Despite the terrible news he delivered, Lysithea would not shoot the messenger.
He had even gone through the trouble of preparing a meal for her that she completely disregarded. Feeling an innate desire to reciprocate the kindness he had shown, yet with no appetite to mend his pride as a cook, she wondered if listening to his tale might lift the mood. That was the best Lysithea could offer him in return.
“Yes, that story. I had nearly forgotten.” As she had hoped, Terran’s face was lit up with excitement. “I’ll have you know, this manor is haunted.”
“Haunted?” she repeated. “As in by a ghost?”
“That’s right. Apparently, the original owner was the most notorious drug trader on the continent about a century ago.”
“Drug trader?”
“The story goes that he was brutally murdered in the midst of one of his decadent soirées. I suppose being in that trade would bring a great deal of people harboring grudges against you. Since then, the manor has been abandoned. Until I showed up, that is.”
A ghost story? That’s what he wanted to share with her? Lysithea’s real life was already a tale of horror, so his supposedly riveting story did nothing to excite her. Still, she did her best to engage.
“Terran,” she said, trying to keep any negativity out of her voice. “Where exactly lies the amusement in this story?”
“Well, the ghost still roams these halls at night, making all manner of eerie noises,” he answered with a hint of mischief. “Since you will be staying here for the foreseeable future, I thought you had a right to know.”
“There’s no such thing as ghosts.”
“Care to wager on that?”
Terran leaned casually on the table as he stared at her, arms crossed, his confident posture exuding a daring charm. Lysithea only rolled her eyes at him.
“You want to bet on the existence of ghosts? We’re not children anymore.”
“You don’t care to make a bet even when the stakes are the price of your passage?”
Lysithea’s eyes widened.
The fee she owed him was practically her entire fortune. Any chance to recover it would practically guarantee her a brighter future. As if that was not enough to gain her attention, Terran sweetened the pot.
“If there truly is no ghost here, I won’t accept a single coin from you in payment.”
“You would risk such a large sum on something like this?” she asked, looking for the catch. “Are you some sort of gambler?”
“I occasionally indulge when I am feeling particularly lucky. Before shaking on it, you should know that I’ve never lost a wager.”
She narrowed her eyes.
What exactly was the point of this? Moreover, was his confidence all bravado, or did he truly believe that a ghost roamed these halls? Regardless, the proposition was enticing. But what would she be putting up?
With cautious curiosity, Lysithea inquired, “And if, by some impossible chance, the ghost does exist? If I’m compelled to believe, although I can’t fathom that will ever happen, then what?”
“You’ll pay your original fare for the passage and a fair extra bit on top,” Terran declared.
“That is the last of my money. How am I expected to find more in a place like this?”
“You don’t have something else of value? No other tangible goods?”
Was this the game he was playing? Was there no ghost and this was just a ploy to determine her worth, after which he would get rid of her to claim her possessions?
Noticing the suspicion in her eyes, Terran immediately asked, “You seem to doubt my intentions.”
“Surely you must see how suspicious this all is, making such an odd wager out of the blue,” she retorted.
“There’s no reason behind it. I simply thought it might be more entertaining than languishing here in boredom as we wait out the storm. Besides, you seem confident you will win, so what’s the harm?”
Lysithea took a deep breath.
“Fine. I’ll take your wager. After all, there’s no such thing as ghosts. Who doesn’t enjoy a gamble they are sure to win?”
“So you accept the challenge?”
Terran extended his hand toward Lysithea. Unaccustomed to a man’s touch outside of the occasional dance invitation, she looked into his eyes only to find no hesitation in his smile.
“The game begins now and lasts until we leave this place,” he declared. “Sound fair?”
Lysithea tentatively took his hand, her arm shaking violently under his firm grip and ungentlemanly handshake. The strength he exuded caused her to involuntarily tense up.
“Go on up to bed,” Terran said, releasing her hand and turning to clear the table. “I’ll finish up here.”
“Wait, I have a request,” Lysithea quickly said before he could disappear into the kitchen. “Do you have a map I could borrow? I’d like to check the layout of this area.”
“There’s one on the desk in my room. You’re free to take it,” Terran replied amiably before walking out, his hands full of dishes.
Lysithea watched his retreating figure until he was out of sight and then rose from her seat. Her stomach was empty, and her mind was a whirl of unease, assassins, and ghosts, but one fact stood out sharply:
The harbor would soon freeze over, which meant that she was stuck here until the spring thaw.
2
Terran’s room mirrored Lysithea’s. She gazed at the bed, which seemed too small for his frame, before turning her attention to the table. There she found the leather-bound map he had mentioned, pocked with red stains.
Spilled wine, perhaps? Or could it be blood?
