Lady Night, page 20
He kept his hands pressed to his face for a few moments and focused on taking deep, steadying breaths. When he brought his hands away from his face, he stared down at them, feeling half-dazed as he watched them wracked by tiny trembles.
"You're still nothing but a weak and pitiful little boy," Goldridge's—or had it been Orville's?—voice had said to him.
He's right, Derek thought to himself. He thought things had changed. He thought he was finished feeling like this.
But nothing had changed. He was still the same weak little boy he had been all those years ago under Goldridge's care.
"Derek?"
Derek startled badly. It appeared that in his haste to get to the bathroom, he had forgotten to close the door behind him and now whirled around to find Arabelle standing in the doorway behind him.
She was dressed in a plain nightdress beneath an untied dressing gown, her hair loose and slightly mussed. Even in the dimness, Derek could see the concern on her face as she looked at him. He could only imagine what he must have looked like to her at that moment.
In a voice that was barely above a whisper, she asked him, "Are you all right?"
And all Derek could do was crumble.
They went back to his room. They sat on the edge of his bed. Derek was distantly aware of the sound of the beginnings of rain tapping on the glass. Candlelight illuminated the room, flickering thanks to the draft coming in from beneath the closed door. Arabelle was close, but not touching him, and that was a comfort.
Derek kept his eyes on the carpeted floor as he told Arabelle the things he had kept hidden for so long.
He told her about life with Goldridge after his parents died. How, in the beginning, everything was fine. Goldridge acted as a kind and caring father figure, but after a while, everything changed. He told Arabelle about Goldridge's violent moods, especially when he drank, about the nights when Derek was forced to hide under his bed while Goldridge yelled and pounded on his door.
And he told her about how Goldridge betrayed him. How he had felt ashamed for so long, because he was a boy and that wasn't supposed to happen to boys. How no one believed him when he told them because Goldridge was the kindly and beloved Mayor of Windfell. What was Derek's word, the word of an orphan boy, against that of the esteemed Mayor Goldridge?
By now, tears were sliding down Derek's cheeks, but he made no move to hide them or wipe them away.
"And then I killed him," Derek said. "I still remember it—stabbing him over and over again. I thought that would be the end of it. After I killed him. I thought the nightmares would stop after Darus took me away. But they didn't. I thought once I became a Guardian, the nightmares would stop scaring me so much. I thought I had stopped being that weak little boy. But I haven't." He dropped his head into his hands, his shoulders began to shake. "I'm still so . . . pathetic."
"Derek," Arabelle said. He felt her slide off the bed so that she could kneel in front of him. Gently, she reached up to pry his hands away from his face. He let her.
"You are not pathetic," she told him in a firm, but gentle, voice.
Derek made a disbelieving sound in the back of his throat.
"I mean it. You're not pathetic or weak just because you're still affected by the things that you've been through. This," she said, indicating his current state, "doesn't mean you're weak. It just means that you're . . . human."
Derek looked down at his lap, where Arabelle's hands were clasped warmly around his own. "But I let him—for years . . . I didn't stop—"
"You didn't let him do anything to you." Arabelle's voice was fierce and unyielding, as was the look in her eyes. "You were a child. Nothing that he did to you was your fault."
"You weren't there. You don't know—"
"You've already told me everything I need to know," interjected Arabelle. "I know that you were young and alone and you had just lost your parents, and he took advantage of that. I know that in the end, he deserved what he got and much worse."
An unnamed emotion was beginning to well up inside of him. He found it hard to look at Arabelle because of it.
But when Derek turned his face away, he felt Arabelle's fingers, light as a butterfly's wing, touch his cheek. Surprisingly, the touch didn't make him startle. Didn't make him flinch or pull away. Quite the opposite actually, and just that light touch of fingers against his cheek sent a rush of warmth throughout him.
Arabelle was kneeling now, so that she was eye-to-eye with Derek. Shadows and candlelight danced across the planes of her face. Her expression as she looked at Derek was hard to describe, but it made his throat feel tight.
"Derek," Arabelle's voice was soft and steady and filled with another emotion that Derek couldn't quite place. "You are one of the strongest people I have ever met. Being strong doesn't mean being unaffected. It doesn't mean that you have to be made of stone. It means surviving and learning how to keep going after all the bad things have happened. You've done that, Derek. You've been surviving all this time, and you still are. That's a true testament to your strength. And it's all right that sometimes it gets too overwhelming for you. Just know that I . . ." She paused here, as if steeling herself. "Just know that I'll always be here for you. Whenever you need me, I'll stay by your side. Always."
It was—he was—Derek couldn't form a proper thought. He felt too overwhelmed. All he could do was stare at Arabelle. The fall of her golden hair over one shoulder, the shimmer in her violet eyes that never once left his. As he looked at her, he felt a new pressure in his chest, one that he didn't feel mentally or emotionally stable enough to discern.
Fresh tears welled and spilled and, unthinkingly, Derek leaned forward until his forehead was pressed against Arabelle's shoulder. He closed his eyes, and he felt her slowly—hesitantly—place her arms around him.
