The Architect of Song (Haunted Hearts Legacy Book 1) (44 page)

“No. No.” I slung my legs over the bed’s edge, shoved aside Enya’s hand when she tried to stop me. How had it come to a duel? Why would the investor not have told everyone the truth about Chaine when he was being accused … to take the heat off himself and stoke the flames beneath another? “Did Lord Thornton win?”

Upon Enya’s nod, I felt a flash of hope, but the cloud over her face shattered it. She reached out her hand to steady mine, as it was now shaking. “They both fired their shots. His lordship’s bullet grounded Larson. But when your viscount turned to walk away,” her eyes filled again, “the investor dragged out another gun he’d hidden in his coat, and shot Lord Thornton. A lead ball lodged in his back. The doctor is performing surgery.”

The room swam around me, a cold sweat forming on my brow. I tried to stand.

Enya stood first, holding me back. “There is nothing you can do. You must wait until we are summoned; your uncle is with him, as is the physician. We simply must pray they can successfully remove the ball and save him.”

I perched on my bed’s edge, holding the locket’s box to my aching chest. “I have the only means whereby to save him. Either you help me dress and accompany me, or I will traipse through this townhouse in my chemise until I find someone willing to be my lady’s maid … even if I have to settle for a cat.”

The black curtains drawn across Chaine’s windows blocked out the sun, adding an aura of gloom to the already foreboding circumstances. Throughout the chamber, lit candles in sconces flickered dancing patterns along the white, frothy walls.

He had done all he could, the rooster-faced physician told me. He had removed the ammunition, he said. He’d stitched the incision. But the bleeding wouldn’t abate.

I tried to pretend to be grateful, to not despise him for his cynicism. His red hair stood against Chaine’s black and white chambers like a bush aflame. His breath smelled too similar to the antiseptic which overpowered the flowers in the hanging baskets.

He expected the viscount would not outlast the night. And even if by some miracle Lord Thornton did survive, the rooster predicted he would be paralyzed. And what sort of life would that be for such an active, strong young man who’d once held such promise?

What did the physician know? I knew more of life and death than him. I would not let Chaine fade away like his brother without a fight. The man I had come to love could accept being paralyzed, as he had always embraced imperfections, but I wasn’t willing to accept such an end for him. He deserved so much more after the childhood he had endured.

I sat in the white chair next to the black bed and studied his stubbled chin, how it quivered with each shallow breath. With his thick mane so dark, and his olive complexion faded to a wan opacity, he blended into the achromatic décor. Holding his hand, I felt like a watercolor portrait—unmoving, observing, serene within the throes of silent chaos.

Other colors trickled in and out: butlers in their outrageous oranges and greens, loyal to their kind master, wanting to keep him comfortable; maids sporting vivid crimson aprons and purple frocks, acting as nurses, changing the dressings on Chaine’s muscled back to keep his sheets clean; several of the investors came in to pay respects wearing gray suits—a small reprieve from the parade of concerned rainbows.

I waited, quiet and demure. No one expected otherwise. The deaf, lovelorn girl from Claringwell, watching her future slide away like sands through an open hand. What would become of her now?

Let them ponder. I had other things to think upon, such as Chaine’s face. The stormy eyes which harbored so much love and angst now veiled by sable lashes—shutters drawn over the mind of a child savant within a man’s consummate form; the high cheekbones that twitched with pain as he slept fitfully—the ones which captured me in the magic of his smile; his mouth stuttering with unheard groans—full lips that had brought me so much pleasure and wonder through witty discussions and interludes of passion barely tapped.

My heart would have broken to see him so fragile, this powerful gypsy prince, were it not for one shining hope. I grasped the locket’s box in my lap and with my good hand, lifted Chaine’s wrist to run my lips across his blue veins, breathing his scent, feeling his pulse.

I bided my time in such a way until Uncle returned from the hall where he’d been speaking with Enya. All I needed was solitude with Chaine. My uncle would ensure that I had it.

Uncle stood within the doorway, his eagle-like features gilded in grief and firelight. Reading my expression, he sent the servants away. Several of them glanced over their shoulders as they left, sympathy and respect in their eyes. They thought different of me now, for we had shared vigil over their master’s listless form.

Once the room cleared, Uncle knelt by the bedside, wincing as he strained his lower back. He looked up at me with such deep sorrow, the dam holding my tears almost cracked wide open.

Laying Chaine’s hand upon the covers, I cupped Uncle’s chin.

“Be strong,” I told him, half-speaking to myself. “Have faith.”

“I should be telling you that, tiny sparrow.” He tried to smile, but ended up sobbing. The shudder in his throat shook my palm. “I was his second; I should’ve warned him. But I never saw it coming. Larson had another pistol hidden in his jacket.”

I stroked his white hair. “No one blames you, father bear.”

He glanced down. “At least that investor met his comeuppance. Nicolas can take heart in that.”

I squirmed. It was little consolation to know Larson died before dawn this morning. The investor’s death would cause a dire chain reaction. Once his will was read, Chaine would be exposed as a fraud and murderer.

Uncle lifted to sit on the bed’s edge, but kept my hand. “I don’t know what happened between that investor and Nicolas. I think it had to do with that pouch over there. Nicolas brought it back from the mines when he returned with your locket.” Uncle motioned to the writing desk where a leather bag sat, its flap buckled tight. It startled me to see the square pocket watch lying next to it, turned up so the inscription could be seen.
Rat King.

Chaine must’ve found it when he searched for my necklace.