The thought struck her suddenly, but she did not allow it to put her off. There was no need to indulge further in such unsettling thoughts. Clutching it to her chest, she glanced down the darkened corridor before retreating to her own room.
The crackling of the firewood in the fireplace mingled with the howling blizzard outside. Lysithea nestled into the cold blankets, sitting on the bed as she unfolded the map only to have her worst fears realized.
The map didn’t cover a wide area, but it clearly showed that the route to the port was a desolate expanse with nothing in between besides small inns, which were obvious stopovers for what would be a three-day journey. If she were to seek out another port, it would be necessary to retrace her steps to the nearest town. No matter which direction she decided to go, she would need to find another map or a new broker when she arrived. Before that, she would somehow have to gather more funds if she were to survive.
Lysithea ruffled her fiery red hair in frustration. All in all, she found herself in an impossible position.
If the sea really were to freeze in three days, her only alternative to waiting out the rest of winter here was to make her way to the harbor now. She could then seek out accommodation until the port thawed. Only about a month remained before spring would arrive, and with luck, the sea might melt within a week.
“If anything, fate seems to favor you.”
Terran’s smile flashed in her mind, prompting her to clench her teeth.
Lysithea had never considered herself fortunate. What lucky soul would lose their family and their betrothed only to be pursued across the kingdom by assassins? In every brush with death, she had made bold decisions to survive. But this time, her judgment was clouded.
The blizzard still raged outside.
She could ask Terran for a horse tomorrow, but he would surely demand extra payment. That would deplete the last of her meager funds, so by the time she reached the harbor, she’d be penniless and on the streets.
In such straits, Terran’s wager seemed almost like an unbelievable lifeline. The best part was that she couldn’t lose. Ghosts weren’t real, after all.
In the incredibly unlikely circumstance that she had to admit the existence of a supernatural entity, she harbored one last vestige of hope—the engagement ring she had received from Prince Jade. An artifact of a fallen kingdom and precious enough to fetch a handsome price, it was the very last of her possessions from the capital. She had held onto it not out of a sense of love for the prince but because it was her final link to a past life to which she could never return.
Survival first, emotions last.
With that mantra repeating in her mind, Lysithea regretted not eating her meal as she drifted off into fitful sleep.
* * *
Marquess Hilennaire del Arman’s youngest daughter, Lysithea, had always been a heavy sleeper, often not rousing until late in the morning when she could get away with it. But Lysithea the Fugitive seldom succumbed to deep slumber, instead perpetually alert as even the slightest noise could be the only warning she received before someone leaped out of the shadows, knife aimed at her heart.
So when screams echoed through the empty manor in the dead of night, Lysithea sat up in bed, her eyes searching the dancing shadows cast by the light of the dying fire. Though muffled by the raging blizzard, there was no mistaking the sound of a man’s shrieks coming from somewhere in the massive house.
It wasn’t Terran, for his voice held a deeper rumble. That meant there must be someone else inside the manor.
Lysithea wrapped a shawl over her nightgown, pausing in front of her door. Only the distant nature of the screams reassured her. Turning the doorknob slowly to prevent making any noise, she opened the door just a crack, allowing a chill draft from the hallway to creep in.
Lysithea poked her head into the corridor and looked down both ways but found nothing. The only sign of life was light seeping out from under the door of the adjacent room. Gathering her courage, Lysithea stepped into the hallway and froze before Terran’s door as another scream reverberated from somewhere deep within the manor.
In the inky black corridor, Lysithea knocked with trepidation, half expecting someone to burst out at any moment.
“Terran, could you come out for a moment?” she called in a harsh whisper, but there was no response from inside. She tried the doorknob, prepared for the impropriety that may await her, but she found the door locked.
While he had been explicit that he did not want his sleep disturbed, it seemed excessive to lock his door when they were the only ones in the manor. All the while, the unidentified wails continued to sound from far down the corridor. She wasn’t brave enough to venture into the darkness alone to uncover the truth.
Instead, she convinced herself that there was no need to bother with such nonsense. It was probably just an odd draft. She had once heard foxes make a bewildering shrieking noise, so perhaps that was it. She could just ask Terran about it in the morning.
With that, Lysithea returned to her room. This time, she made sure to lock the door. She warmed herself by the fire briefly before slipping back under the blankets. Her eyes closed, but sleep eluded her.
In the brief pauses between screams, her heartbeat pounded in her ears. The wailing increased in intensity, ringing in her skull even as she buried her head under the pillow.
Terran’s words from dinner echoed in her mind.
“Apparently, the original owner was the most notorious drug trader on the continent about a century ago. The story goes that he was brutally murdered in the midst of one of his decadent soirées.”
Lysithea shook her head to clear it of his voice.
