
“Yes, Master,” he says, dipping his head.
I return the nod and continue the meeting, touching on only the most pressing of matters. Grace watches with intense curiosity, eyebrows scrunching as we switch from topic to topic. I can almost imagine the questions she’s stacking within her mind. I’m sure I’ll hear every one of them before the day is through.
When Grace stiffens beside me, it takes me a moment to figure out why. Oskar’s partway through his list of projects, but he’s moved on from simply housekeeping needs.
“At least three,” he’s saying. “Five would be better though. We could open an additional feeding in the early morning. As it is, we’re too crowded during the seven o’clock…”
I’m barely listening to Oskar. I’m too focused on the way Grace breathes, the way her heart thrums erratically in her chest. I keep my eyes focused on my oldest follower, but my attention belongs wholly to her.
Her soft hand brushes against mine. At first, I assume it’s a mistake. Then, her fingers touch mine again, and this time, she closes her hand over my knuckles. She squeezes, hard enough it would hurt me, were I human. When I look over, I can’t decide if she’s trying not to cry or scream.
I twist my wrist, trying to take her palm in mine. I’m not sure why. I’ve never held hands with a woman, not even for basic comfort.
It doesn’t matter. The moment our palms touch, Grace’s slips away. She moves both hands to the table and refuses to meet my gaze for the rest of the meeting.
Once the meetingis over and we’re alone in the sunlit courtyard, I turn to Grace. She’s purposefully avoiding my gaze. She studies my statue, mouth curving downward, disgusted by the stone version of me. I’m disgusted by him too. It’s his fault we ended up here, cursed by the witches, damned to eternal darkness.
“Grace,” I say softly.
“I grabbed your hand,” she says. She speaks each word like a curse, like she’s committed an unthinkable, unforgivable crime.
“Yes,” I say. I don’t fight my smile. None of the others are around to see it anyway. “You did.”
“I shouldn’t have,” she says. She’s still looking at the damn statue.
