Winterly (Dark Creatures Book 1), стр. 64

What she loved most about this book was the beautiful, morbid images that had been so carefully hand painted on each vellum leaf. One could appreciate the skill it had taken to create them all in turn, notwithstanding their grisly nature—depicting slaughterous wolves, long-fanged ghouls, and suchlike, except the page she was at now, which bore only a benign sort of gilded chalice. Benign if one presumed the contents within to be nothing more than red wine, nothing sinister in that. She only hoped, very dubiously withal, that it was only wine.

Beneath the image was written a strange sort of charade that instantly excited Emma, for she took great pleasure in a riddle.

From she who bears the grail’s mark

An ancient blood doth flow.

Light of life will draw the dark,

And stir the deathless eyes below;

Cup of life shall feed the night—

In red bathe fang and horn—

And quench immortal appetite.

From the grail is darkness borne.

“Grail?” she mused, tapping her chin. “What has the holy grail to do with vampyres.”

Finally, Emma gave up on deciphering the silly little charade and closed the book to wipe tiredly at her eyes.

The long, watchful nights seemed to have been for naught, no foul fiends appeared the least bit interested in stealing into her room before dawn. Well, the sun was up now and she was free to nap unmolested; dawn’s light brought with it a primal sense of safety, as that of a doe who knows the wolf has slunk back to his den to wait for dusk. But just to be sure, Emma applied a little Devil’s Bane before she surrendered herself to sleep, just for a little rest.

A little rest, however, turned into the better part of the day, and by late afternoon she was feeling much refreshed, ready to stand watch another night. What a nocturnal creature she herself had become. But that was to her advantage, wasn’t it?

She contemplated delaying her meeting with the master of Winterthurse for another night and told herself she would consider her next move over a glass of claret and some vittles. This small feast was shortly delivered by a wraithlike little undermaid and a footman. Wordlessly, they set to work tidying the room and lighting the fire. Emma endeavored to ignore these animated corpses by reposing in her chair to sketch.

She had brought only one ball gown with her, a pale blue crepe that would need to be pressed before the ball. It was nothing particularly grand, but it was all she had and it would have to do. She had yet to send to town for a mask, but there was still time enough for that; one could not go to a bal masqué without a mask.

Milli joined her again soon after the servants left her chamber. Her sister was looking beautiful, though still quite drawn, dressed in a white sarcenet with long sleeves. It seemed both sisters were languishing under the dark spell of this castle. “You’re in luck, my dear peahen,” said Milli.

“Am I?” Emma set her sketchbook down.

“May I see?” asked Milli, having ostensibly seen something of the face sketched therein.

“Certainly not.”

Milli flounced towards the door. “Then perhaps I shall not share my news after all.”

“Oh, go on,” said Emma, relenting with a sigh. She opened her sketchbook and passed it over for Milli’s perusal. A puckish grin spread slowly across Milli’s countenance. It was a testament to Emma’s proficiency that Milli so easily recognized the subject of her fancy.

“A fair likeness,” said Milli, “though you have made him look a trifle sinister.”

That was because something sinister smoldered beneath Markus Winterly’s handsome countenance. At least there was when one looked close enough, just before the light was extinguished. “Quid pro quo, sister—what have you to say about my being in luck?”

Milli handed the sketchbook back and helped herself to Emma’s wine. “I bear happy tidings, sister. You may safely shirk the guise of malady, for the dread Lord Winterly, his sister has just informed me, and all the menfolk have left the castle, and they shan’t return till the morning of the ball.”

“Are you sure?”

Milli sighed, doubtless lamenting the loss of Mr. Valko. “Quite sure. Some or other hunting trip with the dogs.” She gave a shudder. “Vicious beasts.”

“You speak as though you’ve first hand experience with the dogs.”

“You may say that. Oh, I have something for you.” Milli reached into her pocket and pulled out an epistle that was oddly folded, almost like a flat little parcel.

Emma flipped it over this way and that, but there was no name that she could see. Only the Winterly crest stamped into the seal. “Are you sure it’s for me?”

“It was lying outside your door.” Milli gazed, intent, as Emma snapped the seal.

Inside, Emma found a little collection of ladies hair pins. The sight was so underwhelming to Milli’s sense of adventure that she rose with a snort and left the room.

Emma, however, was much affected. Her face glowed with chagrin and, dare she admit it, some secret thrill. By returning her hair pins, Winterly had sought to remind her of their illicit kiss in the ancient graveyard. As if she could forget.