Bisclavret

Chapter 19

You're wrong.

That statement has been playing through my head over and over again since arriving here. Because how could I have possibly dreamed about Henri before meeting him? Logically, I know it's impossible, but the way my mother knew when we were about to receive an unexpected visitor had nothing to do with logic or reason, and I'm starting to wonder if I'm more like her than I realized. What I wouldn't give to be able to speak to her, ask her about her uncanny abilities, where they came from, and what they meant. Are prophetic dreams all I should expect, or is some other strange power about to rear its head?

Has it already?

I think about how my voice sounded when I screamed at the baron to let me go, how it was deeper, louder than I'd ever heard it. He was two paces away before I knew what was happening, like I'd shoved him off me with my mind, and I felt so drained afterward, as if I'd used some other reserve of energy to do it.

My thoughts cast back to last night, when I went into that cold, detached place that heightens my senses even as it deadens my emotions, and the way Henri responded to me just like his father did, as if both perplexed and fascinated. He said I changed. How? I want to ask him, demand he explain what is happening to me, but from the look on his face last night, I don't think he knows either.

I shift my gaze from the road to the forest. Does it have something to do with this place? Is there some strangeness here that infects everyone who resides inside its boundaries? Will I progress from simply having better aim to heightened hearing? Sight? Am I turning into the same kind of creature sitting on the horse in front of me? I shake my head against such thoughts, thinking of Henrietta. I've never seen her eyes flash, and she served one of Henri's sisters before me. Clearly, if it were catching, she'd be infected.

I must have come here with my own oddities, and they've simply chosen now, of all times, to make themselves known. Maybe I can write to my father and ask about Mother. I've been mulling the idea over for days, but I keep hesitating. What if the letter gets intercepted? Knowing the baron, every note and missive that leaves the house is probably inspected first. Any such letter I send could be destroyed well before reaching Father, and I'd never know.

I need to face it: I'm on my own. Whatever is happening to me, I have to figure it out for myself, though I have no idea how to do it. It's not like I can practice screaming at inanimate objects to see if I can move them. I'd be committed to a mad house. And I have no idea how to prompt another prophetic dream. The first one seemed to come out of nowhere. The only thing I can control is my ability to hyper-focus. That, at least, should be easy enough to practice, and now is as good a time as any to start, I suppose.

I drag in a deep breath and try to go to that place in my mind. My saddle creaks, and somewhere to my right, a nightbird calls out. Henri's large form sways in front of me, a black-clad figure astride a black horse. He looks like a wraith again, like Death out to collect his nightly souls. I shake my head and close my eyes against the sight of him, pushing forward with my mind into that odd sense of calm. The sound of the horses' shoes clopping over the road is loud in my ears, another distraction, and the harder I push, the more elusive my focus becomes.

I huff out an annoyed breath. How did I achieve it before? Sheer desperation? No, wait. I didn't force my way into it; I surrendered to it.

Relax, I tell myself, rolling my shoulders to loosen them. I curl forward a little in my saddle, eyes still closed, trusting my mount to follow the stallion and avoid any road hazards. My confused feelings about Henri, I push aside. Same with my fear, my anxiety, and all the other thoughts and worries cluttering up my mind. I take deep, even breaths filled with the scent of pine. Beneath that is the warm smell of my horse, tinged with hay and leather. I hear her breathing, feel her muscles bunching and flexing beneath me as she walks. My focus intensifies, and I become more connected to her, or maybe more aware of her. I straighten my spine and shift with every step she takes, making myself an easier burden for her to carry. Tension ripples through her, everywhere I touch, and I open my eyes to see her ears twitching toward the forest as if hearing something mine can't.