The Secrets of Roan Island

37. Ruby

37

Ruby

T he appearance of Mrs. Darning in the doorway should surprise me, but for some reason it doesn’t. I should have known.

“It’s time,” she says, her arms laden with white fabric.

Zarah stands, setting her embroidery aside, and glances at me. “For both of us?”

“As I’ve been instructed.” Darning sets two white dresses out on the bed. “Have you gone through the cleansing?” The housekeeper’s eyes jump to the empty copper tub, then back to us. “Your father won’t like it if you… if your scent distracts him.” Her eyes settle on me.

“He’ll be angrier if we’re late.” Zarah glares at the housekeeper as if she wishes she could puncture the woman’s lungs with a look.

“How can you do this?” I ask.

Mrs. Darning turns to look at me. “How can I not?” She dismisses me as if I’m nothing more than a small bug to be squished and looks at Zarah. “Your father will escort you both.” Then she’s gone.

Zarah sighs and starts toward the bed. “Time to dress for the macabre farce once again.” She reaches for a dress. “This is mine.”

“How do you know?”

“It’s the one he always sends.”

I notice the high neck, the puffed sleeves covered in lace. It’s demure. My gaze moves to the other dress. “So this one must be mine.” This dress isn’t demure.

“Should we switch?” she asks with a conspiratorial smile.

I consider it, then recall the way Hammish hurt Noah, his promise to continue hurting him if I didn’t cooperate. “Probably shouldn’t.”

“Maybe this will be the last time,” Zarah says, sliding her head through the dress.

With my back to her, I undo the buttons on my dress and pull it from my shoulders. “Last time for what?”

“That I have to put on this stupid dress. The last time I have to worry about the pain my father inflicts on us. Maybe tonight, everything changes.”

I want that. For her. For all of them. But I don’t understand her hope.

The fabric of her dress rustles. “If we can somehow get Noah to bite you first. Before Father.”

I shake my head, my heart pounding a little too fast. “But… we don’t know if he loves me.” Distracting myself from my fear he might not, I step into the other dress, the soft silk sliding over my skin as I pull it up. “And even if it works, why would that stop the Solstice ceremonies from happening in the future? You still have two more brothers.” Not to mention Hammish himself.

“Mavarri are a clan race. The oldest mated couple have abilities the others don’t.”

“I know about Hammish’s mind control.”

“It’s more than that.” Zarah turns to look at me. “The patriarch can control the minds of his family. But the matriarch can open portals—a retreat safeguard, you could say. And if Noah turned you, the two of you together would be…” Like a teacher leading a student, she waits for me to finish the sentence.

“The oldest mated couple.” What she’s suggesting would change everything. “Noah would have Hammish’s power.”

“And you could open a portal to the Mavarri home world.” Her smile is bright. “It might take a while to learn that kind of control, but yes. And if you did, then Hammish wouldn’t need to turn anyone in order to continue our family line. He could go searching for surviving Mavarri there.” She turns back to the mirror.

“If there are any.”

If Zarah hears me, she doesn’t respond.

The only chance we have of ending this bloody cycle is the possibility that Noah might love me, which feels… conceivable. But love? And even if he does, there’s no way Hammish will let Noah bite me, not without a fight, not when it would mean Hammish would lose the power he delights in wielding against his sons.

“Would you help me button this? Mrs. Darning usually does it for me.” Zarah spins around, the lace of the dress draped to reveal the smooth skin of her back. The covered buttons create a line down her spine from the top of her neck to her tailbone. There are so many of them that my fingertips ache by the time I’m finished. Then I turn and she helps me with the laces that weave up the back of my dress, leaving gaps of skin between the ties. My shoulders and neck are also completely exposed. For the bite. And Hammish’s pleasure.

The thought makes me glad I haven’t had anything to eat today. My skin crawls, and every spot he touched me earlier burns. I suddenly have the urgent desire to fill the tub and scrub every part of me raw. But it’s too late for that now. We’re already dressed, and Hammish will be here soon.

When I turn to look at Zarah, her eyes drop to my neck. I lift my hand and feel the raised tissue where Noah bit me earlier. No longer a wound, no longer bleeding, but scarred in a way that his other bites didn’t.

Zarah smiles, a devious smile. “That is going to drive my father to distraction.”

Shit, that’s not what I want. “Do you have a scarf or something I can use to cover it?”

“Why?”

“He’ll hurt Noah.”

“He’ll hurt them all no matter what you do.” She finishes her hair, letting the braid fall over one shoulder.

“How can you be so cavalier about that? They’re your brothers.”

Her eyes flash black as her gaze meets mine in the mirror. “They’ll live.”

I shake my head with disbelief at her indifference. “I don’t want him to hurt. I want to protect him. Shouldn’t his own sister want that too?”