Could the shrieking noises haunting her now possibly be from a ghost? Surely not. Such things couldn’t exist.
Wasn’t it more likely that there was someone else in the house? That certainly seemed a more logical conclusion than blaming an ethereal entity. The manor was vast, so hiding someone else on another floor would be easy enough. Perhaps they had made an agreement with Terran not to reveal their presence here, even to her.
However, this still didn’t explain the screaming.
The only concrete conclusion she could come to was that Terran had to know something, and whatever it was, he was keeping it from her.
As the night deepened and her nerves frayed further, Lysithea began to resent the man. If there was someone else in this house, he should have told her. He was just like all the other brokers that had come before. Such selfish, heartless bastards, the lot of them.
The screams ceased only when dawn peaked through the slit in her curtains. A weary Lysithea buried herself under the blanket, determined to escape the persistent light.
* * *
“You look rather tired this morning.”
Lysithea lifted her head, her eyes coming back into focus. Having only fallen asleep after dawn, she had risen just before lunchtime. She was seated at the dining table, struggling to fend off the drowsiness that was plaguing her.
“Still fighting habits from your aristocratic days? I imagine you are not accustomed to waking with the sun.”
Terran teased her as he laid out a simple lunch while Lysithea fiddled with her napkin. The steaming soup and browned sausages certainly looked more appetizing than last night’s meal. Terran smiled as she took a spoonful of soup.
“It’s good to see that your appetite has returned. You looked to be on the brink of death last night.”
“There’s something I’m curious about,” she said, placing the spoon back down. She decided to come straight out with it. “Is there anyone else staying in this house besides me? Perhaps another fugitive?”
Terran immediately shook his head.
“Of course not. That would be against the nature of my discreet profession.” His bronze-hued eyes sparkled. “Why do you ask?”
“Last night…” A fleeting shadow of desolation crossed over her mind like a dark cloud. Before she impulsively answered him, Lysithea bit her tongue. She could not admit that she had heard screams, for to do so would jeopardize her wager with Terran. If there truly was no one else in the manor, he would explain it away as being a ghost.
“Last night?”
His deep, reverberating voice was the polar opposite of the screams that had kept her awake throughout the long night. The man stared at her, waiting for her to elaborate.
“Yes, last night,” she said, struggling to think of something. “I couldn’t stop wondering when we might be able to get a new horse.”
“Oh, is that it?” He chuckled and picked up his knife. “I thought you might have seen a ghost, what with how pale you look.”
“I didn’t sleep well.”
As Lysithea averted her eyes, she felt Terran’s gaze linger on her profile. Finally, he resumed slicing the sausage.
“Once the blizzard stops, we can travel to a nearby inn and procure a new animal for you.”
“When will that be?”
“There’s no way to predict when the snow will stop. It could be three days, it could be ten.”
Lysithea gazed out the window where the blizzard continued to rage on mercilessly. If this continued, would they become snowbound, completely trapped by the drifts of snow piling against the door?
Just as Lysithea began to fret anew, Terran interrupted her thoughts.
“If, by chance, an assassin comes looking—”
“Yes?”
Terran’s sudden mention reignited a forgotten anxiety. If she were trapped here, she would have nowhere to run if a killer like the Phantom found her.
“If someone shows up looking,” he continued, “you should flee on horseback. I’ll manage on my own.”
“You mean you would hold them off? For me?”
Terran let out a scoff.
“No, of course not. I have no reason to go that far to help you. I simply meant that I will turn a blind eye if an assassin shows up, so it’s best if you make a run for it.”
A surge of indignation ripped through Lysithea upon hearing how ready he was to abandon her. Though she understood that he was just a broker motivated by money, she couldn’t help feeling betrayed.
“If they found out you were harboring me, do you really think you’d be spared? Wouldn’t it be mutually beneficial to stand together?”
“Unlike you, I have plenty of options for saving my own skin,” he said dismissively.
“You’re a coward,” she spit out. “That’s why you lock your door at night even though—”
She stopped abruptly, startled by her impulsive words. In her frustration, she had revealed too much.
Much to her chagrin, a large smile spread across Terran’s lips at this accidental revelation.
“And what were you doing seeking me out at night?”
“I was hungry,” Lysithea insisted, turning her focus back to her meal. As Terran watched with a smug grin, she stuffed sausages into her mouth, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.
* * *
That night, the screams began again as if by clockwork.
Lying in bed, wishing for the sweet embrace of sleep that eluded her, Lysithea debated whether to seek out Terran. However, when she recalled his mocking tone, she rolled over and squeezed her eyes shut. No man had ever dared to scoff at her like that. After all, she was once a prince’s betrothed, a marquess’s daughter, and a beauty renowned throughout the land.
At least, she used to be.
