Dear readers, I have finally put pen to paper and written my experience of Mistress Scrivenerās very first morning at the manor. This was directly following the fiend attack on our carriage. The two of us had a rather emotional exchange in her bedchamber, also called The Lilac Room, and her attitude, Iām afraid to say, was not very gracious⦠but under the circumstances I do understand. It is difficult to see past the fears and stereotypes which one has been taught throughout their life.
Please keep in mind this day occurred several years ago, well before she and I had come to know the deep affectionate love we now share for one another.
Our conversation was a bit, shall I say it, combative and at moments quite unpleasant. Each of us had shameful prejudices to overcome, but fortunately we were also both willing and determined to learn about and from one another. It is a day I shall never cease to hold in fond memory. It is good, bad, and ugly.
This tale is told from my point of view, and is therefore much more accurate and āmatureā than how it was depicted in the novel. You all know by now I am an honest creature, and forthcoming with my true nature, and so I must include a few warnings, which I have kindly listed below.
On a final note, this is a longer story. I do try to keep my tales short and to the point, as I am not overly fond of flowery speech, and I am also aware the human attention span is equal to, if not lesser than that of a gnatās. There was simply much to cover, and I make no apologies for my liberties.
{TW~ MATURE CONTENT: adult themes, blood, brief non-graphic descriptions of violence and death, male anger, psychological fear and fear of physical harm}
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āDo you take sugar in your tea, miss?ā Silas already knew the answer~ Miss Scrivenerās peppermint tea, steeped 5 minutes and 12 seconds, with milk added afterwards, required one and one half teaspoons of sugar. He only asked in order to distract her from her incoming hysterics.
He replaced the cover of the sugar tin, pressing it down with a pop, and inhaled the ambrosia of her blind panic before turning to face her.
This part was always so tedious and dramatic. The part when humans discovered he was not one of them.
Florid spots of color flared on the girlās pallid cheeks, her face equally terrified and confused. Miss Scrivener had scrambled to the far end of the bed, in an attempt to put as much distance between herself and the demon. The carved walnut headboard quivered as she pressed into it, rattling the wall behind and causing the bed springs to creak in alarm. Her nightgown had slipped off one shoulder, exposing a bloodstained bandage on her arm, but the throes of terror rendered her unaware. Her hair, which Silas had diligently washed and untangled the night before, was a wild chestnut mane of snaps and snarls and frowzy ropes.
The demon sighed. All that effort undone in a matter of minutes. Just wait til she discovers sheās also had a much-needed bath. Then we shall see some fireworks. He pushed down his rising hunger at the scent of her horror filling the room. For him, it was like warm frosted cinnamon rolls, or spiced sausages crackling in their own fat⦠tantalizing. He shook his head to clear the aroma. No need to add more fuel to the fire. Master was trusting him to caretake her, not slake his thirst.
Sheād armed herself with a chamberstick from the side table~ a well crafted baroque sterling piece which Silas knew was solid silver and quite heavy, as heād polished it just the week before~ and she was holding it over her shoulder like a whaler about to launch a harpoon. Her white knuckled deathgrip on it was no doubt ruining the mirror shine heād worked so meticulously to achieve. Silas sighed inwardly again. This was going about as well as expected. Keeping his movements slow and deliberate, he crossed the room and set the tea tray down on the rumpled quilt at the foot of the bed. He rose and stood hipshot, arms folded benignly behind his back.
āAttempting to brain me with a candlestick wonāt do you any good. Though I will thank you for the courtesy of not screaming. Human are such reactive creatures. Do not mistake me, I find a cinematic opera performance quite enjoyable, but only as a ticket holder at the Royal Theatre.ā
The sound of his soft articulate voice seemed to bring her back to her senses. She shakily lowered the candlestick and finally dropped it onto the bed covers. The china jingled and a pillow fell to the floor with a soft downy plop. He could almost hear the gears grinding in her head as she pondered her predicament. She laughed abruptly, a half-choked squeak.
āIām sorry, itās just Iāve never met a demon before. I thought youād be.. you knowā¦ā Silas heard her unspoken words, āsomething else.ā
āQuite understandable, given your limited education on the matter. As a highborn demon, I am able to take on several forms; the one you see now is the one Master Thorn is most fond of. I can also appear as a cat, which Nathaniel also finds appealing. My true Otherworld form is, as you suspect, āsomething elseā.ā He stepped around to the side of the bed, into a shaft of morning sunlight, and stood silently, inviting her critique.
She stared in cautious wonder at him, taking in his snowy skin~ youthful, poreless and unblemished as marble. He waited, unblinking, as her eyes searched the yellow irises of his own, and his white eyelashes. She looked him up and down, inspecting every detail, from the golden fringed epaulets of his velvet tailcoat, and the opulent lace cravat, to his precisely tailored breeches and immaculately burnished riding boots. Her eyes lingered on his white gloves and the faceted emerald that dangled from his ear. Patiently, he pulled his long ponytail forward, draping it over his jacket lapel so she could see the white moonstone gleam of it.