Her answering laugh rattles my nerves. “And what about what I want? I’m a ghost in my own house. I haven’t been outside in years. Haven’t had a friend to talk to. Haven’t known another's touch.” Her eyes roam my body as if she can see every place Noah claimed. “My brothers may hurt momentarily for my father’s amusement or punishment, but they’ll live .” She waves a hand at the room. “This isn’t living.”

I drop my gaze. “I’m sorry.” I empathize with her plight, having experienced what I did with David, but I don’t understand her willingness to allow her brothers’ pain. But then I realize this is her norm, like David’s abuse became mine. It makes me ache for them, for all of them, but I don’t put a voice to it. In the short time I’ve known Zarah, I know she wouldn’t appreciate my sympathy.

“Would you like me to do your hair?” she asks, changing the subject as if the last few minutes never happened.

“Alright.” I sit at her feet and let her brush through my waves, working out the knots.

“Are you afraid?” she asks as she tugs on a lock.

I am, but I don’t want to admit it, so instead I ask, “What will happen?”

My head moves as she twists my hair, pinning a piece, then starting on another.

“Hammish will take us to the temple. There, he’ll engage the blood rights and ask for the goddess’s blessing on the proceedings. That part always drags on and on. He likes the sound of his own voice.”

“Could I get to Noah then?”

She tugs a little too hard, and I wince. “Maybe if you cut Hammish’s throat.”

I don’t balk at the statement. I’d love nothing more. “Will there be a knife?”

“Of course. Blood rights.” Her tone makes it sound like she’s rolling her eyes at my stupidity. “It will be on the altar, but the cut has to be deep enough that it will take time to heal so that one of us can finish the job.”

I swallow considering it.

“There,” she says. “Done. Look.”

I get up, look in the mirror, and gasp. “It’s stunning.” She’s threaded little iridescent pearls into my braided locks, pulled back into a woven bun at the nape of my neck. Gentle tendrils frame my face, making me look beautiful even if it’s macabre. She’s clearly skilled.

She smiles shyly. “I haven’t had a lot to occupy me.”

At a knock, we both tense, our eyes darting to the door, but neither of us moves to answer it. It doesn’t matter, because Hammish doesn’t wait for an invitation. He swings open the door with all the pompous arrogance I’ve come to expect from the man.

His leering gaze sweeps over me before softening as it lands on his daughter. “You both look lovely.”

He pulls a white handkerchief from his pocket, and Zarah obediently turns around so he can tie it over her eyes. This clearly isn’t the first time they’ve done this.

“You next, pet.” He motions for me to do the same. For a brief moment, I consider attacking him or running past him toward the door, but it would be useless. Besides having no idea how to get out of here—wherever here is—he’d take it out on his children. I also know he’s taking me to the ceremony, where Noah is, which is where I want to go. I’d be a fool to interfere with that.

As docile as a lamb, I turn my back to Hammish exactly like he wants.

He steps up behind me, but stops and grips my shoulder, pulling me roughly against him so I can feel his hot breath against the shell of my ear. “You were supposed to bathe. You reek of my son.” His nail scratches at the spot where Noah’s mark lingers, ripping the skin. Blood oozes down my shoulder.

I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from saying something that could hurt Noah further.

“If you survive this,” Hammish whispers as he swipes a finger in the blood, then licks it with a noise that makes me shudder. “I’ll ensure you never smell of anyone but me.”

“Father,” Zarah interrupts. “We don’t want to be late. The moons will only be aligned for a short time.”

Hammish doesn’t respond, but he stops toying with me and ties the handkerchief tightly over my eyes. Then he grips my upper arm and jerks me along.

As he leads me from Zarah’s prison, I think about everything I’ve learned, about what Zarah revealed. I’ll need to find a way to get away from Hammish before he tries to bite me. Since there’s a ritual to this dance we’re involved in, it’s best to follow the steps for now and wait for the right opportunity to change them when it presents itself.

After what Zarah told me about her grandmother and love, I just hope Noah carries the same flame I’ve realized I’m nurturing for him. It’s the only way I’ll survive. That, and convincing him to be the one to bite me, which will be the real challenge considering how certain he is that a Solstice bite will only bring death. All while keeping Hammish from doing it before Noah can.

Hammish leads us through the maze of the house, up and down stairs that curve into hallways smelling of time and musty abandonment. These corridors have been used more frequently, free of the whisper of spiderwebs against my skin. But unlike our flight from the Gate House, this journey seems shorter. A door creaks, and cold sinks its fangs into my skin.

A brisk breeze strikes my face. “Are we outside?”

“Shh, pet, the goddess likes her women silent.”

Like hell she does. I can’t imagine a goddess being silent or asking women to be silent, though I don’t know much about the Mavarri religion. I do know that the woman I met in the journals was far from silent. She was powerful and witty and strong.