I frowned. “What is in the bag?” I had my suspicions, and it would explain why Lord Larson didn’t follow through with his threats when Chaine confronted him about my fall. By the looks of the leather, it was very old. Yet it withstood the years. Which meant that the books within—which could expose Lord Larson’s embezzlements—might’ve withstood, too, and would still be legible.

Uncle shrugged, eyes misting again. “It is not my place to look through Nicolas’s things. Rumor has it he was involved in some sort of blackmailing scheme. I only wish I knew what side he was on. I’d like to believe he was innocent. Otherwise, I battle this rage that he pulled you into it and nearly got you killed.” His gaze fell to Chaine’s listless form. “I hate to think ill thoughts of anyone in such a bad way. Even more so of this lad. He’s become like a son to me. I thought he was worthy of you.”

“He is. And he’s innocent.”

“You know that, do you?” Uncle’s eyes narrowed.

“I love him.”

Uncle’s eyes reflected tenderness and pride. He’d waited so long to hear me admit such a thing. “Love can be blind.”

“Love can also be discerning. It can find goodness where others see only evil.”

Uncle shook his head. “If he comes out of this—”

“
When
,” I corrected, my jaw tightening.

“When … he’s likely to have a scandal on his hands. If you stand by him, you shall be in the midst of it all. People will talk.”

I stiffened my shoulders. “What has a deaf girl to fear of talk?”

Uncle’s forehead relaxed along with his grasp on my hand. “You’ve changed. This man has made you strong.”

“The experience has strengthened me. All of it.” I studied Chaine. “Uncle, might I have some time alone with him? Please.”

He nodded, patting my hand. “Of course. I’ll keep watch in the hall so no one disturbs you.”

The moment the door latched shut, I jumped up, clenched my teeth against the shooting pain in my shin and shoulder, and opened the box.

I held the locket up to the candlelight, watched the silver glisten … remembering Hawk’s and my first night together. How helpless he seemed. But it was me all along who needed his help. For only by walking with the dead could I see how precious life was—and rekindle my desire to live it.

Knelt beside the bed, elbows propped on the mattress, I opened the necklace’s clasp. Sweeping Chaine’s silky hair aside, I secured the chain around his neck but kept the locket tight within my fist, away from his skin.

“What happened?” Hawk appeared on the other side of the bed. He glanced down at his brother then up at me. “Juliet?”

“He was shot in a duel. Trying to defend my honor.”

My ghost cursed. “No. I was just with him …”

“A full day has passed since then. So, you saw him in the tunnel?”

Hawk nodded. “He was rubbing muck off of the locket between his fingers. I couldn’t believe it. To look up and find him instead of you. And then he saw me.” His lips pressed tight. “We stood there staring at one another for what felt like an eternity. I-I can’t even remember who spoke first. But once we started talking, we couldn’t stop. It was as if … as if we’d never been apart. At first he was angry at me, for dying. But we were so happy to be together again, he forgave me.” He gave me a sad smile. “We spoke of everything. I told him of my time with you.”

My mouth gaped.

Hawk smiled. “Of course I left out some details. I’m not a complete rogue. But he knows I love you.” Hawk’s fingertip traced the quilt under his brother’s arm and wrinkled the fabric. “He told me I couldn’t have you. That he’d waited too long. And if that’s what I came for, well, I might as well go back to being dead.” Hawk winced against a pain I could only imagine. “I don’t blame him. I mean, the shock of it, to know his rival all along had been a ghost? His brother’s ghost, no less.” Hawk’s attention caught on the pouch at the desk. “Good. He found them. I was hoping it was still in the witch tree. Those ledgers should help in silencing Larson.”

“Larson is dead. Perhaps they can help in the aftermath.” Keeping the locket cradled in my palm, I sat upon the mattress’s edge. Pressing my empty hand to Chaine’s sternum, I felt his heartbeat in irregular palpitations where the covers grazed a line of hair on his bared chest. “Chaine is dying. Unless you step in.”

Fear crept over Hawk’s face—the dawning of a dark realization. “I saw you in your room when your maid summoned me. I looked upon my flower. You have the last petal.”

I squeezed the locket so hard its edges bit into my flesh. “Yes.” Tears flooded my eyes. I could no longer keep the emotions at bay. “If you could heal my paper cut … surely you can heal your brother. You once shared a womb. You’re already portions of one spirit.”

Hawk regarded his brother’s helpless form. He rubbed his temples. “How can I say goodbye to you, now that I’ve held you in my arms?”

His question sliced deep—a knife’s edge to the core of my being.

“Where will I go?” His voice wavered. Dread crossed his features.

I couldn’t block out my own memory of being in that mine alone—much less imagine an eternity there.

A sob snagged in my throat, almost strangling. “I don’t know. I don’t know what happens now.” The cry burst free; I muffled it so Uncle wouldn’t hear. Hot, slick tears and saliva coated my palm where I clutched my mouth so hard it pinched my lips. “I cannot send you into the darkness forever. But … I don’t know what else to do …”

Weak and weary, I curled my legs upon the bed and snuggled next to Chaine. My face buried into his neck. The warmth of his body radiated around me and soothed my sore shoulder.

Hawk moved behind me.

Looking up into his face, I sniffled. “I cannot have you both dead and untouchable to me.”

Hawk’s jaw ground so tight, the imprint of his gums appeared beneath his skin. “My brother saved himself for you, his whole life … after meeting you once as a child. I was one of the dogs that called him a fool for that. But he knew you were special. Me? Had I met you when I was living, you would just have been another conquest. It took me dying to learn how to love a woman with such devotion. He always was the wiser one.”