Oh night! Go on forever and let dawn stay behind the clouds!
The door opened behind me. I could welcome him inside. Even as I moved aside, I heard the sound of the cathedral bells. Distant and haunting, the sound of the bells tolling the hour, the last hour of the night, before the witching hours, heralded the day of Duir’s procession. From castle to cathedral, he would ride. It was the last day before he would wear the crown.
I am no witch and the spell of my words died, the desirous hex woven by our bodies broke.
“You must go, Seton.” When he didn’t move, I wasn’t sure he heard me.
“No,” he answered as the last bell tolled. “Let me stay, let us love each other.”
I shook my head and gathered the pack containing the velvet to my chest. “I have to make a start or I will be doomed to not finish the vest. You must go, and you mustn’t talk of love between us to anyone. It is an act certain to bring you death.”
“There is no rewriting of the heart’s music. I am falling in love with you and you with me. You want me, I know it.” He reached for me.
The velvet I clutched to my chest blocked his touch. This barrier built by duty and fear existed long before his arrival.
His hand pushed against the velvet. “If there was anything stronger than new love, I did not know it until now.”
My mouth burned from his kiss, my body ached for more of his touch, but the velvet also burned.
Seton’s outstretched hand hung in the air a moment, hopeful, reaching for me.
“Please.” The words scratched at my throat and mouth like thorns.
He must have heard the pain in my voice, for his hand dropped to his side. He searched my face a second and in the cold, silver light, I saw ache in his eyes. He bowed low before me and departed.
* * * *
The next morning, I woke to find that I’d again slept in the shop, slumped over my table. My arms, back and legs ached with time spent in an unnatural sleeping position.
“You should not make it a habit of sleeping in the shop.”
Sylvain’s voice startled me. My brother appeared withdrawn, and his voice melancholy. He stood by the window opposite the table, the one looking out on the side yard and the small pond often used by passersby to water their horses and travelers seeking a short break from their journeys.
I yawned, then stretched my arms over my head. “It was not my intention, I swear.”
My eyes searched for some clue as to the progress of my work, but found none. “I thought I’d brought Duir’s patterns and father’s scissors. The velvet…” My voice faded away. The velvet, had it been lost? Had someone broke in and stolen the precious material while I slept? I stood and felt the frantic rush of blood fill my limbs with pins and needles. Memories of Seton, the kiss, his hands touching, stroking my body and the words he spoke, and the words I didn’t. My lips tingled as if they hungered for his lips.
Shaking the memories away and massaging my cramped limbs, I began looking for the velvet. “Forgive me, Sylvain, I am overwhelmed. I’d hoped to have made some progress of the vest, and it appears I have lost my mind, for I see nothing of my night’s work.”
Sylvain came away from the window. His unseeing eyes burned with something I couldn’t determine. “The peacocks are dead.”
Confused and fumbling for my apparently lost materials, I repeated: “Peacocks?” I vaguely remembered Therese mentioning the birds when she’d visited the other day. “The birds she’d gotten as gifts?”
“Yes, they are dead, dropped from where they were perched as though struck by some invisible hand.” He folded his arms across his chest.
“Is there some divine meaning you wish me to gain from your words? I can tell you that I am in no mind to guess.” I got up, went to another smaller table, and continued my frantic search.
“I believe the birds carried illness within them.”
“Illness?” I mimicked, only partially listening. Finding nothing on the table, I resignedly sat down on a chair opposite my brother and began replaying the night in my head. Seton’s face emerged and I smiled. Had it happened? I brought a hand to my lips. He’d kissed me, embraced me and wanted me. These sweet memories blurred everything else.
When I looked up, I found Sylvain standing before me. His grim expression cut short my daydreaming.
“Virago, please listen to me.”
“I am listening.”
He crouched down beside me. “Last night, Therese hosted a feast. Two of the peacocks were slaughtered and served to her guests. Those who partook of the birds’ flesh are ill. The two remaining birds lie dead in her courtyard.”
My brother’s dismal tone began to frighten me. In an attempt to alleviate this growing sense of doom, I stood and resumed my search. “So what of it? Therese’s feasts are always feats of gluttony! Overindulgence and nothing more plagues her house!”
Sylvain remained crouched by the chair. “Funny, here I wondered how to mention the word for fear of sounding mad, and you say it casually, without concern.”
“What word do you mean?” Frustration plain in my voice.
“Plague.” He got up and crossed the room to the cabinet he used to store his work, and knowingly removed things from it.
“There hasn’t been talk of plague since before Killian wore the crown. You cannot mean such a thing.”
“Virago, you know I do not speak in vain. I believe those birds must have been sickened with something when they arrived and now those who ate their flesh are carrying the same disease.”
“It’s coincidence, nothing more! To make such a suggestion could incite chaos. Promise me you will not discuss this