I try to channel her now as I’m led toward an unknown future or a certain death. My feet hit stone until it shifts to loose gravel, our steps loud and sloppy against the slippery terrain. The wind howls as it whips through the trees. They creak under its onslaught, and frigid moisture softly kisses my skin.

It’s snowing.

I shiver. Hammish jerks me to a stop. “Kneel,” he instructs, tugging me down to my knees. Cold moisture saturates the soft silk of my dress. “We seek the goddess’s approval on the steps of her temple with our supplication.”

Though I’m unfamiliar with this particular custom, I’m not ignorant of religious traditions and assume he’s instructing me to pray, so I bow my head, anxiety knocking around inside me. I hope he’s not going to keep me blindfolded the whole time.

When he yanks me back to my feet, we climb several stone steps before I hear the scrape of stone against stone, like a heavy door opening.

The first thing I notice is the warm scent of resin and frankincense. “Noah?” I whimper.

“I’m here, ta’ari .”

The sound of his voice grabs my racing heart and pulls me forward as if he’s offering an embrace. The timbre connects to my spine, giving me strength, somehow, bravery. I straighten, holding tight to that feeling even as frightened as I am, clinging to memories of him, of his great-great-grandmother’s strength, of Zarah’s fortitude.

“ Ta’ari ?” Hammish scoffs, yanking me further inside the temple with a growl. “Know your place,” he barks at Noah. “She’s mine.”

Mine . There’s a night and day difference to that word coming from Hammish. Was it only last night Noah said it to me? Hammish’s mine clanks like chains around my feet, a noose fastened around my neck. But when Noah says mine , it’s like a caress across my skin. I’m a treasure he holds with great care. Precious. Valued. His .

“Noah, you need to be the one to–” My words are muzzled by the sound of pain.

A loud smack feeds my dread. “What’s happening?”

Hammish pulls off my blindfold to reveal Noah crumpled on the stone floor, his back arched over a set of stairs to a dais, his head pressed awkwardly against a massive boulder, worn smooth, at the center of the platform. His face and body contort as he writhes on the floor.

Hammish laughs, the sound bouncing around the interior of the stone building. It’s dark but for the candles set around the circumference of the room, giving off a soft golden glow. A circular section of the roof directly over the dias opens to the sky, revealing the moons almost perfectly aligned overhead. Snow, luminous in that ethereal way it manipulates light, falls through the ceiling and drifts around us, damp and cold, kissing Noah’s pale, tortured face.

“Noah!” I jerk against Hammish’s grip, then whirl to face him. “Stop!”

On Hammish’s other side, Zarah keeps her head bowed, clearly afraid of her father’s power.

“He’s fine.” Jafeth’s voice grabs my attention. “Nothing to worry about.”

I turn to find Noah’s youngest brother standing off to the side of the dias, four wide-eyed and open-mouthed women between him and Shemaiah. They’re dressed like Zarah and me, living ghosts in white gowns. My heart twists at the realization I can’t save them. Even if Noah does love me and manages to bite me before his father, it won’t stop Hammish. He’ll just take one of the other girls. He’ll just force them to be bitten. And they’ll die.

Tears fill my eyes. “Please.” So much grief and longing carried in that one word.

Shemaiah gives me a look I can’t decipher, his brows shifting as if he’s trying to communicate something, but I don’t know him well enough to interpret it.

Unable to meet their gaze, I follow Zarah’s lead and bow my head, tears of rage spilling from my eyes. I will not be afraid, I promise myself. I will end this.

Hammish must release Noah, to my relief, because the sound of him getting to his feet pulls my eyes up from the stone to meet his gaze. His expression is pained as his eyes lock with mine.

Bite me , I mouth, trying to tell him what he needs to know. If there’s any chance of me surviving this, it has to be him.

His brows knit and he shakes his head. My heart sinks.

“By the altar, pet.” Hammish smiles and pushes me forward. When I freeze, Zarah takes my hand and leads me up the steps onto the platform, then around to the other side of the stone altar. Jafeth and Shemaiah direct the other women to join us, and they do so holding hands. I wonder how much they know about what’s about to happen.

Hammish comes to stand in front of us. He tracks the movement of his sons until they’re lined up across from him, the goddess’s altar between them. I try to get Noah’s attention, but he won’t meet my gaze. His focus is on his father, as if waiting for an opportunity to pounce.

He won’t get one. Not when Hammish can stop him before he even makes a move. This will be up to me. I just have to watch for an opportunity and take it.

“We must appease the goddess.” Hammish steps up to the altar. Three cups and several knives rest atop the stone. He draws the first glass toward him, then selects a knife, lifting it up to the sky as he says, “Willing blood of the patriarch.” He slices his arm without a sound, and blood pulses from his wound into the empty cup. “Zarah.” He turns toward her. She steps up and slices a finger with her fang before touching it to her father’s wound.

