I was unsuccessful in my search for Darius, though it was to be expected. I didn't dare wander, so the best I could manage was to poke my head into the various halls and rooms adjoining the main foyer and stairwell. I didn't find the Sin of Pride, but I did stumble upon several lounges, an aquarium, and a solarium with views of the muggy landscape.
I would have enjoyed sitting there for a while—if not for the collection of a hundred stone ravens perched in the rafters, all of them staring at me with blank, lifeless eyes.
As the morning waned and gave way to the afternoon and the afternoon found its rest in the hours of twilight, I admitted defeat and retreated to the Sin's rooms upstairs. I pushed the armchair to the window and found a book in English to preoccupy myself with as I sat down.
What was Darius researching now? More on this mythical weapon? Was I wrong to be skeptical of its existence? A month ago, I had thought Darius and his ilk were nothing more than haunting phantasms conjured by ink upon paper—by books and words. I had been convinced witches and vampires and mages were figments of the imagination, convenient ways for those in the Dark Ages to explain disease, phenomena, or political corruption. But they were real.
I sat with my legs folded to my chest, the book balanced upon my knee. If such things as demons and angels and fairies could exist, was it possible for Darius's weapon to be true too? Was I being naïve in my dismissal of it?
I wasn't sure. I believed there was a definite line between what is improbable and what is impossible. Was the weapon's existence improbable? Absolutely. But was it impossible?
The sun was invisible behind the walls of iron fog, but its descent toward the western horizon was marked by the steady decline of light upon the moors. Crows cawed in the dark while bullfrogs croaked in the shallow pools. I heard them splashing through the water as the black birds flew by the open window, their wings beating against the misty air.
I bent my head over my chosen text and tried to lose myself in the poetry contained within. It was surprising to discover a collection of Keats poems in Darius's library, but I assumed he read such things to learn the advanced mechanics of language. Even so, it was an odd contradiction in his laconic character.
"'Was it a vision, or a waking dream?" I murmured aloud, thumbing the soft, worn edges of the pages. "'Fled is that music:—do I wake or sleep?'" The end of the ode resounded with me in a significant way. I shivered. "Sometimes I'm not sure either, Keats."
The stubby candles on the mantle guttered and extinguished with plaintive wisps of smoke. Irritated, I groaned as I lowered my bare feet and went to rise—when I felt a presence looming behind the chair. Fear spiraled through my veins as my body went rigid with adrenaline. The presence neared, arcing above the chair as its heat battled with the chill of the night billowing through the open window.
What was that?
"I'd appreciate," Darius snapped as he took the book from my pale hand. "If you didn't get your grubby fingertips on this. It's a first edition."
"You scared the hell out of me!" I yelled, rounding on the demon standing at the armchair's flank. His face was lost to the encompassing shadows, though the sparse rays of fresh moonlight illuminated the edge of his jaw and the side of his nose. The Sin's hands landed atop the armchair, his long fingers ghostly against the faded upholstery, the book's spine bent beneath the pressure of his inexorable grip.
"If you're waiting for an apology, it's not forthcoming."
I started, realizing I had been staring at Darius for some time as my heart slowed to its typical speed. "Where did you go today?" I demanded, choosing to ignore the frigidity proceeding the Sin's presence, though it was a clear indicator of his uncooperative mood. "You left me alone in this...place!"
Darius lifted his arm, his hand twisting in a circular gesture. The air currents responded to the shift of his movements, rising and falling in such rapid succession as they created a tangible spark of kinetic energy. In an instant, the spark struck the fireplace and relit the candles—and part of the mantle. Grunting, the Sin moved to stifle the flames.
"Now that we are beyond Balthier's reach, I've returned to my research," Darius said as he smothered the fire under his bare palm. His skin hissed in protest, but the Sin didn't so much as blink. "If I chose to leave you behind, that is admissible and my choice. I'm tasked with protecting you, not entertaining you, girl."
