“You must be getting back,” he said, placing a soft kiss on the top of her head, tightening his arm around her once, before unwinding her from his grip and standing, the line of his nude back to her where she could admire him.
Down the stretch of his spine, was a swathe of burned skin, the scarring dense and painful to look at.
Ida sat up quickly and shook her head.
“I’m not going back,” she said.
He turned and looked at her, smiling a smile that made her stomach lurch.
“Then where will you go?” he asked.
“Nowhere,” she replied, uncurling herself and standing to move beside him, entwining his fingers with hers and squeezing. “Nowhere without you.”
He shook his head. “You can’t, Dolcezza.”
Ida bowed her head, looking down at the soil, feeling tears well in her eyes. Instant thoughts rushed through her head. Thoughts of betrayal, guilt, shame, self-loathing, hurt: “You…”
“No,” he said, in a sharp tone, turning and taking her face in his hands, turning her to look at him.
His eyes were fierce.
“It’s nothing at all like that, and I dare you to ever even imply such a thing. Ever again.”
The girl bit her lip, nodding, too afraid to speak at the look on his face.
And somehow, even as she wanted to back off, for fear of the anger he was exuding, Ida wanted to crawl closer to him and be wrapped up against him.
“Don’t make me go,” she said. “Please.”
“You must,” he said, stroking the side of her neck with his thumb.
She looked at him with sad eyes, and he smiled.
“I can’t follow you where the sun goes,” he said.
“Why not?” she demanded.
“So demanding,” he chuckled. “Trust me, Dolcezza. Go now.”
He squeezed her hand again.
She looked to the horizon which was turning a soft pink. Soon it would be rose, and peach, and then, finally, the orange of fruit, and then yellow and blue together in a child’s painting sprawl.
Ida pulled her clothes up against her naked body and looked at him.
He was smiling, watching, waiting for her to go, but his eyes were squinted, against what little light there was in the sky.
“What-?” she began, meaning to ask, what he was, what was it about the sun, but he shook his head.
“No time, my love. Go, please. And remember,” he said.
“Tell no one about this,” she nodded, sighing a little and sliding into her clothes, ignoring the corset which she folded under her skirts and ran off, slippers in hand.
At the top of the hill, she looked back, but he was gone, and the first rays of sunlight touched the stones.
She hummed as she walked into the manor, smiling. Even the darkness of the castle now wasn’t so dark. She stopped when she almost collided with her husband outside of his study. Thick dark rings hung under his eyes, like coal. He frowned, and her smile vanished.
Didn’t he ever sleep?
“You are feeling better?” he asked without greeting.
Ida parted her lips to speak, but she just nodded, closing them.
Dmitri’s gaze was trained on her forehead.
Ida frowned.
The awkward silence that had seemed to be alleviating after their encounter in her room had worsened since, apparently, and he nodded, again, and slid past her, without so much as an excuse.
Her fingers went to her head.
Her brow furrowed, and she pressed them against her skull.
But there was no pain.
No rough stretch of broken skin.
No grazed and damaged flesh. Not even a bump.
She unwrapped her hand, and the scrape there was gone too. She felt her ribs, her torso, all her aches and pains, but there was nothing.
She hadn’t noticed, and now that she had, she felt light-headed with it.
Ida raced up the stairs on bounding legs, and closed the door of her room behind her, sitting at the window, staring out into the grounds, her eyes looking to the graveyard. There was a warmth in her abdomen, a pleasant ache between her thighs, and her skin felt like it had taken the warmth of the sun for hours. She swelled all over with peace and happiness. Not even the darkness of Strigosia could chase it from her.
And in the distance, the first ray of sunlight caught the wing tip of a stone angel.