As the cut heals, Hammish raises the partially filled cup. “In order to appease the moons.” He pours the thick red liquid over the altar, and it slides between the grooves, covering the stone and draining into a small moat at the floor.

Noah, his brothers, and Zarah recite something in Mavarri.

Noah’s eyes lift to mine, his look filled with guilt and regret. And maybe something else. A fragile determination.

Hammish lifts the second cup, this one filled with a clear liquid. “For the Goddess.” He pours the second glass out on the stone. “To cleanse us for her arrival.” The astringent scent of alcohol hits my senses. The liquid sluices through the rock and crevices, mixing with the blood below.

The Roans recite another incantation, and this time when Noah’s eyes meet mine, I again mouth, bite me , hoping he can understand.

His eyebrows scrunch together.

Heaviness crushes the hope inside me as Hammish lifts the third cup. “A sip for the Mavarri to imbue us with blessings.” He brings it to his lips, but before he drinks, his nostrils flare, and with a wild yell, he flings the glass across the room. It explodes against the stone.

The brothers drop to the floor, twisting in pain.

I lunge toward Noah, but Zarah lurches toward me, holding me back.

“Did you really think that would work?” Hammish yells, his back to us. “Did you think you would win so easily?”

From the corner of my eye, I notice movement, but my focus is on the tortured expression on Noah’s beautiful face. I need to do something! My gaze drops to the altar, to the knives, but before I take a step, the four women beside me pull blades from their skirts and rush Hammish, stabbing him in the back.

He roars, arching, reaching for the four blades stuck in his flesh. With a wild jolt, he flings out his other hand, his claws slashing a deep gash across one girl’s throat. Blood splatters the floor as the other three rush to her in a chorus of cries, hands pressed against her to staunch the bleeding, clearly too late.

I go for the knife on the altar. Their attack wasn’t enough to kill him, just enough to cause him pain. But if I can stab him again, I might be able to do exactly what Zarah suggested. I’ve never killed anyone, but I know I can kill Hammish.

I won’t even regret it.

Gripped by pain, Hammish staggers, and the brothers stand, lunging as one over the altar toward their father.

This was planned. This is what Shemaiah and Noah were trying to tell me with those looks I couldn’t interpret. The poison was a diversion. Hammish would smell it and be distracted enough for the women to attack, because he’d never suspect them. The knives weren’t meant to kill, only maim him enough to release his sons so they could finish the job.

Hammish jumps out of their reach just in time, twists, and grabs me around the throat. Two long claws press on my jugular, my back against his chest.

Everyone freezes.

Everything stops.

“You move,” Hammish says, “and I end her.” He pricks my skin with his claws. Fresh drops of blood joining the dried ones on my chest.

Noah’s horror is written in every line of his face.

Shemaiah’s gaze is calculating.

Jafeth narrows in on the opportunity. I can see it in his eyes. He’s still considering an attack, even if it means risking my life.

“Do it,” I gasp, the words burning through my constricted throat. If my death will mean the world is rid of Hammish Roan, I’ll happily die. To protect Noah. To protect these women—all the women that Hammish will try to turn if he’s allowed to live. “Do it!”

None of them move.

“She’s braver than all of you,” Hammish mocks, still holding one clawed hand around my throat. A knife clatters to the stone floor as he reaches to remove another from his back. It clangs against the stone, and he grabs for the third. We all know what will happen once he’s removed them. He’ll heal quickly and gain back the upper hand. I can’t let that happen.

“Do it,” I gasp, reaching for the knives still on the altar. His claws dig deeper into my neck, drawing more blood.

“Stop,” Noah pleads.

Hammish’s nose drags up my neck and he inhales loudly. A taunt. “It would be a shame to end you this way, pet. Your tenacity and my strength are a perfect combination.”

“No,” Noah says and pushes forward one step. He crumples as Hammish laughs.

“You’re never enough, Noah. You’ll never be–”

His words are cut by a snap. A crack. Bone breaking. His claws scratch across my throat, opening the tender flesh before his hand falls away.

I try to scream, but barely gurgle as pain lances my consciousness, sharp and cold. My hand goes to my torn throat, blood oozing between my fingers. Shock drives me to my knees. I look up and see Zarah with her hands on either side of her father’s head. She drops him, and he falls beside me, his eyes lifeless. His body limp.

Blood splatters as I cough. My vision blurs. I try to speak, to call Noah’s name, but only a liquidy noise escapes. Noah catches me as I sag to one side, limp, heavy. He looks so beautiful. And so worried. I need to tell him I love him. Tell him to bite me. But I can’t speak. My whole body shakes. So cold.

I blink. My head feels light. My body, heavy.

Everything slows.

I try to speak. I need to tell him… something important.

Why does everything look so far away? Why is Noah so far away? I need to tell him…

What was it?

If I can just… tell him…