āHeās beautiful.ā Silas heard the thought clear as crystal in her mind. Once again, a lump of emotion was aching in her throat. It was an innocent, impulsive response, but Silas smiled nonetheless. Yes, he was beautiful. So much so he was often mistaken for an angel. Though he was quite short in stature and slender, the demon radiated an ancient formidable spirit. Mortal reactions to his strange aesthetic were quite predictable~ initially terror, then fascination⦠if they survived long enough.
But even an angelās patience could wear thin. The tea was steaming hot, aromatic and sweet, and Silas wished for her to taste it. Tea helped. Tea somehow made everything better.
āPlease, miss. Wonāt you try your tea?ā he coaxed.
Her eyes remained fixed upon him as she lifted the cup to her lips. One sip. āOh! Itās good!ā Elisabeth took another mouthful, and looked down into the liquid. Breathing in the steam shouldāve been a comfort, but she jerked back, placing the cup back on its saucer with a rattle. Gooseflesh rose on her skin, and she clutched her arms about herself. Her mind was flashing with chaotic images and sensations of the night before.
Silas could see them too, like the pages of a picture book flipping~ her boots slipping on the uneven cobblestones. A hand rough on her neck, the thumb pressing into the base of her skull. A knife blade glittering in the dark. The steam from a manās hot breath dampening the hair at her nape. His sudden scream of painā¦then silenceā¦why had he screamed? It had been such a terrifyingly primal sound. What on earth had happened to him?
Elisabeth glanced up at Silas, wordless. He was still as a carven statue, face serene with the benevolence of an angel.
āI killed him, miss.ā
He said this so softly his lips barely moved. What he did not divulge was how, or where the man had met his violent end. She did not need to know Silas had ādetainedā him, taking him deep into the moldy soot-grimed basement of the manor, far below the pretty lilac papered room they were both in now. She did not need to know Silas had spent a long leisurely time, and then some, to finish the bloody task. Tonight Silas would fill the manās pockets with river stones, and slip what was left of him into the black depths of the Gloaming. She surely neednāt know this. And neither did Nathaniel.
Saliva pooled around his tongue. The demon shifted his stance as the memory brought a pleasurable heat to his hips. He turned away under the guise of retrieving the fallen pillow. He may not crave human flesh, but the spilling of blood, especially combined with the energies of mortal anguish, was always highly arousing for him. Silas raised an eyebrow at the poor timing of his bodyās reactions.
The demon tightened his grip on his focus, willing himself to think of something else. Master Thorn would never forgive him if Miss Scrivener were to see him in such a state. He smoothed his breeches and turned back to her.
āKilled him? How did you know what I was thinking?ā she was asking, her voice strangled. āYou can read my mind?ā
āNot exactly. Humans are rather predictable. After three centuries of living in this realm, Iāve grown quite adept at accurately guessing the next move. The same goes for the thoughts that form in your head. My sincere apologies if this offends you. It is merely the truth.ā He gave a slight bow.
Silas reached past her and took a newspaper off the nightstand, and placed it before her, politely ignoring her flinch. āYour hearing has been called off. The papers are having quite a time announcing it. The Chancellor himself has asked to see you. Magister Thorn will be delivering you to Ashcroft Manor as soon as your health allows. In the meantime, you are to stay here and recuperate sufficiently.ā
āWhat? Why? Why do I have to see the Chancellor? Canāt I just stay here? At least for a bit?ā She was twisting a corner of the bed quilt in her hands. Her thoughts had turned to Master Thorn.
āI know not, miss. The reason was not shared with me.ā Silas found this worrisome, and he had an ominous feeling about the plan. The man heād butchered in the basement had been Ashcroftās hired lackey.
āPerhaps youād like to get dressed, and come downstairs. I can assist you, if needed.ā
āNo, no⦠I can manage. I have my dress...ā She looked down at herself, seeing the nightgown, its silken fabric laced about her primly. She pushed the bed linens away, her mind calculating the equation. Her sapphire eyes blazed anew at him, matching the holy fire of her soul.
Ah, yes. Here it comes, the demon mused. The righteous indignation. He debated offering a faint smile of reassurance, then thought better of it. Showing his canines at the wrong moments usually made things worse. The grandfather clock ticked softly in the foyer three stories below, spooling out the seconds as her shock turned to dread.
āDid you undress me?!ā
The clock chimed the hour, and the demon tilted his head. Honesty was the best policy. āYes, I have decades of experienceā¦ā Silas paused as a deep scarlet blush spread across her face. He gave a bow and continued more gently.
āMy apologies, miss. I shouldāve explained myself sooner. I can assure you I have no interest whatsoever in your body, at least not in the way you are concerned about. You were bathed, which was necessary Iām afraid. You were unconscious, and youād been injured,ā he flicked his eyes to her wounded arm. Fresh blood spots bloomed like roses on the neatly laid dressing.
