Swapped Fate

61: The Revelation

ADRIAN DEVEREUX

Sleep was a long-lost treasure I failed to find. It maintained its distance for so many days that Lady Azalea noticed its absence. Without it, holes formed in my memory. Meetings, deadlines, sometimes names of business partners, and workers vanished from my mind as though they were never there in the first place. My distracted patterns and insomnia caused Lady Azalea to think me ill, requesting that I visit a doctor.

How could she know of the danger that loomed within the mansion, that had lurked right by our side all this time? I would not tell her the true origins of my stress. Not only would she grow disheartened by the throes of her newfound friend, Mavis, but also by the true nature of her longtime companion, Ari.

Unable to sleep, I left the bed at around five o’clock and went into the study. I sat at my desk, hoping to go over the contracts with the new wool and cotton suppliers.

Daybreak found me still busy with work. I glanced at the wall clock to my right, just above the expanse of the bookshelf. As my gaze flitted across the room, a figure formed in a corner.

It was the silhouette of a man dressed in a crimson button-down shirt, dark trousers and tie, dark waistcoat and overcoat. His hands were burrowed within the pockets of his overcoat, light smoke climbing up from the pipe in his mouth. I recognized him as Mr. Vlad, Tristan’s vampire acquaintance.

His fingers reached up and pulled the pipe from his lips so he could speak. “We located the handmaiden.”

My ears piqued with interest while my brain paused for a second to internalize the announcement.

“Where has she been hiding?”

“Peak Valley at a shed near the quarry. We have her here within our custody.”

“And the Curse?”

“She’s broken it,” the vampire responded. “I haven’t heard from Tristan, and neither he nor the girl are at the mansion. I suspect them to be with the sorcerer, but I’ll need to go there to confirm their safety.”

I nodded. Tristan had told me about this sorcerer. He barely knew her, but she had been of assistance, going as far as brewing a safety potion for me. I entrusted her to keep them safe.

“I also suspect you to have questions for the handmaiden,” Mr. Vlad said. “I will take you to her now.”

I’d met the woman a few months ago, hardly speaking to her. Yet she wished me dead. Certainly, I had questions. Nonetheless, Tristan told me she was the culprit behind the Smolden village massacre, so I suppose I ought not to have been that surprised. She was clearly a sociopath.

“If you please,” I obliged, standing up from the desk. Within a second, the vampire was right beside me, holding onto my arm.

The space around us shifted, and an array of distorted colours swirled before my eyes. Lightheadedness overcame me, as my body weighed nothing more than a feather.

My feet met solid ground as gravity pulled me in, my weight returned to me. If not for Mr. Vlad’s strong hold, I would have fallen  from lack of balance. The colours vanished, my surroundings coming into focus.

I was in a cold, dark place with musty air. The only source of light was the gas lantern bracketed in the wall to my left. To my right was a shut door of metal bars, painting the picture of a cell in my mind.

It was a cell—one with no windows and furniture save for a small barrel in the corner and a single prisoner. Her dress was black and tattered, and judging by the singe marks on her arms and legs, the damage had been done by fire. Her wrists were raised and chained to the wall, her ankles bound by shackles. Her red hair stuck out from her pony tail in a ragged, matted way, barely covering her bruised face.