"Arabelle . . ." He began, his voice sounded choked. "Arabelle, I—"
"Shh," she hushed him gently.
"Don't leave me," said Derek. "Stay with me." A distant part of himself knew he was speaking nonsensically. Knew that he probably sounded like a needy child. But he couldn't help himself. Couldn't stop himself from voicing the thing he wanted—needed—the most right now.
Derek thought he heard Arabelle make a sound akin to laughter.
"Didn't you hear what I just said?" She spoke softly and with absolute tenderness. Her cheek pressed against the top of his head. "Always."
18
It took Arabelle only a handful of seconds after waking to realise the bed she was lying in was not her own.
Or that she was the only one in it.
Lying opposite her, under the same coarse blanket, with his face only scant inches away from hers, was Derek.
Her cheeks flamed and Arabelle nearly scrambled up and away, until she realised that Derek was still sleeping, and rather peacefully, by the looks of it.
Seeing the unguarded expression on his face kept her fixed in place. Even when she realised their hands were pressed against each other's in the small space between them. She didn't want to do anything that could disturb that look on his face.
He looked so young, Arabelle thought. With his mouth parted and his hair falling into his face even more than it usually did. His long, dark eyelashes brushed the tops of his cheekbones and Arabelle was struck by how beautiful he was. Surely it was strange to think of a boy as beautiful? But she couldn't think of another word to describe his appearance. 'Handsome' just didn't seem to do Derek justice.
In sleep, he also looked . . . vulnerable.
Memories from last night came flooding back and Arabelle felt a surge of anger and sadness and protectiveness well up within her.
She wouldn't lie, it had been hard hearing Derek recount those events from his past. To know just what he had gone through. To know that a man could do that to a child. Sickness roiled in the pit of her stomach at the thought.
She remembered the sobs that had wracked Derek's body. How he clearly thought so little of himself because of what happened to him—what was done to him. It not only broke her heart to witness, but made her wish she could bring the former Mayor of Windfell back to life, only so she could be the one to drive a knife through that dark heart of his.
But that would never happen, so instead, all she could do was hold Derek and try to make him understand that he was so much more than what some monster did to him. That he wasn't weak. He wasn't broken. He wasn't tainted. That it was all right for him to let his walls down and be vulnerable from time to time. It didn't make him any less, and certainly not to her.
Then there had been that moment where he had leaned into her. "Don't leave. Stay with me."
And so she had.
She had held him as his body shuddered with heaving breaths. Even as she felt the exhaustion finally drag him down into sleep, Arabelle didn't leave his side. How could she? Especially after he had asked her not to.
Even now, she felt guilty at the thought of getting up to leave, so she could return to her own room before he woke up. But would Derek even be bothered if he woke to find he had been left alone?
Arabelle didn't have to wonder for long. She held herself still as Derek started to come awake, unsure of how he would react when he saw her, especially when he realised they were lying so close together, their hands barely touching.
His eyes fluttered open and she couldn't help but smile at the way he blinked blearily, a slight frown on his face. Then, as he seemed to become more aware of his surroundings, his eyes landed on her and any traces of a frown disappeared.
"Good morning," said Arabelle steadily, although she felt anything but. By the Goddess, she was lying in a bed with Derek. Imagine what my father would say if he saw this, she thought wryly.
Derek was looking at her as if he couldn't quite figure out whether she was real or a figment of his imagination. "You stayed?"
She smiled at him. "Of course. You asked me to stay, didn't you?"
"I—You didn't have to." He looked somewhat abashed and was that a blush she could see?
"How are you feeling?" She asked.
"I feel—not great, but . . . better. Lighter, I think." He looked up at her then. Sincerity shining in those blue eyes. "Thank you. For—For being there, last night."
"Of course," Arabelle said firmly. "You're one of my best friends and I—you can talk to me about anything. I'll always be here to listen."
"Mm." He looked so calm and carefree. Hair tousled from sleep, eyes glittering with amusement. One corner of his mouth turned up in a small, boyish smile.
It made her heart flutter.
It could have happened then. In that moment, Arabelle wanted it enough that she would have tossed out all thoughts of caution or self-preservation and closed the short distance between them so that she could touch her lips to his.
Instead, the bedroom door was pushed open and Rosalie walked in, dressed and hair brushed into glossy black waves.
When she saw the two of them clearly lying next to each other on the bed beneath the same blanket, she raised a dark eyebrow.
"Well, don't you two look cosy," she remarked.
Oh, by the Goddess.
"Good morning to you too, Rosalie," said Derek. "And how are you on this bright winter's day?"
Rosalie smirked. "Oh, I'm fine, but probably not as fine as you both are."
Arabelle felt her face burn at Rosalie's implication. "Rosalie!"
"What?" That smirk didn't leave Rosalie's face as she stepped further into the room. "I wake up to find your bed is empty and when I come to see if Derek knows where you are, I find the two of you curled up on the bed together? Forgive me if that puts certain assumptions in my head."
Arabelle pulled the blanket away to reveal that they were both still fully clothed. Derek made a disgruntled sound.
"Nothing happened."
Rosalie looked at them, consideringly. "But you cou—"
"Nothing happened."