Sheād also stunk like a raggedy back alley strumpet, having been saturated in ditchwater, fiend blood, mud and sweat. But Silas kept that to himself, because above all else, Silas was a gentleman.
āYou expect me to believe that? Demons are horrid creatures. Evil and wicked! Iāve read about it in books. You eat humans. You feast on our flesh. Especially the entrails of maidens! It sickens me to imagine what else you might wish to force upon me!ā She wrenched her nightgown sleeve back onto her shoulder with a disgusted huff.
Silas regarded her. A prickle of rage had begun to claw its way up his spine. This foolish, presumptuous mortal. Maidenās entrails? Miss Scrivener was once again dancing upon the razor edge of folly. First the chase sheād led him on through the Blackwald Forest, which had ruined his travel boots, then the bramble bush sheād pushed him into at the tavern. There was still at least one thorn imbedded in hisā¦
Resisting the urge to bare his teeth at her, Silas instead leaned in close, and spoke in a low arrogant growl. āI am a highborn demon. I do not stoop to such base and vulgar acts. I am surprised you did not learn of this in that library of yours, though I should not be, as it would seem lies, bigotry and backwoods superstition are the only things taught in the classrooms there.ā
She recoiled from him, and he brazenly inspected her. āI suggest you humble yourself, miss. If sullying your virtue were my intention, you would most assuredly know by now. You think I wish to force you beneath me in a carnal sense, yet you humans are beneath me in EVERY sense. The one thing you possess that I could possibly desire is a soul, and I only have that once Iāve bargained for it. Everything elseā¦ā he gestured at her with a dismissive flourish of his gloved hand, āis irrelevant.ā He raised his chin and held her gaze, yellow eyes brilliantly hard and sharp as glass shards.
Elisabeth was chewing her lip nervously. He could hear her thundering heart calming to a steady rhythm as his words sunk in and began to alchemize fear into reason. It was true, Silas had felt nothing but a sense of duty as heād bathed her naked skin. It had been no different to him than laundering one of Nathanielās undershirts, or washing down the scullery table. His motives had been, ironically enough for a demon, pure as snow. Being accused of lying meant nothing to him. Being accused of indecent conduct undeservedly was intensely offensive. Silas was a proper monster. Her prejudice was inexcusable.
āNow, miss, are you quite sure you do not require my assistance?ā
āIām fine. But thank you,ā she answered contritely. It wasnāt every day one was firmly admonished by a highborn demon. She reached for her tea.
Silas bowed himself out. Once the latch clicked shut behind him, he leaned back against the door and closed his eyes, quelling the last of his anger. Gods she was uncommon~ bold and feisty for a library apprentice. It was fortunate for her that Master Thorn trusted him, for heād never been spoken to in such a rude manner, especially so early in the morning. He shook down his sleeves, adjusted his ruffled cuffs and wandered down the hall to wait.
Silas couldnāt help but be inquisitive about Miss Scrivener. Her pluck and courage, though woefully unrefined, drew his attention, not to mention the delightfully maniacal way she swung a crowbar. Almost a decade had passed since the manor had felt the unparalleled grace of a ladyās presence. Nathanielās mother had been the last, eight years ago.
Silas had sensed a definite shift in the houseās energy this morning, just a few hours after Elisabethās arrival~ a peculiar vibrancy glowing within the dark walnut panel walls. Doorways to rooms long vanished had begun to briefly materialize, their outlines fading in and out, warping the air around them. Each window in the manor was glazed with a silvery lightness, even the one in Silasā bedroom. He could see the phenomena now; the diamond panes of glass in the hallway were shimmering despite being in pools of shadow. Silas removed a glove and placed his hand on the gilt striped wallpaper. Yes, there was a definite warmth radiating from within, a low thrumming coming from under the waxed mahogany floorboards too, vibrating up through his boots. It was as if the manor were rousting itself from a deep slumber. He couldnāt say for sure this awakening was Elisabethās doing, but he had his suspicions.
Nathaniel was in a rush to shuttle her off, but the reason behind that hurry was plain as day to Silas. Master Thorn had tripped and fallen last night~ deeply into the relentless tides of love. A place he claimed denial of, yet was most resolute to escape from. As much as his master wanted Miss Scrivener gone, Silas was determined to keep her.
Nathaniel desperately needed this, whether he knew it or not. Silas heard the door of the Lilac Room tentatively snick open. Miss Scrivener, audacious book speaker and slayer of fiends, was dressed and ready to explore the manor.
Their journey was just beginning.
{original scene concept and some character lines from Sorcery of Thorns belong to Margaret Rogerson. Lore about Elisabethās preferred tea and mention of the bramble bush debacle are to be found in the French LāIntegrale annotated Silas edition}