His riled tone plucked at my already tender nerves. I strode forward, insinuating myself between the creature and hearth, forcing Darius to step back. His brow rose, and the new candlelight was reflected in the surface of his red irises. I was close enough for the heat of his body to be felt against mine, but I didn't retreat.
"I don't need to be entertained," I snapped as I bounced the back of my hand against the front of Darius's chest. It was like striking concrete. "I don't want to be left alone! There's something wrong with this place, Darius!"
The Sin took another step away, brushing my hand from his person. His gaze lifted from mine to focus on the window and the marsh beyond. "It is your imagination."
"It is not."
"It is your imagination!" Darius reiterated, surging forward. His fist landed on the mantle by my head, cracking the damaged wood. I flinched at his sudden proximity, and Darius seemed to realize his reaction had been disproportionate, as he slowly withdrew, eyes growing darker. "Don't push me, Sara. Not right now."
We stared at one another. The ribbon of tension drawn between the Sin and me unraveled in increments. I hadn't meant to yell at him, but Darius's abrupt, startling appearance after his unexplained absence today had exacerbated my apprehensive mood. He had done so before in Verweald, but there I had been left to my own home, my own territory.
I was a stranger in Crow's End. My every step was dogged by impending, unshakeable dread. I did not want to be alone.
"I don't like it here," I confessed, dropping my gaze to the dusty floorboards. "The manor is...strange. It's not my imagination."
"It's not meant to be likeable, it's meant to be safe." Darius sighed as he ran a tired hand through his unkempt hair. I noticed blurry, white trails left behind by his fingers. It was either dust or ash, I couldn't tell which. There were other lines on his thighs, as though he had been wiping his hands off on his pants.
Research in the archives, I recalled as I studied the Sin's dirty appearance. I imagine Peroth's archives are quite old—and apparently quite dusty.
Darius noticed my attention had wavered and looked down at himself. Plucking the front of his black t-shirt, the Sin sneered at the smattering of fingerprints falling across his collar and chest like loose flower petals. He tossed the book onto the table without thought. "I need to bathe."
Before I could say anything, the Sin jerked himself into motion and disappeared into the bathroom. The door slammed with unexpected force and I exhaled a breath I hadn't known I'd been holding. The candles wavered yet again, the smallest of their number extinguishing with weak hisses of cooling wax.
I sank onto the chair's arm, frustrated with myself and the irritable demon. When my life hadn't revolved around the machinations of a bloody Sin and his cult of worshipers, I'd been far more eloquent and thoughtful. I'd spoken with a certain finesse, if I chose to speak at all.
Since forming my contract with the Sin of Pride, however, I was anything but eloquent. I was blunt and ill-mannered, my temper breaking at the slightest of provocations. Once jaded and prone to fits of sarcasm, I had grown as temperamental and restless as a coiled adder.
"I didn't mean to yell," I muttered to my knees. I had meant to appeal to the Sin's logical side, to ask him if I could assist in his research. I wanted to help, even if I thought the action futile. Instead, I had yelled. I had whined and bickered. My hand crept over my chilled neck, covering the skin though it was hidden by the fall of my hair. "But it's not in my imagination."
The water turned on in the other room, pipes complaining loudly in the crooked walls. I rose and stepped up to the mantle, licking my fingers to put out the remaining candles. I picked up the Keats book from the table and stashed it into my back pocket as I ignored the uncanny sensation of being watched and strode from the room.
I was nearly to the foyer when the Sin of Pride appeared at my side, materializing from the Realm's shadows in an unwelcome downdraft of sulfur and heat. "Where are you going?" he asked as he matched my pace. I shrugged.
"Dinner."
Darius grimaced but continued to walk with me. Water glistened in his tousled hair, replacing the streaks of dust and grime. It clung to his eyelashes as his dark eyes intently roved first the mezzanine, then the foyer. Voices grew louder as we approached the dining room.
More people than I could have imagined crowded the space, all waiting for their dinner as they talked and laughed with one another. I came to a halt, stunned by the sheer volume of bodies blocking my path. I knew Crow's End was large, but there had to be a hundred people there! A hundred fairies!