With an exasperated sigh, her eyes opened again. She stared at the ceiling, once again considering whether to ask Terran where the shrieks were coming from. If his door was locked again like last night, she would just bang on it until he answered. As soon as she made up her mind and was getting out of bed, her feet just touching the cold wooden floor, the screams abruptly stopped.
Bewildered by the sudden silence, she heard the ceiling vibrate faintly, causing the lantern on the wall to tremble. It wasn’t an earthquake. Instead, it seemed that something extremely heavy had fallen somewhere else in the manor, sending tremors throughout the building.
What is happening?
Hesitating only a moment, Lysithea silently walked across the room and pressed her ear against the door. The sound of footsteps echoed from down the corridor.
The Phantom.
At the sudden recollection of the name, Lysithea frantically searched through her belongings. Hidden at the bottom of her leather bag was a small revolver that fit snugly in her hand. With only three bullets loaded, she steadied her trembling breath, gripping the gun and leaning against the door.
The footsteps grew closer, the floorboards squeaking so loudly that the sound seemed to shake the foundation of her soul. They came to a halt in front of Terran’s room. A suspicious metallic clink rang through the hallway, prompting Lysithea to fling the door open.
In an instant, she had the gun aimed at the figure standing in the corridor. Illuminated by lantern light, a pair of brass-colored eyes turned to meet her own.
“Terran?”
One hand held a lantern while the other was busy inserting a key into the door. He alternated his gaze between her disheveled appearance and the gleaming barrel of the gun. After a brief silence, he let out a hearty laugh.
“Lysithea, what on earth are you doing?” he asked with no hint of alarm. If anything, he sounded amused. “And where did you get a gun?”
“I thought you were an intruder.”
“An intruder? I was just making a quick patrol around the place before I turned in for the night.”
“There’s no harm in being overly cautious,” she retorted, her face flushed with embarrassment as she lowered the weapon.
Just then, he stepped forward, and as their eyes met, a faint smile played on his lips. Lysithea was startled to feel the revolver gently pulled from her grasp. She watched numbly as he expertly emptied the revolver, spilling the bullets into his other hand.
“If you truly feared I was an intruder, you shouldn’t have come rushing out like that.” He handed her the safely emptied gun and bullets. “It would have been better for you to wait by the door, ready to confront the attacker as they burst in. Showing yourself first only makes you an easier target.”
The cold bullets fell with an unexpected weight into her palm. As the excitement left her body, her fingers began to shake. Clutching the empty gun, Lysithea murmured, “But when I heard the footsteps stop at your door, I feared they were after you. I assumed you were in your room, so I—”
“Don’t worry about me,” he said firmly, interrupting her frantic rambling. “Take care of yourself first. How can you worry about others when you can hardly sleep?”
“You can’t even thank me?” she asked, upset at his cool detachment. “I was only trying to protect you.”
“If it had been a real intruder, I wouldn’t have had the chance to thank you. You’d be dead already.”
Lysithea bit her lip. Terran’s words were harsh but true.
“In that case, I apologize,” she admitted, keeping her eyes on the floor. “Next time, I won’t come to save you.”
As she turned to head back into her room, his hand darted out and caught her wrist. She was surprised by the warmth in his sturdy hold, which was so different from their initial cold handshake.
“You’re on edge, aren’t you?” he said, watching her intently with those almost golden eyes of his. “Is that why you haven’t been able to sleep? Did my tales of the Phantom frighten you so?”
“Yes,” she admitted readily.
“Then come to my room,” he offered just as easily.
“What?”
“I’ll stay by your side until you fall asleep.”
Lysithea was speechless.
She had been the belle of high society with countless men vying for her attention, but she had never encountered a man as forward as him. That said, she could not discern any ulterior motive in Terran’s calm gaze. There was no lust for her body. Instead, he exuded a straightforward kindness, much like the way he prepared her meals without any fanfare.
Still, Lysithea disliked the thought.
“I’m fine. Good night, Terran.”
She gently shook off his hand and returned to her room, closing the door behind her. If he were to come after her, knock on her door, and beg her to reconsider, she figured that would reveal his true intentions. However, she heard him walk away without hesitation and turn the key in his door.
An unexpected emptiness filled her chest.
Was he sincere about just wanting to help her sleep? She had thought such purity was a virtue of gentlemen, certainly not something she’d associate with a broker.
Lysithea lay down in bed, convinced she had made the right choice, yet her mind continued to wander.
What might have happened had she accepted?
If she had followed Terran into his room, he would have been lying beside her at this very moment. She imagined pressing her back against his broad chest, his eyes watching intently as her breaths slowed.
It was a fantasy not without its allure.
Yet Lysithea remained in her bed, willing herself to sleep despite the way her heart pounded in her ears.