"All right, I'll take your word for it," Rosalie sighed. "Now, will you both get up so that we can get some breakfast already? I'm starving."
"Why don't you just go down by yourself?" asked Derek as he sat up, scratching at the back of his head.
"No one else seems to be up yet. I'd feel awkward going down to the dining room by myself."
"Really? What time is it?" said Arabelle, rising from the bed.
"Almost ten o'clock, I think?"
Odd, Arabelle thought. In the time they'd spent here at the Mayor's Manor, she'd found that the day always started early for those that lived and worked here.
Indeed, as she made her way back to her and Rosalie's room, she noticed a distinct lack of activity around the house. Curtains had still yet to be drawn open. The sound of house staff going about their day went unheard. Arabelle wondered if perhaps the servants had a day off?
As Arabelle changed her clothes and combed her hair, Rosalie continued to pepper her with questions about what she was doing in Derek's room, but she refused to give the other girl an inch. She didn't want to encourage the ideas that were no doubt running amuck in Rosalie's head, but she also wouldn't tell her what had really happened. That was something only Derek could do if he chose to.
"If you didn't want me to know, you should have been more discreet," said Rosalie from where she sat on her bed, examining her nails. "I saw you leaving this morning."
"What?" Arabelle turned away from her reflection in the vanity table mirror so she could look at Rosalie. "What do you mean you saw me leaving this morning?"
"Exactly what I said. I woke up because I heard you going through your things and then you left. Even though I tried calling out to you. A bit rude not to even acknowledge me, by the way."
Arabelle was baffled. She had been in Derek's room since around midnight. "But you couldn't have—" Her eyes went wide. She shot up from her seat and went to her knees at the side of her bed, pulling her pack out from underneath.
"What's wrong?" Rosalie asked her while she searched through her things,
It didn't take long for her to realise that, with a sinking feeling, her suspicion was correct.
"The grimoire," she said. "It's gone."
The heavy sound of the doorknocker downstairs echoed throughout the house.
Arabelle and Rosalie exchanged a look before they were both heading for their bedroom door. They found Derek had already emerged from his room as well, and together, they made their way down to the foyer, where they were just in time to see Lilith open the door to two Town Guards in their silver armour and blue capes.
After a quick exchange with Lilith that was too quiet for them to hear, the Guards stepped inside.
When the first Guard caught sight of Arabelle, Rosalie and Derek still standing on the stairs, he turned to them and said in a clear voice, "Guardians, you are under arrest for the murder of Captain Orville Goldridge."
* * *
The first thing Jared was aware of when he woke up was the distinct lack of another person's warmth beside him.
The blankets slid down as he propped himself up on his elbows and he shivered as bare skin met the chilly morning air seeping into the tent. The fire had gone out sometime in the night. Jared looked around blearily but quickly deduced that he was alone and that only his clothes lay in a haphazard pile on the floor by the bed. Will must have slipped away while Jared was still sleeping. The realisation caused Jared a twinge of disappointment; he would have enjoyed waking up beside Will—or better yet, with Will in his arms.
Jared got up and set about putting on his discarded clothes, but with his mind on other things as he did so. Primarily on Will, and what had happened between them the night before. Last night hadn't been the first time Jared had ever slept with someone, but it had been the first time it had felt like that. As if something had fallen into place. Some missing piece that, now that it had been found, left him feeling lighter and happier. When he remembered the feel and taste of Will's kisses, the press of Will's body against his own, the sound of his name on Will's lips, it filled him with a warmth and desire so strong it nearly robbed him of breath.
Jared pulled out his travelling cloak from where he had stuffed it, none too neatly, into his pack and pulled it around his shoulders. Once he was sufficiently rugged up, he made his way out of the tent.
It was still early in the morning, the sky a mottle of pinks and soft blues. The outside of the camp was deserted apart from Adolphus standing at the far end, keeping watch. He didn't see Will anywhere. Adolphus clearly hadn't noticed Jared emerge, so he took the opportunity to slip away quietly. He wandered aimlessly through the woods, being careful not to stray too far from the camp and almost stumbling at times when the snow deepened unexpectedly.
Jared paused beneath the overhanging branch of a tree and gazed up at the icicles hanging along its length, glittering in the rising sunlight.
Was he falling for Will? He didn't know for certain whether this was simply a new infatuation or the beginning of something more, but what he did know was that, more than anything right now, he wanted to see Will. Wanted to be with him and to run his fingers through that tawny hair and kiss him.
He was about to head back to the camp to see if he could find Will when he heard the murmur of voices close by.
Moving to investigate, Jared soon caught sight of the familiar blond head of Elijah Hargrade. He was standing underneath one of the beech trees, with a hand leaning against the trunk. That's when Jared noticed the other person Elijah was with. Will.
Will had his back against the tree, looking at his feet as Elijah towered over him. Was Elijah bullying him? It looked that way at first glance, but Will's posture and expression seemed far too relaxed for someone who was being hassled. Even Elijah didn't look as antagonistic as he normally did. Still, Jared couldn't say he cared much for the way he was looking down at Will.