Darius's hand landed on the nape of my neck as he steered me through the crush. The long table was overburdened with bursting trays and the benches didn't have a single available space—but that didn't stop Darius. He grabbed one man by the collar and hoisted him off the bench. The guy spun around, sputtering with indignation, but he took one look at the glowering demon and quieted.
Darius dropped me onto the vacated seat and quickly removed the Aos Sí's friend so he could sit at my side. No one noticed the switch in table occupants, though the woman on my other side slid me a strange look before returning to her conversation. People leaned upon the walls if they couldn't find a spot at the table, snatching bites of food from plates as they drifted by. The very air thrummed with the magic of a witch and the energy of so many mythical beings.
"Where did they all come from?" I asked Darius as he snatched a pitcher from the table's middle and sniffed the contents. He glanced in my direction, then at the multitude of others swarming around us as if just realizing they were there.
The Aos Sí were the predominant members of the population, but there were others interspersed between their groups and cliques. Gavin sat with Thomas and a few other well-built, strong featured men and women. I felt something brush against my legs, and I glanced beneath the table to see a large wolf slink by, lapping up fallen scraps.
I spied two witches aside from Mattie, distinguishable by their seemingly normal, human-like features. I didn't see any mages, however. I had only come across one so far in Verweald, but I was fairly certain there was not a single mage in attendance tonight. Odd.
Anzel Vyus had claimed one head of the table for himself and his bevy of fair-haired followers. I hadn't thought the Vytian would be so popular, considering the casual—if overly friendly—manner in which he regarded me, but I was wrong. Aos Sí women practically fawned over the man, and those near enough to hear the words coming out of his moving lips clung to every syllable.
The display was unnerving as it was yet another example of the Vytian's dynamic, subliminally duplicitous character. I didn't know what version of the man I could trust: the one I saw now with his fingers curled under a woman's jaw, or the one I had eaten breakfast with.
At the other head of the table, nearer to where the demon and I had settled, sat the Sin of Sloth. His mannerisms were just as baffling as Anzel's. He spoke with those around him with convivial ease, laughing where appropriate. His amusement rolled over the diners like the first gust of a summer storm, the warm and balmy heat pleasant and yet so ominous. No trace of the haunting specter could be found in his smiling countenance.
Peroth's golden eyes alighted upon Darius and me. The low rumble of his deep voice continued to enthrall those gathered at his side of the table, but his animal eyes did not leave Pride or myself. His ringed hand lifted a goblet, and—with a smirk—he tipped it in our direction. The wine within clung to the cup's sides and rim.
What truly caught my eye, however, was not the Sin of Sloth. No—it was the young man at his side, half hidden in the bolder creature's shadow, not unlike a child hiding behind a parent's out held arm. He was the youngest person in attendance, more boy than man, his face unlined and untried by life.
His brown hair was parted through the middle of his scalp, and a liberal dusting of freckles marred the shelf of his nose and cheekbones. He wore a tawny knitted jumper that dwarfed his skinny frame. A large gold cross was a prominent contrast against the dark fabric.
I did not stare at him because of his youth or his odd taste in jewelry; I stared because his eyes were black as sin.
Suddenly cold, under the table I found Darius's knee beside my own and squeezed. "Who is that?" I whispered, bringing the Sin's attention up from the plate before him to the head of the table. The boy was looking toward the plain, unadorned rafters of the ceiling with singular focus.
Darius leaned into me, his lips pressing against my ear. "Someone who is not supposed to be here." His teeth came together in an audible click, too close to my skin for comfort. His breath spilled down my neck, through my hair, his displeasure as hot as branding iron. "Don't let his youth deceive you. That is Berour. Berour, the Sin of Gluttony."
Though Darius's voice was no louder than the rustle of leaves tossed in a breeze, the Sin of Gluttony heard his name. His young face lowered as his reptilian eyes sought the speaker. He glared at Pride, and then he glared at me.
He smiled.